No One There to Hear

On his first full moon, he cried and screamed for an hour before the moon rose, hoping his parents would come and save him from the dark. There were monsters in the dark. Werewolves, vampires, and nameless bogeymen that wanted to eat him. He was smart, but he was four. No four-year-old can understand that they are about to turn into their worst nightmare. He wailed and bawled and sobbed, but no one came.

Each moon after that, his sobs of fear grew quieter and quieter. By the time he was six, they had stopped entirely as he waited for the moon to rise, alone. His parents left during the moon, so they wouldn't hear him. What was the point of calling for people when no one was there to help?

The first time a friend abandoned him, hated him, tormented him for what he had no control over, he cried for a week. Gangs of children would get together and tease him for always being sick as he attempted to ignore them. He'd go over on the side of the playground in primary school and read, like a good subordinate, and not poke his nose in anyone else's affairs, but it almost seemed to make the cruelest children more determined. When the friends he did get joined the bullies after they found out, he always cried.

But as the dying friendships piled up, he learned to expect it. By the time he got to Hogwarts, he knew not to get attached. If he kept himself at least partially apart from all the other children, especially the ones that wanted to get close, no one could hurt him. What was the point of caring if no one would care back?

Throughout his painful childhood, once a month, he felt the horrible pains of having his bones broken and reformed. Hair forced its way from under his skin, his teeth grew pointed, and his blood boiled as he changed. During the full moon, with a wild beast in his mind, he tore at himself, unable to quench the bloodlust that the wolf felt. He screamed and screamed and screamed, but no one came.

Gradually, his screams turned to half-choked sobs, then to whimpers. By the time the Marauders learned their Animagus forms, the transformation was silent. By the time they could be there with him, he had already stopped yelling in pain. What was the point of screaming if no one was there to hear?

After the Potters' deaths, when people who he had let himself get close to were either dead or in prison for killing those who had died, he turned his face away when the occasional, single tear came. No one saw him cry. They saw him in grief. They saw him looking tired, sad, and tormented, but they never saw tears. The tears stopped coming altogether after a few weeks. When Sirius died, he came close. His voice cracked when he had to tell Harry that Sirius was dead, but not one tear leaked out.

After Dumbledore's funeral, when Tonks was weeping furiously into his shirt, he couldn't find a tear to shed, despite his efforts. Tonks looked up at him, surprised, tears still streaming down her face. She reached up and touched the lines at the corners of his eyes, traced a path where tears should have been falling. "You can't even cry anymore, can you?" she asked, choking on her sobs.

Remus looked over at the white tomb, then bowed his head, a small, sad smile playing around his lips. "What's the point of crying when no one's there to see?"