Despair and Hope

Remus couldn't recall ever feeling this miserable. All three of his best friends were gone--had been gone for four years. He 'd known about it, but he'd simply been sinking further and further into depression.

James he'd understood. James had died defending Harry and Lily. Remus always knew that James would do that. He'd have given his life for any of his friends--indeed, he nearly had given his life to save Remus's once, and he'd nearly given his life for Snape's as well. He could at least excuse what had happened.

Peter had tried to go after their betrayer himself. It was a feat of bravery Remus never would have attributed to the fat, tagalong young man who had always tailed after them in his school days. But then, he was a Gryffindor. He had to be brave deep down inside. Still, Remus had never expected him to actually throw away his life in a foolhardy move such as that, especially considering how hopeless he was at duelling. Remus would have done the same thing, he supposed, except for two things. Number one, it had been too close to the full moon and he had been feeling weak and ill. Number two was the identity of the betrayer.

Sirius had turned James and Lily over to Voldemort. Remus still couldn't puzzle that one out. Sirius had goofed around a lot, he had been rambunctious and impulsive, but he would have died rather than betray any of them. Sirius was like James's brother, like Remus's brother. And in the end, he had handed the Potters over to Voldemort as though their friendship had meant nothing. He had killed Peter as easily as he used to pull practical jokes on Snape. What would he have done to Remus, had he had the time? Silver poisoning, no doubt. Sirius knew exactly what strings to pull to destroy all three of them--they had been so close. To this day, it hurt Remus to think of his best friend as a betrayer, a murderer.

Remus was tired of it all. Tired of falling asleep to nightmares about Halloween, tired of waking up in a cold sweat thinking about it all, tired of forgetting even for a second and having to remember in a rush. Tired of the pain. In that instant, huddled on the curb, dressed in rags nowhere near warm enough for the cold night, jobless, penniless, helpless, hopeless, Remus decided to end it all. He had nothing left to live for. There was no good in the world anymore.

"Hello."

The little voice startled Remus out of his thoughts. He looked up and saw a small boy, a boy with big, wistful green eyes behind oversized black round glasses, obviously thin and, if not maltreated, at least not given all the attention he needed. "Hello," Remus replied tentatively.

The boy held out something. "Here. I want you to have this."

Remus accepted whatever it was. It was small, cold, and sort of round.

The little boy gave him a sudden smile. It was as bright as the August sun, warm and bright and wonderful. It transformed his whole face, making him look almost as though he belonged to another world. A sharp, harsh voice broke over the two. The boy turned. "I have to go," he said quickly. "Good luck. I hope you feel better soon." He turned and ran.

Remus watched the little boy run, stumbling in oversized clothes, then looked down at what the boy had given him. It was a fifty-pence piece. Not much money by any standards--he could maybe buy a sweet or something--but it awakened a new hope inside of him. The money, and the memory of that little boy's bright, sunny smile, gave him the heart to start again. Maybe he could work it all out. Maybe everything would be okay.

Remus stood up, clutching the money tightly in his fist, and headed with purposeful strides to London. Somewhere, somewhere there had to be a job for him. He could do it. The little boy's smile had told him so.