Disclaimer: If I owned this Remus wouldn't be suffering . . . on second thought . . . knowing me, he just might
Meant to Live
Remus Lupin contemplates the loss of his friends and the few things he holds onto in his life in this songfic.
Remus lay there in his mostly empty room at 13 Grimmauld Place, staring at red wallpaper. The room was empty of everything but the bed, which he was on, the dresser with a mirror on top, non-magical, the armoire, which didn't have any of Remus' things in it as he had nothing good enough to need that, and his currently empty trunks which were leaning up against the overfilled bookcases. The room was, very much, as empty as he felt.
He didn't feel like breathing, and yet he did, he didn't feel like eating, yet he had. Somehow, he didn't care whether or not he lived or died. It mattered very little to him except that it might inconvenience someone else. He really had nothing left to live for. He was unable to get a job because of his Lycanthropy--the best he'd ever had was a temporary act of charity from Dumbledore. And his condition had lost him that. So soon he was going to life among his own kind to aid in the war. He would have to face this terrifying new world and it would have to be alone. All of his friends were dead. The Marauders were no more; just the one final, faithful Marauder remained. It didn't seem right.
Fumbling his confidence and wondering why the word has passed him.
Hoping that he's bent for than arguments and failed attempts to fly.
We were meant to live for so much more. Have we lost ourselves?
Somewhere we live inside.
To think, he glared up at the ceiling, that and one time we were all so young and foolish. James wanted to be an auror, Sirius too and Peter? Peter had ever been the young and impressionable one.
What had changed to make him cold enough to hand deliver his best friend to Voldermort? It would have been easier just to say that Peter had always stuck with those who he thought would come out on top. It would be easier to say that Peter had always been a vile person but that wasn't the truth.
At one time Peter had been good, geeky, but good. He used to be the group's loyal lackey and soon enough he had become like a little brother to them all. But their little brother had betrayed them. He had helped to destroy everything the marauders had been about. Everything. He wondered what had driven quiet little Peter to such extremes. The Peter he knew was dead. There was no trace of him left in that thing which served Voldermort so effectively.
Maybe in his delirium after his best friend's death his mind was clouded and his perception was biased but that thing no longer deserved to live. It had caused too much pain. What was presiding most predominately in Remus' mind, however, was his own suffering. He was a broken man without reason to care for anything. So why, he asked himself, do I keep on breathing?
Dreaming about providence and whether mice and men have second tries.
Maybe we've been living with our eyes half open. Maybe we're bent and
broken.
We were meant to live for much more. Have we lost ourselves? Somewhere
we live inside.
Because, he answered himself, if I give up the Marauders really will be lost. He was the last one standing and he had to live because Sirius and James had had their lives taken from them.
We want more that this world's got to offer. We want more than the
wars of our fathers.
And everything inside screams for second life.
We were meant to live.
We were meant to live.
NOTE: Most of this was written in the advanced state of delirium which I sometimes drift into. All the same, I like it. I think it accurately
describes J.K's plot line. I should probably give it a face-lift, though.