THE STRANGER
Disclaimer- All rights to J. and Respective Publishers.
SUMMARY: The Dark Lord has fallen. The Wizarding World celebrates the arrival of the Boy Who Lived. Meanwhile, the world of a certain werewolf in a tumble-down cottage has been shattered. The Storm clouds are roaring overhead while Remus Lupin sits, drunk and distraught, mourning the loss of all he held dear; that is when a certain hazel-eyed young man comes knocking.
"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is Death."
- Harry Potter, The Deathly Hallows
It was cold, even for the month of November. The storm outside was still raging; the wind howling its agony into the void. Clouds, laden with grief and darkness, rolled overhead, rushing past as if fleeing from the clutches of the tortured sky.
Rain and sleet hurled themselves against the shattered glass, making the broken windows rattle in their frames. The wind buffeted against the ramshackle cottage- making the derelict walls shudder as if pounded upon by a hundred raging demons.
Inside, perched on a rickety chair, sat a man with his head pressed against his palms, oblivious to the hurricane. A broken bottle of fire-whiskey lay smashed against the floor. Coarse scratches ran along the length of the broken table. A splash of blood, ancient and dry, was visible beneath the grimy windowpanes. Torn shreds of a copy of the Daily Prophet were strewn across the floor. On a scrap of paper were the words, "THE DOWNFALL OF HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED" and below, in smaller lettering "HARRY POTTER- THE BOY WHO LIVED?" A tiny strip showed the Dark Mark; a flickering omen of Death hovering over the ruins of what had been a merry little cottage bustling with life.
Lighting flashed and a moment later, thunder boomed, rattling the house and jerking the man out of his trance. The wind hurled itself against the wrecked walls, causing the run-down, derelict door to burst open.
The chair creaked as the man looked up. The scratches on the table seemed derisory compared to the jagged scars running down the man's face- muted though it was by grief. Shrouded in misery, he had the aura of one who has lost all to Darkness, never to regain light in their eyes or laughter in their hearts.
The wind roared and raged through the cracked doorway like the shrieks of the damned; sleet and rain hurled into the room. Lightning flashed, bathing the swaying trees in white, while thunder boomed like the growl of some terrible beast.
The man let his head fall back down, unfazed and unbothered by the onslaught.
He did not hear the door close with a gentle thud, did not see the dark-haired young man approach. His hand shook slightly, his unseeing eyes empty and expressionless. He was too numb and desolate to care.
"So, you oversize mutt, how have you been?"
A voice- deep and human- made him start. He jerked his head sideways to meet hazel eyes sparkling with mirth; staring through a haze of drink and despair as the familiar features twisted themselves into a mischievous smirk.
The newcomer laughed, rich and loud, as the man blinked deliriously, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.
"I assume you did not expect to see me here, Moony, old friend. But it so happens that I was around, and you looked like you could use some company, so here I am."
Remus stared owlishly at him, as if trying to ascertain whether he was, indeed, real. The man chuckled heartily at his friend's dazed expression, patting his arm with a hand that was surprisingly warm and solid.
"Liven up, mate, you look like you have seen a ghost. Am I that ugly or did you look into a mirror?" He gets no response.
The man's eyes soften below the werewolf's inconsolable gaze, lips pressing into a grim line.
"I know, mate, it is a rough time. A single night has snatched away what all these years together had wrought. The bond of friendship has been broken, the Order has dispersed, and you have been left alone, with nobody to turn to. The Wizarding World is celebrating the downfall of The Dark Lord, while your own world is shattered, and you just can't take it. But please," his voice caught,
"Please don't give up. I can't bear to see you like this." He said, expression turning heartbroken.
Remus could not look, could not see the hurt in the man's eyes. He turned away, at the same time managing a curt nod.
The stranger's face visibly relaxed, although he did not smile.
"Remember when we first met, on those boats on the Great Lake? How I flipped the boat upside down, so we all took a swim with the Giant Squid? All those pranks we pulled on Filch? The time we turned Dumbledore's beard fuchsia?" he chuckled.
"Remember the Full Moons, ol' Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs prancing around in Hogsmeade and the Forbidden Forest? Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks? All those detentions? Raiding the Kitchens?" His face broke into a cocky grin. And somewhere, deep inside, Remus smiled as well.
"And then came Voldemort, The War, The Order of The Pheonix." The man grimaced. "We really grew up in a few months then. All those Deaths, being hunted by Death Eaters, then Voldemort himself… And now this.
"Point is, we have come a long way. But this is not necessarily the end of the road, Remus. You still have… a long way to go. But only if you choose to."
The man gazed intently at the werewolf, but Remus had no words for him. He just shook his head.
The man sighed.
"I can sense your despair." He said. "But know this, not all is as it seems; not all our friends are lost. There is still hope, if you look for it. This may be the last chapter of this era, our era, but it is also the first chapter of a new one, where you still have a crucial part to play. I cannot tell you more than this- more than you already know, deep inside. Just remember, your time will come, and when it does, remember my words."
Remus nodded. "Y-your voice is t-too much like a banshee's to r-remove itself from my mind." He slurred, managing a weak chuckle.
The man's face broke into a grin.
"So you haven't taken leave of your senses! That is good! And speaking of good things; for the time being, Voldemort has fallen, and though he will rise again, the world is at peace on that score... although I still recommend a hair removal potion to deal with that furry little problem you have. "
He got a smile at that, and soon they were both laughing, though not as heartily as of old.
Thunder boomed, and the man rose, wincing.
"I must go soon. But remember- not all is what it seems like. The truth shall be revealed, but only if you can spot the lie. Remember you are a Marauder, above all, and you are not the last one left. The other is in Hell but sane, and you must remain loyal to him- to us- when the time comes. Do you understand?"
"I- I understand." Remus stammered.
The man shook his head sadly, smiling ever so slightly.
"No, you do not. But you will. I just hope that when you do, it will not be too late. Goodbye, Moony, though I will never truly leave you."
And then he was gone.
For several minutes, Remus sat still, brain still too intoxicated to really process what had taken place. But then he leapt up, rushing out of the door.
The crescent moon was a sliver of light in the shadow of the stars that shone in ethereal beauty across the night sky. The sylvan land around his cottage seemed alight in but the glow of darkness, calm and at peace. The sweet fragrance of the last moon-flowers and the slow chirping of the crickets drifted into his ears and nose. All nature was tranquil.
Remus leaned against the door frame, suddenly dizzy. The only relics of the storm and of the man who had come to see him in the middle of the night were the burnished prints formed by his damp boots and the tiny, glistening puddle where he had stood. He stared incredulously at the serene, cloudless sky, disbelief etched into his features.
For James Potter was dead, had died nine days prior, never to return.
Author's Note- So, The Stranger. I really do not know what to say.
It is extremely rushed; James doesn't really have the time to sit and chat, does he? Being dead and all. As for Remus, well, he has just lost his best friends, his old life, all his hopes, dreams and ambitions. Lycanthropy can really mess up a person's life without that additional help. On top of that, he is drunk, what did you expect? As for the warnings- he is referring to Wormtail's betrayal and Sirius's imprisonment.
Where the story itself is concerned... This is really a dream I had. I wrote this while half-asleep.
I have lost my own father recently, and so a lot of my thoughts are about Death. I guess I have been reading rather a lot of ghost stories lately, as well. Maybe this is the result of reading 'In The Tube' by E.F Benson one too many times. I really don't know.
I am an atheist, but I have had personal experiences with the supernatural. Imagination? I don't know.
Deep inside, I believe the Spirit World is not too far away; the lines between the realm of the living and the dead may blur occasionally. That is all I can say.
Reviews are appreciated.
Until next time, this is WolfSpirit signing off.