Rating:
PG
House:
The Dark Arts
Characters:
Remus Lupin Sirius Black
Genres:
Angst Slash
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Order of the Phoenix
Stats:
Published: 12/08/2003
Updated: 12/08/2003
Words: 674
Chapters: 1
Hits: 252

The Last of the Great

evilkari358

Story Summary:
Remus had once had it all. Then he had lost it. So he falls into the depths of the past. Perhaps they shouldn't have, but they did, and time does not stop for those who miss their rides. Recommended listening - Resting Here With Me by Dido. Slight slashy undertones that aren't even there if you don't look for them.
Posted:
12/08/2003
Hits:
252
Author's Note:
My recommended listening for this fic is...Resting Here With Me ~ Dido.

A sigh, released from his lips drifted across the long abandoned bedroom and diffused into the air.

The hippogriff crooned mournfully and Remus, remembering why he was there, began rebandaging Buckbeak's injured foreleg. He slipped slightly, losing his footing on the decrepit, moulding floor. Cursing under his breath at the useless house elf Kreacher, he began to hope that his next transformation would result in Kreacher looking ever so slightly appetising.

Not that he'd ever do it. He had the temperament of a sleeping puffskein.

Finishing the bandaging of Buckbeak and leaving him to sleep in the semi-darkness, Remus began his tired descent of the stairs, looking centuries older than his usually elderly looks were, he slid his hand along the bannister, disturbing decade old dust that flitted past him in entrancing dances as if it'd gotten it's second wind.

But Remus did not notice, his gaze was fixed on the past, almost permanently these days and he, if called upon would probably no longer answer to his own name.

Eventually reaching the bottom of the once noble staircase, Remus wiped his dust smeared hands on his shabbier than ever robes and proceeded to check that the arrogant portraits in the front hallway were still snoring loudly before passing as silently as a pale moonbeam, into the parlour.

He had refrained from sleeping in the bedrooms on the second storey long ago, dreading the possiblility of being overheard by the lighter sleeping, and quick to gossip portraits that resided there.

So here in the parlour, he stretched his pale, almost skeletal form on one of the long dragonhide sofas.

They were obviously bespelled for business and not comfort as Remus found on his fifth rotation in the never ending quest to find a bearable, if not comfortable, sleeping position.

Finally deciding to lay flat on his back, he let out a long heavy breath, and allowed his thoughts to roam where ever they pleased, a practice he prohibited in the daylight hours.

He was the last of the Great. They had once been everything that could be idolised, the great friends, the great achievers, the great good.... for a while anyhow. Until Peter spoke truth. He warned them, paranoid as he was, that it would only bring trouble, the Great blood-pact of theirs. Bloodshed and betrayal were his words. He was not wrong. Bloodshed and betrayal did follow, mere years after their pact was sealed.

As usual in most failures the cause was inevitably greed.

Now Sirius was...gone. The house was in Remus's care, in keeping for Harry. Harry's guardianship had been gifted to Dumbledore, obviously. Although Remus remembered at the time, a feeling of great dissapointment and jealousy had washed through him. He had brushed it aside and immersed himself in the house. After the guardianship ceremony Dumbledore had wasted no time in moving the headquarters away from Grimmauld Place, too many memories Remus suspected, but it didn't explain how everyone had seemed so happy as they had left the house.

No, Remus alone knew why the house sucked in happiness and breathed out depression. It was his curse, as usual. Werewolves are the bringers of turmoil and despair and are seen as even unluckier than Thestrals.

But then of couse the unluckiness of Thestrals was a load of codswallop, whereas the Curse of Despair was something quite different in function and strength. Not to be desired in the least, even upon ones worst enemies.

The house fed upon him now, he felt it. In the place of joy there was now emptiness, so to bide the hours he lived in the past, a place that would have been reassuring if his past had not revolved around him...

Sirius.

Staring blankly up at the peeling, and slightly sagging ceiling, Remus thought he glimpsed in the elaborate shadows, the sillhouette of his lost friend. But blinking, he realised it was not so.

So the tears, unhindered, flowed forth to be lost eternally in the purgatory of the darkness, or so thought their creator.

Fin.