DISCLAIMER: Nothing familiar belongs to me. All characters are owned by J.K.Rowling, I'm just messing with them.
Remus sat alone. The fire in front of him was burning low, and the house was quiet. In truth the house was empty except for him. Old friends had died young. He hadn't married, or settled down. There had been women in his life, but it was all a charade. One woman could never make up for what he had lost.
His friends. His family. His comrades. Some had died. Some had lived. And either way, all had gotten on with life after the final battle. Harry had won. Of course he had, he was James and Lily Potter's son. How could anyone expect any less of him?
Harry and his friends were working on having normal lives now. Away from darkness, and death. Remus did not begrudge them that gift. He only wished that he and his friends had had the same chance. The chance to grow old together. To make mistakes, to mess up. Instead they had become old before their time. And died before their time too.
He got up and walked to the window. Grimmauld Place stood before him. The pavement glistened with rain, and there was a haze around the few lamps that tried in vain to brighten street below. In all in was a thoroughly depressing sight. But Remus was in a depressing mood, so it suited him just fine. The night was cold and unwelcoming, he shut himself away once more and let his mind wander.
In truth it was boredom that had led him here. There was nothing left to do now. No more bad guys to hunt to down and defeat. All were underground, literally and metaphorically. The demise of Voldemort felt somehow anti-climactic. He hadn't really expected his friends to come back to him. But maybe, somewhere deep down there had been a nagging hope. That once it was all done with, he could start his life where it had left off when he had been young, with a bright future ahead of him.
He was old now. Much older than he ever thought he would get to be. Live fast, die young seemed to have been his friends' credo. He had thought it was his too. He had lived fast. He had tried to live for the moment. He had just forgotten to die young. And so he would no doubt die alone.
And it wasn't because he was a werewolf.He would die alone because he was the last one left. There was no one left for him in this town. The kids didn't need him around, they were hardly kids anymore. Yet that was how he still thought of them. As children, innocent. Though all of them were far from that now. They had lost their innocence a long time ago. Too soon, too young. Old heads trapped on young bodies. They had seen so much, and done more besides. They had killed, they had loved. And like him, they had lost. All of them had lost someone they cared about, either in this war or theone that had started it all.
That was the shame of it. The wastefulness of war. The lives and loves that had been lost. Had they really been worth one man's belief? One man's greed for power. He knew that the answer was no, but often found himself wondering if the answer had been yes would he feel more comforted? But they had died for something worth dying for. Freedom. That was the thought he clung to when he needed comfort most.
Yet he didn't feel free. If anything he felt more trapped. What use was he now? No one wanted their children taught by a werewolf, no matter what sacrifices he had made for those children's lives. Still an outcast. So what was there to do? There was no enemy anymore, unless one counted prejudice. That was no battle for one old man. Not now. A decade or so beforeperhaps. Now all Remus wanted what was owed him. A life.
And by the very definition he had one. He was free, he was healthy, and he could do what he pleased. It didn't seem enough though. There was always something missing.
The times that he had felt happiest were with people who now lay in cold graves. Remembering those times left him somewhat empty. He couldn't go back, and going forward didn't really appeal to him anymore. So what was left? Nothing.
He got up from the patched armchair and headed downstairs to the kitchen. He made himself a pot of tea and sat down at the kitchen table to weigh up his options. He could go out. Meet new people and make new friends. Although he knew that he would only end up comparing them to the ones he had lost. No one would be as witty or as eloquent as Lily. And no other men could match Sirius and James for cunning and ingenuity. No one could plot like those two. The Weasley twins had come close, but the war had seemingly dampened their lust for mischief. That hope lay with the next generation. And as far as he was concerned no man could match Peter for treachery. He wasn't prepared to meet the man that was willing to try.
So what other option lay before him? Sit around all day and mope, as he had been doing these past few weeks? That too seemed wasteful. He couldn't abide wastefulness, in most forms.
There was one form that appealed occasionally to him however. One that nagged at him night and day. The thought that no one would miss him. That if he slipped quietly away, no one would notice. If anything they would be better without him. One less worry, one less thing to think about. Sirius had always been good at banishing that fear like a Boggart. Sirius wasn't here anymore to do so. The thought was increasingly on his mind.
He'd wake with it fresh in his head. The idea that he would no longer need to endure the same old routine. That it could all just end, in the blink of an eye. He thought about how, and where, and when. But never why. The reasons for this thought never entered into his mind. He'd heard people call it a selfish act. But did they really understand the torment that one goes through when such thoughts enter one's head?
You couldn't understand it unless you had lived it. To most people it was unthinkable. But it had been with him since he was fifteen. And while Sirius had been able to temporarily expel it, the thought still lurked in a dark forgotten part of his mind. Thoughts like that never truly leave a person. Even if one doesn't act upon them, one is constantly reminded. The shame of it is a powerful thing, it often brings the thought bounding back. Above all else it was such a simple thought. That no one wanted nor needed him.
He rose from his place at the table and pulled the cobweb strewn flowerpot from the mantle of the fire. He took a handful of the powder held within and stepped into the fireplace.
"Ministry of Magic, London."
He'd go to Sirius.
The floo network had never been a comfortable means of transport for someone of his stature, all arms and legs bumping against the walls. He stepped as gracefully as he could out at the grate he desired. He headed straight for the elevators and the bowels of the ministry.
A few of the mysteries in the Department of Mystery had long since been cleared up. He made his way to the veil room, the route now well travelled and familiar to him.
Remus descended the stone steps and walked to the dais. He sat down opposite the floating veil. As always it billowed in a non-existent wind, and voices whispered from behind.
"Not now Remus, it's not your time."
Or had he imagined it? Were the words really spoken to him by a once familiar voice?
He got up and approached the veil.
"What if I'm ready?" he asked.
"What if it's not your time?" the reply came.
"Isn't that my decision? If man has a right to life, surely he has a right to death. And the choice of when that should be?"
The soft breezebrushed his face like a caress.
"It's not time." the voice repeated, now softer, more feminine.
"But I'm sick of waiting." he said. "What's left for me?"
"A life." a third voice came.
"Of what? A life of waiting is all that I have left."
"You shouldn't be so impatient. You'll see us one day." the first voice spoke up.
"One day soon?"
"We can't answer that." the voices joined as one, no longer distinct
"But I'm over it. I've had enough. I've seen too much. There's nothing left to say."
"What about the people you'll leave behind? Won't you miss them?"
"Of course I'll miss them. As I've missed you. They don't need me anymore. They have each other."
"Is that enough?"
"You know it is."
"And this is truly what you want?"
"Yes."
"Then come closer."
"I can't see you. Are you there?"
"Just a little closer Remus old friend."
"Should I reach out my hand? Will you pull me through?"
"We don't need to. You'll reach us Remus."
"I'll reach you. Tonight."
And that was it. It was done. He was with the people he loved. That was all that mattered to anyone anymore. Those that he had left behind would understand, he'd written the letter explaining his actions long ago. They would understand.
I could lie and say I don't know where this came from but it's been playing on my mind for sometime. If I was in the same situation I'd probably do the same thing. I don't mean to glammorize suicide, it's just something that I think about. I think it's something everyone thinks about at one time or another. And this is a result of those thoughts.