"Existing In The Past Tense"
Rating: T, for strong issues and extreme angst.
DISCLAIMER: This story is fictional – that's F-I-C-T-I-O-N. It never happened, and is not real. It is the product of my own imagination. It contains descriptions of male slash (that's male/male homosexual relations). If you do not like this type of content, or if you find homosexuality or its practice offensive, please click the "Back" button or close your Internet browser NOW, and do not read any further. All characters and copyrights are owned by J.K Rowling and Warner Brothers™ (AOL Time Warner), but this story is owned by me and is all my own work.
Drabble: Word count 250.
The bleak, blank nothingness closes in all around him. Choking him. Suffocating him in its oppressive permanence, constantly reminding him that he is the only one. The only one left, with nobody to carry on in his wake.
The Marauders. Once a name spoken of with admiration, affection and endearment; now a name spoken of in the past tense. James – dead. Lily – dead. Peter – the Peter he knows died the very moment he went over to Voldemort's side and became Wormtail on a full-time basis. And Sirius… Falling through the silent, secret veil; a physical metaphor of the very concept of death itself – beyond his grasp, and him powerless to do anything. Capable of doing nothing but stop Harry from following.
The werewolf is screaming now, howling into the lonely night sky. The grief bears down on him, crushing him, until every inch of him burns with pain. He clasps his head in his hands and weeps. Long overdue tears trail down his face, burning like acid on wax. All his fear and pain pour from his soul, finally allowed time to escape now that the meddling acquaintances have all gone away and he is left to his own devices. Left to grieve and mourn. Left to pine for his friends who are no longer.
The Marauders are no more. How could they be any more? After all, how can one single man be the lone representative of a group which is, and always has been, very firmly a plural?