Song of the Wanderer

And there he walked along that dusty road, shunned once again from any kind of solace that he hoped to find where he once was. Just when he thought he'd had everything well in hand. Just when he thought that he was safe. Just when he thought that things could be normal for him for just once in his life... Something happened. And he was wrong.

And so he walked on the road, kicking up dust as he drags his feet along the ground. He's leaving again, as he always seems to be leaving somewhere. The sun was just rising, the sky grey-ish blue. And all the stars were gone...

But there were really only a few stars he cared about.

He sighed then, reshouldering the heavy load on his back, wishing for the solace he now knows he is just not meant to have. Wishing for a place to rest his feet with people who will accept him. People that cared for him. People that loved him. People he would gladly spend the rest of his live with. All those stars...

But all the stars were gone.

And so he walks on that road, walking slowly for he doesn't really want to leave, but he knows me must. And he hums the tune under his breath, trying to whistle and failing when the notes fall too flat or fly too sharply. But hitting them right on when he hums... And he remembered the first time he heard this tune. On Scottish bagpipes playing from a phonograph, and at the time he would have liked nothing more than to crack the Scottish record over the Scottish boy's head just to make it stop... But as he grew to love the boy, so he grew to love the song. And so he grew to learn it...

He could see the sheet music that he'd found in some dark corner of his friends house as he walked. He could see it as plain as day... The paper was old and felt like it would crumble in his hands. The black ink was faded and almost grey as grey as the sky above him. He couldn't read the words that went with it, or at least not while understanding them, for the words were in Gaelic. And he did not know the language...

But as his friend had taught him the song, so he had taught him the language.

His friend... All of his friends... All of them had taught him so much in so short a time. So very, very short amount of time...

And he saw that music again for a moment... And he could hear it in his head, bagpipes playing and voices singing jubilantly. There was the sound of another man laughing lightly, his giggles blending in with those of his son. The sound of another man, trying to hit the notes, and failing for while he was loved by all, he had never really been talented at anything. And the all too familiar sound of a woman chastising the lot of them for being too drunk to even stand.

It had been one of the greatest nights of his life. There had been no grandiose adventure or daring mission or dangerous experience... They had just gotten together as a family. That was all they had done. And they had sung that song.

And then he heard it again... The sound of someone singing...

Or was it the sound of betrayal?

The sound of someone trying to sing...

Or was it the sound of begging where there was no mercy to found?

The sound of a man and his boy laughing...

Or were they screaming?

Angry, yet gentle words...

Or anguished tears?

And all the while he just sat there among them... As the laughed or screamed, cried or spoke. And he did nothing. Granted, maybe he had not been able to do a thing... But he did not even notice as their blood fell onto the sheet music, making the note heads stand out for the first time in years.

He had never noticed... He had heard it all. All of the warning signs. the distance. The temper, hotter and harder to control than usual. The unexplained absences. He'd seen it all...

But he still never saw it coming.

He wanted to scream out to the heavens, hoping that that man, that traitor heard him. He wanted to as why. He wanted to demand an explanation. He wanted o kick him and hit him and beat him and make him bleed so that he couldn't see, for he, himself, would be unable to see through all the anguished tears. He wanted to curse him. He wanted to kill him. And he wanted that Scottish man to say that none of it was true. That it was all a lie. That the man and his son were just off laughing somewhere while the woman looked on, teasing gently. And that the man who could not sing was still hitting sour notes.

But he knew he would hear silence.

So instead of screaming like he wanted to. Instead of crying like he wanted to. Instead of kicking the ground beneath him and pretending it was the Scottish man's head. And instead of doing anything...

He kept walking down the road.

He was silent.

And from then on, Remus Lupin wandered...

Alone.

And in silence.