The Last One

This fic is for all of you who were disappointed by the way Sirius' death was portrayed. I hated reading only about Harry's emotions, it made Sirius' death look less... noble? Nobody really paid him an homage, so that's what I wanted to do here.

Remus went through it all in a daze. Holding Harry back, taking care of the Deatheaters, listening to Kingsley telling Dumbledore, his barytone voice deeper than usual with grief, watching the children being tended to, mechanically answering the questions Fudge asked him without even feeling any hate or anger for the man anymore...

Lucius Malfoy had stopped sneering once he was caught, silent for the first time, nothing would make him speak. But he did not need to say anything to make his contempt felt, to make his faith in his master known. It shone in his eyes.

Ginny had limped to Remus with her brown eyes full to the brim with tears, and she had clung to him as she cried. He had put his arms around her and whispered words he could not recollect, meaningless words in any case. He wondered whether they had held any meaning to the young girl.

Remus had disentangled himself from Ginny and taken Tonks to St Mungo’s. He had let the Healers take care of her without wasting any energy worrying about her. It was not that he did not care about her, no. It was that his emotions were blocked. He was unable to get in touch with his feelings, nor did he want to. He had left when Kingsley had come to watch over her and had headed back to headquarters.

And he had told Molly.

It had been heartbreaking. The intensity of her grief had only ever been matched by that of her frequent disagreements with Sirius. Bill had arrived soon afterwards, quickly followed by Fred and George. Remus had never seen them so serious. Not a twinkle in their eyes, not a twitch to their lips, not a single attempt to lighten the mood. They had looked so lost.

When Arthur had arrived, Remus had left them alone. He knew that members of the Order would be filing in, and he did not want to see them. Or rather, he did not want them to see him. He felt awkwardly detached from everything as he made his way to his flat, a couple of blocks away. Depressed, yes, but detached.

It did not catch up with him until a good ten minutes after he had stepped into the flat. It did not catch up with him until his eyes rested on that old photograph of his.

The four Marauders were looking as young and happy as ever. James was whispering something in Sirius’s ear. The latter was harbouring his trademark smirk, the one you learnt to distrust quickly enough. Peter was looking at them with his usual admiring little smile, while Remus looked a mix of gentle desapprobation and sheer amusement as he shook his head at them. They had been seventeen, in their last year. James’s mother had insisted on taking that picture. She had died less than a year later.

James. Sirius. Peter. Remus.

Prongs, Padfoot, Wormtail, Moony.

Remus sank onto his couch, holding the framed picture in trembling hands. It was all catching up with him. Tears trickled onto the picture and James and Sirius immediately made as if to wipe them away, grinning goofily.

Remus looked away, then tilted his head backwards as he let the photograph slip from his hands to the floor. He closed his eyes and tried to take control of his body. He failed.

The last one.

He was the last one.

Remus stood up abruptly and strode into the kitchen, fumbling in the cupboards for the bottle of firewhisky he had never even touched, a gift of Minerva’s for his position as DADA teacher over two years ago. He poured himself a glass, downed it and choked. The burn that ran down from his mouth to his stomach was of no consequence, though.

The last one.

Prongs had been gone for long. Padfoot - Wormtail. Had Wormtail even ever existed, had the small man ever felt such a thing as friendship instead of envy and fascination, had he ever been a true Marauder? For all it was worth, Peter had renounced that title sixteen years ago.

Remus deliberately forced himself to let go of the empty glass he was now gripping so tight he might break it. He stared at his stretched hand for a while.

Padfoot. His arrogance had been his loss. Remus could have bet on it. The fact that people could never help loving the endearing bastard had not helped, and now, there it was. He had been forced to live his last year as well as imprisoned, alone for the most part but for the unpleasant company of a mad house-elf and a portrait of his ever-so-loving mother. And it all came to nothing.

Remus was too tired to think on what could have happened to lead to this night’s event, to think on the causes of his - of his death.

Dead. Yes, he had told Harry so. Sirius Black was dead. Padfoot was dead.

A few more tears ran down Remus’s face before he shuffled back into the living room. He picked up the picture and stood there, staring at it.

Bellatrix Lestrange. Her face flashed in his mind, but his hatred for her was not extraordinary. It was strong, vivid, pulsing, but nothing compared to -

Compared to what he felt for Wormtail.

To what he felt for himself.

They had had him. Two years ago. They could have - but they didn’t, because of Harry, and then - Snape. But they had had him, and everything had gone horribly wrong because he, Remus, had forgotten to take his potion.

And the price to pay had been Padfoot’s life.

And earlier this night, Remus had too quickly dismissed the idea of hexing Sirius unconcious, so he would not risk exposure, and this - why? Because Remus had longed to fight at his side again, surely the two of them had to be better than just him, even if they weren’t four. And for this...

For this, the price to pay had been Padfoot’s life.

Remus’s stomach contracted sharply and he found himself on all fours, vomiting on the carpet. He sat up and leaned back against the couch, panting. The acrid smell could not give him more of a nausea than his self-loathing. He could have prevented it, he should have prevented it, why the hell hadn’t he prevented it!

His eyes came to rest on the picture that had once again fallen to the floor. He did not pick it up, just stared at the happy faces. They didn’t have a clue, did they. Did Peter have? Was it already in him, or did something happen later to make him -

He had betrayed them. They had sworn, they had fought, they had plotted, they had devised, they had laughed, joked, feared, dared, they had done everything together, and Peter had turned them against each other, Peter had betrayed them.

And Remus had allowed Sirius to die.

Another wave of grief hit him hard and his voice squeaked jarringly as a sob pushed past his lips, wracking his body. He brought a hand to his mouth and bit on it, hard, trying to overcome his emotional agony with physical pain.

He gave up on his attempt when he smelled blood and let the sobs come, hoping they would take away this feeling in his chest, as if it would implode, as if his lungs were contracting, shrinking, collapsing, never to let him breathe freely again -

He started as someone Apparated in the living room.

George Weasley looked even more at a loss than he had some half an hour ago, as he took in his surroundings. His eyes lingered on the stained carpet for a few seconds, then came to rest on Remus.

“Mum says you should come back, you shouldn’t stay alone.”

The surprise had effectively stopped Remus’s sobs. His lips stretched slightly into a bitter smile as he wiped his tears away. “I reckon Padfoot would have known what to answer about Molly minding her own business. I never had his gift with language.”

George frowned. “Did you say Padfoot?”

The shadow of a smile disappeared. “Yes. We were -” he waved in the direction of the photograph, “- we were the Marauders.”

“Blimey,” George said under his breath as he picked up the picture. “That’s Harry’s dad, innit?”

Remus was staring off into space as he nodded.

“Who’s the short bloke?”

Remus focused his eyes on George with much effort. “Peter. Peter Pettigrew. He was Wormtail.”

George looked awestruck. Remus looked away again. “The four of you - Moony, of course, and Padfoot, makes sense. Then Prongs would be...” George trailed off. “You were like gods to us.”

Remus looked up at him, surprised at the anger in his voice.

“Why did you never tell us? We worshipped him along with the rest of you!”

Oh. Wormtail. Yes. The twins had been told of what Peter had done, obviously, to clear up Sirius in their minds, but neither Sirius nor Remus had ever mentioned they were the Marauders. He did not quite know why, and was rather surprised nobody else had let the cat out of the bag. They had probably wanted to remain such an ideal in the twins’ minds. It felt good, sometimes, to overhear the two of them refer to the Marauders with such obvious, untainted admiration.

“I do not suppose we were ready to admit how much of a fraud we had been.”

This answer did not seem to satisfy George, who frowned, then sighed, wiping a hand over his face in disbelief.

Silence settled between the two of them. George was still staring at the picture. He did not look so bewildered as pained now. He must have thought he had only lost Sirius, when in fact he had also lost Padfoot. Not to mention Wormtail, Prongs, and Moony.

Because, how could Remus live up to his expectation about Moony?

“You’re the last one then.” Remus looked up sharply. “You’re the last true Marauder.”

Some form of relief and renewed agony mixed and wound up in his chest. “Yes. I am.”

George nodded, his eyes shining with determination. He whipped his wand out and cleaned the carpet, then pocketted it and turned to Remus, extending his hand to him.

“Let’s go back to headquarters.”

Remus stared at the outstretched hand for a few seconds, then up into George’s face. He clasped his own hand on George’s arm and stood up. He could now feel the bite on his hand prickle.

“Let’s go back.” Remus paused for a split second as he held the redhead’s gaze and something dawned on him, quite unexpectedly. “On second thought, I might not be the last Marauder.”

George seemed confused for an instant, then gratitude shone in his eyes. “We’ll keep the spirit alive.”

“You do that.” Remus smiled faintly.

They unclasped their arms and Disapparated.

~~ the end ~~