Lupin reflects on the murders of all those who had looked past his condition, and comes to a conclusion. Oneshot. Please R&R.
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Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it.
Last Man Standing
James was dead. Sirius was dead. Peter was as good as dead to him. He was the last Marauder.
Lupin remembered the night that James and Lily were murdered. He remembered it as though it were only yesterday, yet, at the same time, felt an eternity ago.
He'd worried and fretted over what would become of his three friends during the war. The friends that came through for him. The friends that stayed by his side, whether he liked it or not. The friends that were determined to be there for him through thick and thin, no matter what, come what may.
Now they were all gone, they had been cruelly taken one by one. Even Peter. Peter had been taken as far as Lupin was concerned. Taken by the cowardice and selfishness that Lupin wished with all his might that he had seen and taken action against a long time ago.
The first to be taken was James, James and Lily. James was a hunted stag, that could fight the poacher no longer. Lily was the flower she was named for, plucked in her prime.
Then, Sirius was taken. Or, so Lupin thought at the time. He remembered the joyful free bark of the black dog, and how raw the pain of betrayal still felt. He knew it wasn't Sirius who betrayed him, but he had been betrayed no less. By Peter.
Peter was their friend because they pitied him a little. He was quiet and he was shy, he was bullied and he was taunted. For once, James and Sirius took pity on the poor boy.
Poor boy, now that was a phrase that hadn't been applied to Peter in a long time. Lupin reminisced of the small grey rat, of the small, shy boy that the three boys had formed a protective wall around, only to have it smashed from the inside while their backs were turned. Why, why did Peter have to be such a coward? Why did he not persevere through the hard times, and see that his friends would keep him safe?
Then, Sirius was taken again. Only two years, just the two. Two years in which to make up for his lack of trust. He should have apologised at least once more, he knew he would never forgive himself for not trusting Sirius. He felt dirty and callous, the pain shot through his heart like an arrow smothered in guilt.
The indescribable sorrow came flooding back when Dumbledore was murdered. Dumbledore was loved by all, but not many appreciated him quite as much as Lupin, except perhaps from Hagrid and Harry. Dumbledore had looked past the bite to the soul, he was blind to the wound and saw only a young boy who needed an education, and an education, and three wonderful friends, he received.
Lupin's soul felt torn apart. Chunks had been torn out, bit by bit, till only horrifying agony was left.
But there was one who rebuilt his heart as best she could, and her name was Tonks. Like so few had done, like James and Sirius, like Dumbledore, she knew of his lycanthropy and she loved him anyway. He would be eternally grateful, and God help him, he wasn't going to let her go now.
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