On All Hallows Eve...

I stand alone in the pouring rain, my shabby robes soaking and stare up at the relentless, unforgiving sky. I am alone. Something I haven't been for twelve years...since I was only a scared boy sitting in an empty compartment aboard the Hogwarts Express, trying to swallow my fears. James, Sirius, and Peter filled up my life; as did Lily and Harry later. But it had been us who had terrorized the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, us who had laughed and joked and stood up for each other. Us who had sworn never-ending loyalty to each other; sworn to never betray our brothers. For that was what we were. Brothers. We were connected by everything except blood.
I shiver slightly and look at the sodden ruins, the familiar red and gold carpet coated with dust and dirt and mud. Lily would've had kittens over that fact. She had loved that ugly rug to death.
Would've.
Had.
Past tenses.
They were gone.
James. The handsome, popular Quidditch Captain, the mischievous Head Boy, the devoted husband who stared at Lily like he could look only at her for the rest of his life, the loving father who took his son on broom rides and cuddled him to his chest. The one who had lived the charmed life. Who had first offered me the hand of friendship, with his rollicking greeting that day on the Express, sitting down next to me, the friendless one, the dork; when he could've sat anywhere else on that train. James was the stupid, senseless, noble one. The one who rushed into situations without a plan, the one who was convinced that he could save the world and still be back for supper.

Lily. The beautiful, bitingly sarcastic and surprisingly tender Head Girl, the curious enigma that perpetually had sorrow in her eyes, that reached out and helped you get up when she had just pushed you down. The one with the laugh that made you go crazy; that made boys fall down before her feet for a glimpse from those dazzling emerald eyes set in that perfect alabaster face. The loving wife who would've died for James, the fiercely protective mother that did die for Harry. The woman who shielded her child with her delicate body, gave her life to spare his. The woman who I think we're all a little bit in love with.

Dead.

Peter. The loyal, pudgy one, the one that never quite fit in, the one that never managed to live up to the brilliance of James and Sirius. The one who had cared too much, the one who had died for Lily and James. The one who had been torn to pieces by a curse, leaving only a tiny digit to be found among the blood and gore.

Gone.

Sirius. The one with the rakish grin, that all the girls threw themselves at him for, that trouble-making glint in his eye, that fierce, determined, confident boy with the box of fragile sugar-quills that never seemed to run out. The one who had confronted me, with that blaze in his grey eyes about his suspicions about my monthly absences. The one who accepted me when I broke down after telling the truth; the one who pressured James and Peter into becoming animagi so I wouldn't have to suffer as much. The one who betrayed us all. The Judas, who gave Jesus away with a kiss.

Locked in Azkaban for life.

Why? Why did you do that Sirius? Why did you give us all away? How did you fling us to the wind, laughing as you did so? Did we really mean so little to you? Were we merely toys, pawns in your great game of life and death? Was the sympathy, the jokes, the love that you gave so freely simply fake? I lash out at the sky.
How did our world, so bright and collected and loving disappear so abruptly in one single night?
The wind whistles around me, dashing away my hopes and angers and tears. Then, for one blessed moment, it is silent and it is still. The eerie white glow of the half moon suddenly lights up the blackened ruins of the house. That stupid rug shines vividly for a moment, and unhesitatingly I walk over and grab it, my throat clogged. I fold it up and tuck it under my arm. Without another glance I walk away, never to look back again.

For I am the last Marauder. And I am alone.

And behind his back, four ghostly images dance across the smoldering outlines of the house; a werewolf, a rat, a stag and a dog, frolicking, for the last time, in the light of the moon.

The End