Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Heals All Wounds
The small cinnamon-eyed boy ran after the others, calling helplessly.
"Wait!" he cried. "Wait for me!" The older children kept running, and didn't look back.
The lone child stopped running and sat on a rock. He was only six or so, usually lively, but today it was too much. All the other kids were around eleven, and they wouldn't let him play. Not even his own sister.
"Listen, Reme. We play at night. It's dark; you'll get lost. It's hide-and-seek. You're only young; you'll get heaps of chances to play later. Sorry, okay?" And she had run off, leaving him to tag along uselessly.
He sat on the grass, watching the trees sway in the cool early summer breeze. Jill was soon to go to Hogwarts, and he would have to find his own way to amuse himself. He didn't like being the only one left.
A wolf howled.
Suddenly decisive, he stood up from the rock, with it in mind to find his sister, and offer to be the finder. He wandered in the vague direction she had run off, carefully watching the tree roots and other objects that lay on his path.
It was growing darker. They had gone outside when the sun had sunk behind the hilltops and the owls took flight. Though it was a full moon, the night was cloudy, and the boy was finding it harder to see where he stepped. He fell, cutting his cheek on a sharp stone. His tears trickled into the wound, hurting it more. He cried louder.
And the wolf, he cried louder too, for he was closer.
The evening was growing colder, too. The breeze swelled into wind, which whipped his clothes, his hair, seeming to make the trees dance fiercely. The boy looked up and saw trees stretching for miles around. He was in the forest that grew on the outskirts of the tiny village he lived in. He knew the forest was huge, and to his tiny eyes, the woodland covered the whole world.
He knew this forest like he knew the cycles of the moon. He would find him… Soon.
He could see the stars through a gap in the clouds. It was late, and he didn't want to get more lost during the night. Wrapping his worn jacket tighter around him, he sat beneath a gnarled tree. A small crunch in the shadows a little way away made him whip his head around. He thought of the monster under his bed and whimpered.
There was no one to call out to.
The minute crack of a twig being stepped on, closer this time, had him scrambling up the tree, and perching on the third branch from the ground, he could see the silvery grey wolf prowl to where he used to be sitting.
Where was the human? His scent was strong…
The wolf was sniffing this way and that, his huge paws beating the ground, never wandering far from the tree. He howled, lifting his head to the moon.
And he saw him, barely older than a cub.
He growled, and clawed at the tree bark.
There was a thud, and a piercing scream tore through the night.
Remus Lupin lay sprawled on the couch. The moon had finally begun to wane, so he could at last get some sleep. His three best friends bounding around everywhere was not much help either, but who in their right mind was going to stop exceptionally bright, wand-wielding maniacs with a penchant for mischief?
Peter Pettigrew, James Potter and Sirius Black were actually rather calmer than they were in their first year. Remus hoped that was because they were maturing, but he could never be sure, because he could never be sure of anything while around his friends. He was happiest at Hogwarts, surrounded by those three lunatics. He had been surrounded by them for the past six years, as it was the start of their seventh, and he would be sad to see it go.
Cheer up, Moony, he thought, gazing up at the common-room ceiling. You've got ages yet; it's not like as soon as you get out of school everyone's going to disappear off the face of the Earth. You've got ages.
A loud BANG startled him into sitting upright, staring wildly around for the source of the commotion. The following shriek of "JAMES POTTER, I HATE YOU, AND IF YOU EVEN THINK OF TRYING TO KISS ME QUIET I WILL —" had him lying back down, a fond, contented smile upon his face. Everything was brilliant. Nothing could have been better.
"How much have you done on your Defence Against the Dark Arts essay, Sirius?" asked an eleven-year-old James Potter.
"Which one?" Sirius moaned. "There's only about fifty-bazillion of them."
James laughed.
"The one on werewolves. Do you wanna do the speech or shall I?"
"You can. There's no way I'm going to volunteer for death at the hands of that old bag."
"Professor's not all that bad," he responded, absently rubbing his tousled hair. "You know, I'm kinda hungry…"
"Sirius," James said, frowning slightly, "Do you really think Remus's mother's sick?"
It was later that night, and Remus had gone home a couple of days ago to visit his mother. James and Sirius were huddled under a blanket in the Kitchens, waiting patiently for the house elves to finish gathering the food they had politely asked for.
"I don't know about that…" Sirius replied. "She's been sick for most of this year, hasn't she? Maybe she's got it really bad. Remus must really like his mum. If mine were ill I wouldn't visit her once a month, I'd go round and finish her off." He laughed, but James was sitting straight up, looking thoughtful. "What?" he asked.
"I think I know what Remus is…"
"What do you mean, what Remus is…?"
Remus smiled fondly again, remembering when he had come out of the Hospital Wing at last and found two very excited black-haired trouble-makers with the grin on their faces that clearly said 'Remus-we-just-had-a-brilliant-idea!'
And there they were, more than five years later, still running around the school once a month, still unknown, still having the times of their lives.
He didn't want seventh year to end, ever.
The end-of-year feast was a blast. Sirius, Remus and James had charmed the hangings that signified Ravenclaw's win to those of Gryffindor, because it was largely James's fault that Gryffindor had come last. They had only wanted to go out with a bang, after all. This last year of theirs was definitely the best. They had organised a crude form of bungy-jumping off the staircases (added bonuses if the staircase moved and you didn't hit your head on anything) with Peter as the guineapig, then when that was banned they held breath-holding competitions in the lake; then the Detention-Counting (which Sirius won, although he only beat James by three); then the wild Thank-You-For-Putting-Up-With-Us Party in the Slytherin common-room, much their resistance; and all the numerous pranks they pulled on mostly Snape.
"I'm really going to miss this place." he mused, as his three best friends bend over double, laughing at the sight of the Great Hall. Large lion heads protruded from the walls, which uttered deafening roars every time Dumbledore tried to address the Hall. Red and gold confetti fell from the enchanted ceiling; large banners which floated around, depicting badgers, snakes and eagles all getting eaten or trampled by lions. The Ravenclaws were highly affronted at the pointed Gryffindor hats that had appeared on their heads.
"Yeah, I know," grinned James, "Although it's not like everyone will disappear off the face of the Earth as soon as we leave school."
Remus smiled sadly at him.
"I know, it's just… It'll never be the same, you know?"
"Oh, way to go, Moony, I really wanted to be depressed right now," Sirius said, even though he knew he looked completely the opposite of unhappy.
Remus smiled again, thinking of something Sirius had told him once in third year.
"I think it's cool!"
"Yeah, you might, but then again you don't change into a hideous monster every month, do you?"
"Oh, come on, how do you know you're hideous?"
"Ha, ha, ha, Black."
"I mean, really! Is it really so bad, apart from transforming?"
"Yes, of course! Transforming hurts, and then I've got no-one to bite so I scratch myself, and I ruin all the furniture — "
"Well, it's not exactly high-quality furniture, is it?"
"Yeah, but — "
"Have you really thought of what it's like to be a wolf, Mr. I'm-so-evil?
"Yeah, it's all about hurting — "
"No, it's not. When you think of wolves, what do you see?"
"Giant fangs!"
"Well, I see freedom — "
"The freedom of being able to what?
"The freedom to be able to run — "
"I'm not about to do a great deal of running in the Shrieking Shack!"
"Well, I suppose you won't, but this is about wolves, not you — "
"Of course, because there's such a big difference."
"Just shut up and listen for a sec, will you?! You should be glad — "
"Yeah, really glad — "
"Argh! Just listen to me, will you? I'm going to go all mushy on you. If you dare breathe a word of this to anyone, and I mean anyone, I will absolutely kill you, okay?"
"Okay, but — "
"No buts! Listen! When I think of wolves I see freedom. Wolves are like, rulers of the mountain forest or whatever. They go and run with the pack, all sleek and cool, but then they can be all nurturing — don't laugh at me, you goon, and actually think about what I'm saying — with their young and stuff, and they have amazing senses of smell, and their really quite intelligent — see, that's the main difference between you and a wolf, Lupin — wolves are incredible, you dimwit, so I don't see why you should be all, 'Rargh, pity me, I'm a monster, rargh, rargh', 'cause I think it's cool. And remember, a word of this to anyone and you'll have pink hair for the next two years."
"I… thanks, Sirius."
His heart was slowly, slowly shattering into billions of tiny pieces. He knew it would never stop.
Professor R. J. Lupin peered at the map, watching three tiny ink dots flow over to Hagrid's hut, moving slowly as though they didn't want to be seen. Priceless, that Cloak, he thought, standing and brewing himself some tea. When he had settled himself down into his comfy armchair he sighed and sipped contentedly. A green ghost-dot was circling around the dot labelled 'Argus Filch' as though taunting him. The blue animal-dot of Mrs Norris was pacing back and forth in front of her owner, presumably hissing. Suddenly he frowned.
Alongside Hagrid's dot, staying utterly still, was a blue dot — but it wasn't labelled 'Fang'. The other odd about the blue dot was, if the labelling was correct, it should've been, at the very least, green, or not there at all.
It was labelled 'Peter Pettigrew'.
Professor R. J. Lupin rubbed his eyes furiously. He pinched his leg, and it hurt quite badly. He pointed his wand at the map, muttered 'Reparo!' —
But nothing happened.
Now the dots were moving again. The dots of 'Harry Potter' and 'Hermione Granger' were hovering towards the castle, but 'Ron Weasley' had stopped dead. His dot looked like it was tussling with 'Peter Pettigrew's', but as he did so another blue dot, marked 'Sirius Black', streaked across the grounds and dragged them both into the Whomping Willow.
Professor R. J. Lupin leapt off his chair and raced out of the room.
When he woke that morning and felt a familiar black dog curled up next to him, Remus was mildly apprehensive. For one thing, he didn't want dog hairs all over his bed, and for another, Sirius was supposed to be hiding in Scotland, not crawling into beds in the middle of the night.
He prodded the dog awake.
"Sirius! What are you doing here?"
The dog transformed into a man, buried himself further under the covers and said "Sod off, you sadistic cow".
Remus continued prodding, and did not stop until Sirius rolled over and faced him.
"What are you doing here? You're meant to be in hiding!"
"Nice to see you too," said Sirius sarcastically.
"I didn't greet you by calling you a sadistic cow, though, did I?"
Sirius grinned sheepishly.
"How did Harry do in the Tournament? I've been following the Prophet,butthey seem to be more interested in his love life."
Sirius's grin faded.
"I've just come form there. I've been up all yesterday and all last night alerting the Order. Voldemort's back."
By the time Sirius finished recounting the third task, and what happened afterwards, the sun had risen high enough to shine directly through the windows and onto Remus's appalled face.
"Dumbledore said he would contact us here, at you place. I don't know if Harry will go back to the Dursley's, or to the Burrow, or — " Sirius broke off, looking troubled.
"Come on," Remus said, closing his hand over Sirius's and leading him out of bed and to the kitchen. "You need chocolate."
It was easier last time.
Last time there had been little room for grief, little room for sadness, just room enough for anger and hatred and pain and regret. Being able to blame someone had made it all a bit more bearable.
All of it; all of the horrible deaths and horrible moments of waking alone and doing everything alone and just being alone, for all of it he'd wrongly blamed Sirius.
Now he was gone.
Everyone was gone.
There was no one to blame but Voldemort, and what good did that do? Voldemort had deserved worse than death long before he'd killed Remus's friends.
The regret was still there, as was the pain, but the grief and the sadness felt as though they were increasing with time, with every painful recollection.
His heart hadn't stopped shattering.
Time heals all wounds, the people said at the memorial, but what did they know? Time doesn't heal all wounds, it just teaches you to live with them.
A/N: Longest story I've ever written! I feel quite proud.
I don't know what to say after writing that much.
Heh. Just because I'm a geek I made a drabble times twenty-four.
What would you call it?