Categories > Books > Harry Potter
Remus was sitting with Dumbledore having a cup of tea. It was the middle of the night, not that Remus noticed any more. He hadn't slept in four days. His eyes were red and bloodshot and his face looked even more haggard than it had... before.
His long silvering hair fell down around his face. He had sat for two days in silence in front of Mrs. Black's painting, listening to her scream at him, at the whole world for eternity, and screamed back. Cursing at her, pretending she was Sirius. Yelling at Sirius for doing something so stupid, for being so willful, for dying so many times. For tearing his heart apart.
On the second day he broke down - remembering.
He had cried all of the third day.
On the fourth day Dumbledore arrived, alone, and Remus didn't bother to clean himself up.
Remus remembered the nights after James and Lily died and the delayed horror that fell onto him when Sirius was convicted. He had been the only one left, then. There had been a question he had placed to Dumbledore then.
"Is it really worth it, in the end?"
His tired, dead eyes rose to rest on Dumbledore's face.
"You know I can't answer that," he answered slowly.
Remus saw the pity on his face and hunched even further over his mug.
"Why can't I just die?" his voice broke as the terrible tears stung his eyes once again.
"Over and over... It never goes away. I never heal..."
"Harry's still here."
Remus ran his hands over his face, feeling the scars and wrinkles that had come all too early.
He made a coughing laugh.
"Yes, I guess he is. The boy who lived and the man who won't die... James and Sirius always lived and Lily had so much she wanted to do and change... All I did was survive and go along with it..."
Dumbledore reached across the table and touched Remus' hand.
"How do you do it?" Remus said suddenly, shaking but not crying. "How do you deal with all this crap just sitting there on your shoulders?"
"I have no choice," Dumbledore said softly. "If not me, then someone else. I would rather it be me. Wouldn't you make the same choice?"
"Yes," Remus whispered. "Every time."
"So just keep going," Dumbledore said gently. "Just wait untill the end and be the one who still remembers. Don't feel bad for surviving, Remus. Don't give up on love."
Remus pushed his mug out of the way as he folded his arms and rested his head on them, burying his face in the tattered robes.
"No," he mumbled. "I can't. I have to stay and do something..."
Dumbledore stood and rested one hand on Remus' head, a look of profound sorrow on his face even as he made a motion as if to bless the warewolf under his care.
"The others will be coming back here soon. Try and help Harry. Do what you can. Survive, Remus."
Once Dumbledore had gone, Remus, the last of the Marauders, closed his eyes and sobbed himself to sleep in the ancestoral home of his pureblood lover, best friend, godfather of his other best friend's child, dead all too early, with too much will to live.
His long silvering hair fell down around his face. He had sat for two days in silence in front of Mrs. Black's painting, listening to her scream at him, at the whole world for eternity, and screamed back. Cursing at her, pretending she was Sirius. Yelling at Sirius for doing something so stupid, for being so willful, for dying so many times. For tearing his heart apart.
On the second day he broke down - remembering.
He had cried all of the third day.
On the fourth day Dumbledore arrived, alone, and Remus didn't bother to clean himself up.
Remus remembered the nights after James and Lily died and the delayed horror that fell onto him when Sirius was convicted. He had been the only one left, then. There had been a question he had placed to Dumbledore then.
"Is it really worth it, in the end?"
His tired, dead eyes rose to rest on Dumbledore's face.
"You know I can't answer that," he answered slowly.
Remus saw the pity on his face and hunched even further over his mug.
"Why can't I just die?" his voice broke as the terrible tears stung his eyes once again.
"Over and over... It never goes away. I never heal..."
"Harry's still here."
Remus ran his hands over his face, feeling the scars and wrinkles that had come all too early.
He made a coughing laugh.
"Yes, I guess he is. The boy who lived and the man who won't die... James and Sirius always lived and Lily had so much she wanted to do and change... All I did was survive and go along with it..."
Dumbledore reached across the table and touched Remus' hand.
"How do you do it?" Remus said suddenly, shaking but not crying. "How do you deal with all this crap just sitting there on your shoulders?"
"I have no choice," Dumbledore said softly. "If not me, then someone else. I would rather it be me. Wouldn't you make the same choice?"
"Yes," Remus whispered. "Every time."
"So just keep going," Dumbledore said gently. "Just wait untill the end and be the one who still remembers. Don't feel bad for surviving, Remus. Don't give up on love."
Remus pushed his mug out of the way as he folded his arms and rested his head on them, burying his face in the tattered robes.
"No," he mumbled. "I can't. I have to stay and do something..."
Dumbledore stood and rested one hand on Remus' head, a look of profound sorrow on his face even as he made a motion as if to bless the warewolf under his care.
"The others will be coming back here soon. Try and help Harry. Do what you can. Survive, Remus."
Once Dumbledore had gone, Remus, the last of the Marauders, closed his eyes and sobbed himself to sleep in the ancestoral home of his pureblood lover, best friend, godfather of his other best friend's child, dead all too early, with too much will to live.
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