A Very Private Mourning by InFabula
Disclaimer: these wonderful characters belong to JK: I
just borrowed them for a bit.
Thanks to my beta-reader ivy for all comments!
Deep inside, he made the decision to hold it together
until after Harry had left for the summer holidays. He felt the least helpful thing he could do
was to burden James’s son, already broken-hearted by the loss of his godfather,
with his own pain.
The rest of the Order were solicitous, of course. Somehow, he found it easier to deal with
Molly, distressed, full of remorse about words spoken that could not be
recalled and vocal on his behalf, than he did Tonks, uncharacteristically
silent and withdrawn. It was hardest of
all to keep up the act in front of Dumbledore.
“Remus,” he had said gently. “I’ve been your teacher and your colleague
but I would like to think I am also your friend…”
The brittle façade had nearly given way then but he
had managed to nod and give a quick, tight smile and then leave as quickly as
possible. Adept as he was at hiding his
feelings, he knew he was no master Occlumens.
Snape had offered cold commiserations in the briefest
of conversations where what was left unsaid was a truer reflection of what was
“Good morning, Lupin.”
You half-breed freak, I can’t believe anyone trusts you…
was right - you are an oily git and you
forfeited any personal and professional regard I might have had for you when
you wouldn’t listen to Sirius about Peter.
“Always sad when a sacrifice is made.” I am secretly delighted.
“Indeed.” I know
you’re secretly delighted.
“Still, at least he died doing something he believed
in.” Maybe it’ll be you next.
“I’m sure that’s the way we all hope it will
end.” Maybe it’ll be you next.
He had made it through the scene at King’s Cross with
the Dursleys, wanting to be strong for Harry and to let him know that he would
be there for him, no matter what.
Then, with Dumbledore’s permission, he had come back
here. As he sat on the bed,
recollections of mischief and mayhem flooded through him. This had invariably been the starting point
for high adventure.
He thought back some fourteen years to when his world
had been turned upside down by the news of the murders of Lily, James and Peter
indirectly and directly at the hand of Sirius.
He had grieved then, overwhelmed by shock and weighed down by the guilt
that he had survived. He had cried until
he had no more tears to give. This place had been in his mind as he had
considered how some of his best memories had been irrevocably tainted by
And then, this had been the scene for the revelation:
Peter, alive…alive and responsible for the deaths and the deceit…and Padfoot
restored to him as the true friend he had known.
These past two years had been precious beyond
belief. He had not realised how lonely
he had become, how reluctant he had been to take friendship past the borders of
common politeness and to open his heart, to give of himself, to let anyone come
close to him. Sirius had bounded back
into his life washing away much of the hurt and removing the stark longing to
belong. He had been happy.
It seemed appropriate that he be here now. He had chosen not to take the Wolfsbane
Potion: this month, he wanted the luxury of being able to lose his mind.
He felt the transformation beginning and for once, he
welcomed the physical agony as his body twisted itself into a new but familiar
form. The pain was a reflection of the
grief in his heart.
The Shrieking Shack legend came to life once more as a
lonely wolf spent the night howling at an empty moon.