The Photograph

Memory is a man's real possession...In nothing else is he rich, in nothing else is he poor.

-Alexander Smith

The Photograph

Prologue

-The Old Place

Memories can be amazing things. The past can shape our future in the most distinctive of ways. The memories that I treasure the most are of the years when I attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In my final year I found so much, but most of all I found acceptance deeper than I could ever have wished for.

I, Remus John Lupin, will always remember the past and the days we spent at the old place. Days of carefree laughter, weeks of planning, nights of ancient rituals and moments of passion fill these memoirs of a time long gone. It was winter 1978 when we first discovered the clearing. Deep in the Forbidden Forest lay our secret area. The sun shone brightly through the canopy of protecting fresh leaves and upon the ground, where scatterings of wildflowers grew in their bold colourful masses like beacons of hope in an otherwise dark and faded world.

Long ago we built a small cabin. It only had four small rooms in total, but it became our safe haven from the world. It was a place where we could live freely and in acceptance, which was something that we wouldn't always find in the real world. Worries faded away and together we learnt who we could be. We had a moment and for that moment we had each other.

The golden days were made of three essential things: hope, laughter and love. It was only with these three ingredients that we could learn to truly live. Unfortunately all good things came to an end far too quickly. Hope, laughter and love were killed because the real world closed in. And then our days became corrupted.

When the vicious fire hit the Old Place it knew devastation for the first time. It ripped at the heart of the wooden cabin. I will never know for sure what started it. Perhaps the derelict cabin burnt with loneliness and betrayal, rather like a symbolic reference to the way I felt. The flames licked at it, eating it away like the past was nothing. All that remained were just the burnt embers of a ruined day.

Maybe it understood our failings and sought to remove any memories of the good days. Our failings would be passed on to the new generation. They would be tainted from birth through our mistakes. It means they would be doomed to eventually fail; it is fate.

Dust settled upon the charred ashes over the years that passed. Once days of glory lit the small cabin, but it all burnt away with the darkening of the days. The floorboards are loose and there is a serious danger of collapsing at even the slightest application of weight. No longer would my safe haven hold me. Windows that once sparkled as they let in the light, which guided us through the day, now are cracked and grimy. No longer does the light shine through. It became dark. Everything is so dark.

I look around at my surroundings that look so familiar and yet so alien. The memories of a time I cannot forget flood back. The happiest time of my life hurts the most. Its ghostlike presence stays with me, as a representation of what has been lost. It stays with me, showing the mistakes and failings of my generation everyday. The hope was false and when the reality hit we didn't have a chance in hell of living in the lives we had built and so we handled it in the way we thought best. If only I had the insight I do now back then. We are the reason that the three men stand in this room with me.

Four founded Hogwarts, and it was doomed by the same four: Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff. Each had different ideas, each led a new war. The starting points of a new hope-- but with it came a new division. For yes, even from the very day that the school was created it had already been divided, a division that cursed it from that day forth.

Perhaps the division was destiny. Maybe the students would've naturally divided that way, but we'll never know. Prejudice spun from each of the four corners, and competition arose to be the best. This competition became bloodier with every day it continued. The founders long gone would turn in their graves to see this innocent division's transformation to a full-scale war, which will end the world as we know it.

In the small room with the burnt ashes, an uncomfortable feeling stirs. Standing in the ashes were two Gryffindors and two Slytherins. In the golden days I barely acknowledged the divisions inside the cabin. However, the day had come that the division was brought inside. It was the division of hatred that we had managed to weave into our children.

The men that accompany me consider themselves enemies. They are filled with hatred so deep that slowly they are destroying themselves and each other. The Slytherin Prince and the Gryffindor Chosen One stand side by side in the cabin. They fight on opposite sides and yet they were both pushed into this war from birth. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter are complete polar opposites. They have been brought up into the same world, in completely different ways.

The third person in the room is also a Slytherin: Blaise Zabini. He was once a friend of Draco Malfoy's; however in his refusal to join the Dark Lord he etched out his path in life. Friendships that he had made in school now counted for nothing. He is hated like a Gryffindor and so he floats around alone. He can find no acceptance on either side. His Slytherin friends have deserted him and he is too Slytherin for any other house to accept.

It is heart-rending to see the divisions that have been made. Unity died a long time ago. It died along with the purity of a promise. Broken vows are left in its bloody wake.

Three men form this circle along with me. I call them men for they have no other name. They have experienced the darkness of life more than some adults double their age would ever expect to encounter. Yet they are barely men; at seventeen years of age the title only just does them justice. They are far older than any child should ever be. I call them children because that's what they should be. They were never really given the chance to be children or to be free. This is an age where we all live in chains. Chained to a war we will die for whether we choose to or not.

The days are dark. Friend can become foe overnight. Everything is wrong and it feels as though nothing could ever be right, just or pure again. The flames that licked this building burnt nearly everything of the past. Some reminders remain though, like the photograph lying innocently upon the dusty floorboards. Its picture is still as perfect as the day it was taken.

On the burnt ashes lies a photograph untouched by the fire; it had been placed there years after. I can only guess by whom. The figures wave in recognition as they see me. The smiles never fade from their faces. I prefer to remember everyone that way, smiling and happy.

There is so much hate that the happiness of the moving images seems strange So many years have passed since the carefree days that I have forgotten what it feels like to be truly free, to be able to love without wondering whether you'll be alive tomorrow

I feel three pairs of eyes burning with anger at me: silver blue, emerald green and chocolate brown. They all have their mothers' eyes. I am uncomfortable because they want to know about the past. I tried to bury my past, but it has come back to haunt me. Perhaps they can learn from our mistakes. I doubt it very much, though, because hope is long gone.

"Remus, what is the meaning of this?" Harry finally says. The hurt of yet another lie is evident in his voice. I feel sorry for all he has been through and what he is sure to go through.

"What do you want me to say?" I ask weakly, and both Slytherins gaze at me in confusion.

With his eyelids fluttered shut, he looks so much like James. He says in a crisp and clear voice, which leaves no room for argument, "How about the truth this time?"

I lower my eyes and take a deep breath. It is time for them all to know the truth, whatever consequences it will result in. They all look at me expectantly. I begin to speak. My tone is low and sombre and their faces are troubled and far older than they should have been.

"Your parents were so much more than you understand."

I never believed in fate anyway.