Pour your misery down on me.

The neighbor-children, with smudges on their faces and dirt underneath their fingernails, peek out their cracked-to-broken windows, poking their heads between stained curtains. Usually, their mothers or fathers or siblings who feel so mature will scold them; sometimes they'll get soaking wet and mold up the curtains. But it's all just to catch a glimpse, sneak a look at the crazy man from number twelve.

With his shabby overcoat that looks like a bathrobe and a frightfully antique-looking umbrella that looks as if it attracts the lightning rather than repels the raindrops, he's got the look handled. And deep inside his thoughts, where he's unaware of the children, he feels rather like a crazy man.

He messed up his own life by his own folly so early on in his life, he thinks he's forgotten what it felt like to live without responsibility. He's a very civil man, always a very level-headed boy, one that you wouldn't expect to be ripped apart by transformations and have the blood of something so animal course through him. But life is never what you expect, and sometimes he doesn't feel human at all because he relies on a potion to keep him in his own body. If he can't rely on himself he doesn't know who to rely on.

But he holds himself back, now, from people. Not because of his wolfhood, but because he thinks if he lets himself go to someone they'll be torn from him like all his other friends. He is torn between a world of the past with them and a world of the future. The latter always looks far more bleak, but he has willed himself to continue on. The others wouldn't like it if he gave in.

Even in the days leading up to the first murder, when the life he had made for himself shattered, were alright. But the days after were spent in such an ill, depressing manner he likes to think he's repressed all those days leading up toward that horrid night. He can remember the past though, it makes him feel so alone yet so pulled together thinking of how they used to be.

There was Peter, the one who could be called the first to stray from their tight-knit group. The one so meek, so unexpected to rip the very heartstrings of the four apart. With a lopsided look and clouded eyes, sandy hair and a brain like molasses, Peter was the tag-along. The hero-worshipper, the ego-booster to that of James and Sirius. The one to laugh at all their jokes and praise all their deeds in a way that was flattering yet dumbfounding. And all the years of living in the thick shadow of the two, falling unimportantly in the middle of the schemes, left him craving more. So in this sad way, Remus blames himself for not picking up the scattered pieces of Peter's well-being.

And there was James, of course, because there is always James Potter. Quidditch phenomenon, good-naturedly handsome, and a pleasant wit with a desire to befuddle the order of things. His looks and charm enchanted the female population in a way that all could be jealous of, perhaps the unspoken leader of the Mauraders. He was murdered, torn from the life he had begun to lead as a father, a husband; everything he'd been longing for his entire life. Remus regrets James never got to continue on in his roles.

But don't forget Sirius, how could anyone forget? In the beginning, he was darkly loyal to a group of blood-obsessed people known as his family. He was an awful lot like Severus, bitter and close-minded. But his love for stirring up trouble and revenging the wrongs against him held so strong that he could do nothing more than rely on his resources for power. In the process, however, he fit perfectly into the group and once he was sucessfully tangled within it, couldn't remove himself. They were the wedge, as well as the final nail in the coffin to drive him from his family. Remus accepts his death, slowly, believing it was his fault for tearing him from the family that killed him.

And Lilly, oh, Lilly, for there never was one quite like her. She was one of those pretty girls, shining hair and gleaming teeth and eyes that shone no matter the hour or occasion. Her wit was as sharp as a knife and her barbs were searingly painful; her contempt toward that of all things that didn't abide by the rules. That included the Maruaders for a very long time, but eventually, as all girls that way do over time, she softened enough to like them. And love them, oh how she loved them all to pieces. Some girls would scathingly whisper of how she was in love with every single one of the boys, but she'd toss her hair and ignore their remarks. Not because she was bitter toward them, she could never be so bitter, but perhaps because it was true. Remus tries to believe that she's never going to leave.

They all had their ups and downs, bads and goods, but that was what made them so humanly perfect. Such fine people thrown into the world full of bitter and repressive souls; such accepting humans among such pessimistically cruel others. Remus has met alot of people in his life and considers himself lucky he's spent time with the lot, though their time was cut too short.

It's just as he hears Peter's giddy laughter and senses James messing with his hair; sees Lilly roll her eyes over her text and Sirius smirk, he's forced to grab his umbrella, no matter how battered it is, and head into the street. He thinks, maybe today, he'll drown them away from him.

He must rinse this all away.

Author's note: yayy! I have been on a Remus splurge as of late.. hm? Mauraders are v. cool, Remus is v. depressing. This is all inspired by me on Friday being random. Right. The italics at the beginning are from "Only Happy When it Rains" by Garbage and the ones at the end are "Rinse" by Vanessa Carlton -- changed "she" to "he."

Review, please?