(Note from the author: These are not my characters, my world, or my
situations. They all belong to J. K. Rowling, and are protected by
copyrights.)
(Note from the author about updates: Hello, fanfiction readers. No, I'm still alive. As I said before, I will not be updating as much (as you may have already noticed), but I have full intentions on finishing this story! Don't give up on me, I will complete this. I am very busy right now not only with schoolwork, but a script that must be finished and ready to be sent by January, so I have another project that I am working vigorously on. On top of that, mid terms just took place last week. So I apologize for disappearing, but I disappeared with good excuses. And now . . . another . . .er . . . chapter . . . of Forever Alive.)
The train began to move forward as Peter tried to scoot past Sirius, who had his legs sprawled out in the small aisle between his and James's seat, and where Remus sat. Remus was dressed in a brown cloak, his arms crossed and his messed hair falling into his face. His pointed nose stuck out from the greying locks, and James took a good look at him. He looked older, more worn down. When was the last time he had really stopped to think about Remus?
It must have been a long time.
Remus almost seemed like a stranger now.
Sirius, looking from James's expression to where James's expression was directed to, coughed and stood. Peter plopped down in his seat, and gave out a tired sigh.
"Well, now we're on our way, hey?" he said, as Sirius turned toward him.
"Hey, Wormtail," he said, "I need some help with something out here. Care to give me a hand?"
Peter's face fell, "What? But I just sat down . . ."
"Thanks," Sirius said, reaching over Remus and pulling Peter reluctantly out of his cushioned seat and into the corridor outside. The door shut behind the two of them, and James was alone with Lupin.
He fumbled with the hem of his robe. He didn't want to talk to Remus. He had nothing to talk about. What was he supposed to say to him? Remus would probably critique him on every word that came out of his mouth.
Remus didn't seem too enamoured with this idea of being left alone either. He casually gazed out of the window, as if not noticing that the other two had escaped the compartment. He gave out a tired sigh, and closed his eyes. Two days until the wolf was back. Two days until he would be back in his cabin, watching the moon rise over the evergreen trees and their black shadows that created the jagged face of the woods at night. Two days until the wolf would overtake him, and nothing would stop him. No more friends to stop him. He knew that they didn't come around anymore. The wolf was quite aware of it. The wolf had grown stronger. It was with him even now, laughing at his misfortune.
What was he supposed to say to James? Oh, glad you didn't pick me as godfather. Glad you didn't trust me. Glad you didn't stay behind when we went off to stop the giants.
He could still see Fenwick and James, running forward to stop a new brigade of them attacking to the east. They were sprinting across the sand, and Fenwick jumped in front of James at the last minute because he thought he saw something. Remus had seen the foot come down on top of the man, missing James's face by inches. His heart had stopped. He had rushed forward, trying to save James from the same fate . . .
He had pulled him away in time. He had flown to his side, grabbed him back and thrown him into the sand. James had been screaming. His eyes had been set on where Fenwick lay. His skin had been clammy and cold when he had thrown him behind the rock. James's mouth had been in a large O, screaming and screaming.
There had been a lot of screaming that night.
A lot of destruction.
Remus had kept him behind the rock, and James had struggled to get free. But Remus had kept him pinned. He wouldn't let go. He wasn't going to let James die. Not after he had married Lily, and now a son was on the way. There was no way that Remus would let James end up like Fenwick.
James had called him a coward.
James had said that it wasn't his decision to make.
James was wrong.
After the battle, they had returned to Moody's house, and James hadn't said a word to him. No one had talked about that battle. No one went to Fenwick's funeral. James didn't tell Sirius or Peter about screaming. Remus didn't ask for gratitude, for he knew that he wouldn't get any.
Remus had kept him alive that night, and yet . . . and yet James hadn't shown anything toward him.
He wasn't Sirius. That was why.
"So," James said, mussing his hair. Remus looked to the boy who sat in front of him. How had they gotten so old? Last time Remus had checked, they were eleven with the world bowing at their feet. So how had James gotten to be twenty? How had Remus gotten to have gray hair? James . . . an adult . . . twenty . . .
"So," Remus replied, with an unenthusiastic tone. James was still that little arrogant boy that he always was. They had nothing in common. So why had they become friends?
Remus tried to think back to when they were younger. He had been so happy to have some friends . . . any friends . . . he had never had any before. He had been very weak, and the wolf had haunted him even more then than now. James had had everything.
So how had they become friends?
"You haven't been around for a while," James said, "Lily's been worried."
"I've been busy," Remus said, looking James square in the eyes. He wasn't going to be under his reign anymore. He wasn't Sirius. He wasn't Peter. He was Remus. He was an adult now. James wasn't going to pressure him into risking his neck for a crazy night of adventures. He wasn't going to sweet talk him into going out on a limb for one buzz of adrenaline. He wasn't going to manipulate him to do his homework, or anything else. Remus was an adult.
"Hey, Remus?" James asked, shifting in his chair to grow closer.
"What, James," Remus said, looking out the window, trying to pretend he was somewhere else. He could see the wolf sitting quietly next to James, laughing silently.
"Why did you come?"
"What?" his gaze focused now on the boy in front of him, and he felt as if he was going to hurl himself out of the train window.
"Why did you come to this thing if you didn't want to see me?" James asked, "If you're so appalled by me, then why the hell did you bother?"
"I'm not appalled . . ."
"Something's going on, Moony," James said, "And you're not telling anyone. What's happening to you? You look so . . . so old."
Remus sighed again, and looked back out the window. He didn't want to discuss this with James. Not here. Not now. Not ever.
Moony.
James had used his old name. A pain from an old cut deep inside welled up. He had known those four boys, long ago. He had known how close they had been. He could still hear them laughing, talking about their nightly adventure around the bedposts. But their laughter was slowly diminishing. Those four boys had been innocent. That's what made them different people than the four men that he know knew. Those men had killed, murdered, fought for survival. Those men had hated, loved, and had seen the world.
Those men had grown apart.
Or at least one of them had.
He had grown up. He knew what the hells of the world were now. Every day that he walked down the street, he saw those flags in the windows. Every day he gave another out. Every night he would see them, laying in the streets, dead. Every night he would kill another Death Eater, or track one down, or question one. And every morning, moments before he opened his eyes and awoke to a new day, he would see their faces . . . all of them . . .
The faces of the fallen.
First would come Marlene's, then Fenwick's, and then the rest of them . . . slowly jumping into place after the other. Even Sampson, the man he had killed all that time ago, still haunted him. All of them.
And every night, before laying down to sleep, he would hear the wolf whisper in his ear, "It draws nearer." Every night, the wolf would repeat those words as Remus tried to drone him out. And he would fall asleep to his counterpart breathing on his face, "It draws nearer. It draws nearer."
He knew perfectly well what "it" was. "It" was the day when everything that he feared came true. "It" was the day that he had created in his head to be the day to end all days. "It" was the day when the Order ran out of supplies and disappeared. "It" was the day when Voldemort would win. "It" was the day when Peter and Sirius and . . . and James . . . they would die. It was that day that he feared more than anything else.
"Remus?"
Remus blinked, and looked back at James. James was staring at him, sullen. He could tell something was wrong. Remus collected himself quickly, and put on his face. He didn't want James reading him. He didn't want to worry him. He . . .
"Remus," James said, putting his hand on his friend's shoulder, "Look, we're friends still. Right? I mean, you . . ."
"Yes, we're friends," Remus said, "Of course. I . . ."
What was he going to say? What was he saying now? They were friends? But . . .
God, was he losing his mind? Was this lack of sleep? One minute Remus wanted to strangle James, and now . . . and now they were friends again?
Was it always this hard saying that you were sorry?
"Look," James said, removing his hand from Remus's shoulder, "We're all going through a hard time. We have since we graduated. And you're not alone. Right? You know that, right?"
Remus didn't answer.
"Right?" James pressed, and Remus stood to leave.
"You asked a good question," Remus said, reaching for the sliding door, "Why did I come."
"You know," James said, following him and turning him around, "You haven't changed. You're just like you were when you were a kid. You run away from things . . ."
"James . . ."
"Whenever something bad happens, you try to ignore it. But you can't, Remus. Bad things happen! You have to live with them! You can't be scared of them!"
Remus didn't say anything, and looked dead on at the compartment door, wishing that he could be left alone. James wasn't giving up, though. He kept one hand on the doorknob of the sliding door, and stared knives at the werewolf. He wasn't letting him go this time.
"Someday, Remus," James said, "Someday, you're going to wake up and find yourself all alone. Peter won't be there. Sirius won't be there. I won't be there! And you'll wonder what happened. You'll wonder why you are by yourself. And then you'll be wishing to be back on this train with us."
Remus was silent. He didn't speak. He didn't move. James stared at this boy that he used to know. Sirius was right. Something was wrong with him. Something was happening in his mind that none of them could see.
How did a werewolf's mind work?
James had never thought of Remus as a "werewolf." He had always just seen him as a boy. As a human. But what if there was something that they didn't understand that had overttaken the human part of this man? What if that wolf that they had seen in the nights of the full moon only reigned inside? What if . . .
James shuddered, and took his shaking hand from the knob. It was white. He couldn't let that happen. The feeling of responsibility that they had all felt on the nights of the transformation returned, and he looked at his friend.
Remus had always tried to be strong, and yet they were always there for him. He wasn't the fastest. He wasn't the strongest. But he was the smartest. That's what James had always admired about him.
"Look," James sighed, and extended his hand to Remus, "Just . . . just know that we're still here. You're not alone, Moony."
Remus stared at James's hand. What was he going to do now. They were different. They were both so different.
He could hear Sirius and Peter coming back down the corridor. Their loud laughing and rash tones told him that they were excited about the game. They had placed bets on the Canons. Or, at least, Sirius had.
He could have never laughed as wholeheartedly as they were then. They were in the same place as he was, and yet so far away.
"But I am," Remus whispered quietly to James, just as the compartment door slid open. Sirius and Peter's shining persona entered into the room, and Sirius pushed past the two boys, not noticing that anything was wrong at all.
"Had to ask the conductor about seating, that's all," he explained as he fell into place again. He sighed, and kicked off his biker boots, "Hardly call him a conductor, though. Doesn't even know the difference between a broomstick and a Bludger."
James didn't look at Sirius. His eyes were fixed on his other friend. Remus hadn't moved, and he looked so much older than he had moments before. Pale. Weak.
Something was wrong.
And Remus would never tell.
(Note from the author about updates: Hello, fanfiction readers. No, I'm still alive. As I said before, I will not be updating as much (as you may have already noticed), but I have full intentions on finishing this story! Don't give up on me, I will complete this. I am very busy right now not only with schoolwork, but a script that must be finished and ready to be sent by January, so I have another project that I am working vigorously on. On top of that, mid terms just took place last week. So I apologize for disappearing, but I disappeared with good excuses. And now . . . another . . .er . . . chapter . . . of Forever Alive.)
The train began to move forward as Peter tried to scoot past Sirius, who had his legs sprawled out in the small aisle between his and James's seat, and where Remus sat. Remus was dressed in a brown cloak, his arms crossed and his messed hair falling into his face. His pointed nose stuck out from the greying locks, and James took a good look at him. He looked older, more worn down. When was the last time he had really stopped to think about Remus?
It must have been a long time.
Remus almost seemed like a stranger now.
Sirius, looking from James's expression to where James's expression was directed to, coughed and stood. Peter plopped down in his seat, and gave out a tired sigh.
"Well, now we're on our way, hey?" he said, as Sirius turned toward him.
"Hey, Wormtail," he said, "I need some help with something out here. Care to give me a hand?"
Peter's face fell, "What? But I just sat down . . ."
"Thanks," Sirius said, reaching over Remus and pulling Peter reluctantly out of his cushioned seat and into the corridor outside. The door shut behind the two of them, and James was alone with Lupin.
He fumbled with the hem of his robe. He didn't want to talk to Remus. He had nothing to talk about. What was he supposed to say to him? Remus would probably critique him on every word that came out of his mouth.
Remus didn't seem too enamoured with this idea of being left alone either. He casually gazed out of the window, as if not noticing that the other two had escaped the compartment. He gave out a tired sigh, and closed his eyes. Two days until the wolf was back. Two days until he would be back in his cabin, watching the moon rise over the evergreen trees and their black shadows that created the jagged face of the woods at night. Two days until the wolf would overtake him, and nothing would stop him. No more friends to stop him. He knew that they didn't come around anymore. The wolf was quite aware of it. The wolf had grown stronger. It was with him even now, laughing at his misfortune.
What was he supposed to say to James? Oh, glad you didn't pick me as godfather. Glad you didn't trust me. Glad you didn't stay behind when we went off to stop the giants.
He could still see Fenwick and James, running forward to stop a new brigade of them attacking to the east. They were sprinting across the sand, and Fenwick jumped in front of James at the last minute because he thought he saw something. Remus had seen the foot come down on top of the man, missing James's face by inches. His heart had stopped. He had rushed forward, trying to save James from the same fate . . .
He had pulled him away in time. He had flown to his side, grabbed him back and thrown him into the sand. James had been screaming. His eyes had been set on where Fenwick lay. His skin had been clammy and cold when he had thrown him behind the rock. James's mouth had been in a large O, screaming and screaming.
There had been a lot of screaming that night.
A lot of destruction.
Remus had kept him behind the rock, and James had struggled to get free. But Remus had kept him pinned. He wouldn't let go. He wasn't going to let James die. Not after he had married Lily, and now a son was on the way. There was no way that Remus would let James end up like Fenwick.
James had called him a coward.
James had said that it wasn't his decision to make.
James was wrong.
After the battle, they had returned to Moody's house, and James hadn't said a word to him. No one had talked about that battle. No one went to Fenwick's funeral. James didn't tell Sirius or Peter about screaming. Remus didn't ask for gratitude, for he knew that he wouldn't get any.
Remus had kept him alive that night, and yet . . . and yet James hadn't shown anything toward him.
He wasn't Sirius. That was why.
"So," James said, mussing his hair. Remus looked to the boy who sat in front of him. How had they gotten so old? Last time Remus had checked, they were eleven with the world bowing at their feet. So how had James gotten to be twenty? How had Remus gotten to have gray hair? James . . . an adult . . . twenty . . .
"So," Remus replied, with an unenthusiastic tone. James was still that little arrogant boy that he always was. They had nothing in common. So why had they become friends?
Remus tried to think back to when they were younger. He had been so happy to have some friends . . . any friends . . . he had never had any before. He had been very weak, and the wolf had haunted him even more then than now. James had had everything.
So how had they become friends?
"You haven't been around for a while," James said, "Lily's been worried."
"I've been busy," Remus said, looking James square in the eyes. He wasn't going to be under his reign anymore. He wasn't Sirius. He wasn't Peter. He was Remus. He was an adult now. James wasn't going to pressure him into risking his neck for a crazy night of adventures. He wasn't going to sweet talk him into going out on a limb for one buzz of adrenaline. He wasn't going to manipulate him to do his homework, or anything else. Remus was an adult.
"Hey, Remus?" James asked, shifting in his chair to grow closer.
"What, James," Remus said, looking out the window, trying to pretend he was somewhere else. He could see the wolf sitting quietly next to James, laughing silently.
"Why did you come?"
"What?" his gaze focused now on the boy in front of him, and he felt as if he was going to hurl himself out of the train window.
"Why did you come to this thing if you didn't want to see me?" James asked, "If you're so appalled by me, then why the hell did you bother?"
"I'm not appalled . . ."
"Something's going on, Moony," James said, "And you're not telling anyone. What's happening to you? You look so . . . so old."
Remus sighed again, and looked back out the window. He didn't want to discuss this with James. Not here. Not now. Not ever.
Moony.
James had used his old name. A pain from an old cut deep inside welled up. He had known those four boys, long ago. He had known how close they had been. He could still hear them laughing, talking about their nightly adventure around the bedposts. But their laughter was slowly diminishing. Those four boys had been innocent. That's what made them different people than the four men that he know knew. Those men had killed, murdered, fought for survival. Those men had hated, loved, and had seen the world.
Those men had grown apart.
Or at least one of them had.
He had grown up. He knew what the hells of the world were now. Every day that he walked down the street, he saw those flags in the windows. Every day he gave another out. Every night he would see them, laying in the streets, dead. Every night he would kill another Death Eater, or track one down, or question one. And every morning, moments before he opened his eyes and awoke to a new day, he would see their faces . . . all of them . . .
The faces of the fallen.
First would come Marlene's, then Fenwick's, and then the rest of them . . . slowly jumping into place after the other. Even Sampson, the man he had killed all that time ago, still haunted him. All of them.
And every night, before laying down to sleep, he would hear the wolf whisper in his ear, "It draws nearer." Every night, the wolf would repeat those words as Remus tried to drone him out. And he would fall asleep to his counterpart breathing on his face, "It draws nearer. It draws nearer."
He knew perfectly well what "it" was. "It" was the day when everything that he feared came true. "It" was the day that he had created in his head to be the day to end all days. "It" was the day when the Order ran out of supplies and disappeared. "It" was the day when Voldemort would win. "It" was the day when Peter and Sirius and . . . and James . . . they would die. It was that day that he feared more than anything else.
"Remus?"
Remus blinked, and looked back at James. James was staring at him, sullen. He could tell something was wrong. Remus collected himself quickly, and put on his face. He didn't want James reading him. He didn't want to worry him. He . . .
"Remus," James said, putting his hand on his friend's shoulder, "Look, we're friends still. Right? I mean, you . . ."
"Yes, we're friends," Remus said, "Of course. I . . ."
What was he going to say? What was he saying now? They were friends? But . . .
God, was he losing his mind? Was this lack of sleep? One minute Remus wanted to strangle James, and now . . . and now they were friends again?
Was it always this hard saying that you were sorry?
"Look," James said, removing his hand from Remus's shoulder, "We're all going through a hard time. We have since we graduated. And you're not alone. Right? You know that, right?"
Remus didn't answer.
"Right?" James pressed, and Remus stood to leave.
"You asked a good question," Remus said, reaching for the sliding door, "Why did I come."
"You know," James said, following him and turning him around, "You haven't changed. You're just like you were when you were a kid. You run away from things . . ."
"James . . ."
"Whenever something bad happens, you try to ignore it. But you can't, Remus. Bad things happen! You have to live with them! You can't be scared of them!"
Remus didn't say anything, and looked dead on at the compartment door, wishing that he could be left alone. James wasn't giving up, though. He kept one hand on the doorknob of the sliding door, and stared knives at the werewolf. He wasn't letting him go this time.
"Someday, Remus," James said, "Someday, you're going to wake up and find yourself all alone. Peter won't be there. Sirius won't be there. I won't be there! And you'll wonder what happened. You'll wonder why you are by yourself. And then you'll be wishing to be back on this train with us."
Remus was silent. He didn't speak. He didn't move. James stared at this boy that he used to know. Sirius was right. Something was wrong with him. Something was happening in his mind that none of them could see.
How did a werewolf's mind work?
James had never thought of Remus as a "werewolf." He had always just seen him as a boy. As a human. But what if there was something that they didn't understand that had overttaken the human part of this man? What if that wolf that they had seen in the nights of the full moon only reigned inside? What if . . .
James shuddered, and took his shaking hand from the knob. It was white. He couldn't let that happen. The feeling of responsibility that they had all felt on the nights of the transformation returned, and he looked at his friend.
Remus had always tried to be strong, and yet they were always there for him. He wasn't the fastest. He wasn't the strongest. But he was the smartest. That's what James had always admired about him.
"Look," James sighed, and extended his hand to Remus, "Just . . . just know that we're still here. You're not alone, Moony."
Remus stared at James's hand. What was he going to do now. They were different. They were both so different.
He could hear Sirius and Peter coming back down the corridor. Their loud laughing and rash tones told him that they were excited about the game. They had placed bets on the Canons. Or, at least, Sirius had.
He could have never laughed as wholeheartedly as they were then. They were in the same place as he was, and yet so far away.
"But I am," Remus whispered quietly to James, just as the compartment door slid open. Sirius and Peter's shining persona entered into the room, and Sirius pushed past the two boys, not noticing that anything was wrong at all.
"Had to ask the conductor about seating, that's all," he explained as he fell into place again. He sighed, and kicked off his biker boots, "Hardly call him a conductor, though. Doesn't even know the difference between a broomstick and a Bludger."
James didn't look at Sirius. His eyes were fixed on his other friend. Remus hadn't moved, and he looked so much older than he had moments before. Pale. Weak.
Something was wrong.
And Remus would never tell.