Dead or Turning Sour

He would always remember

ringing the doorbell and knowing that James would be grinning when he swung open the door. That Lily would say hello with that glowing affection in her eyes- as though she would always, always love the world, no matter what mistakes it made, how cruel it was to her, or how badly it hurt her.

He’d remember the way they never set Harry down. They passed him back and forth all day, even while he slept- and their arms never seemed to tire.

He’d remember how Sirius acted like a dog around James. He didn’t know it, but he might as well have paced around his friend and growled at intruders. He’d remember how his eyes got fiercer when he was in love- like when he was holding Harry- as though he wanted to burn down every evil structure in the world, just so Harry didn’t have to look at any of them.

He’d remember that feeling- Harry in his arms, so tiny and so amazingly warm, and Lily smiling,

"You’d make a great father, Remus."

James agreeing enthusiastically.

It was so... so overwhelming, time-halting, to have that baby look up at him and give that toothless smile. Even if Harry heard the word werewolf, he wouldn’t know. For the first time in 15 years, Remus Lupin felt like he was the only factor in himself, the only part of him that existed. He was a man.

He’d remember saving Peter out of the lake, because Sirius made him go in to get James’ potion book. They popped out and Peter began to laugh immediately, and Remus thought that they were all morons as he handed a cackling James the soggy potions book.

Or sitting in detention, bored out of his mind and guilty as all hell while Sirius and James tried to cheer him up, with Peter chiming along.

"Come on now, Moony. It’s cool. I bet you’re the only prefect ever to get double detention"-

"Padfoot, you aren’t helping," James gave him a shove.

"Yeah." (That was Peter).

But now James and Sirius were laughing and wrestling, spilling all the papers they’d just sorted.

He wanted so badly to be mad at them, but their laughter was contagious, especially together.

He’d always remember Sirius crying at the wedding, and dancing with Lily, and fighting not to chase after the limo like an excited puppy when they left for their honeymoon.

"Well, Moony; I guess we’d better get hitched too. Looks like fun, doesn’t it?"

"It does."

"Well, then. You wanna marry me?"

Remus laughed hollowly. "Right, ‘course I do."

And they shook hands on it.

Remus knew that he knew- maybe Sirius knew too- there’d be no happily ever after for either of them. They weren’t "the marrying type". So they went to the pub instead.

He’d always remember Peter’s funeral.

How brave Peter has seemed that day. How pure. And how good it felt, really, to see him as a courageous man- as if it cured every failure of his youth.

And how horrible, to find that it was all wrong.

He’d always remember lying under the beech tree on the grounds at Hogwarts, all of them leaning on the tree and on each other. Or everyone piled into his bed, pulling him awake too early. Sirius with enough excitement to make Remus exhausted just at the sight of him, James with his glasses askew smiling tiredly and babbling about some dream he’d had with Lily in it; and Peter nodding and laughing and bouncing enthusiastically, still clutching his invisible teddy bear (invisible thanks to some help from James) under his arm.

He felt so much like he belonged, and he loved every one of them so much in those moments that his chest felt as though it would burst. These were the times that held him back when they disgusted him or disappointed him. This is why he didn’t tell on them, why he couldn’t make himself ditch them- because they knew everything about him, and they made his scars feel like marks of valor, and they made his creaking bones seem like signs of strength, and they made his grey hairs seem like something to be proud of.

It seemed as though his entire life was dead now. With Sirius, died living proof of nearly all his memories- all his good memories. It was as though his past existed only in his own mind, and once the accuracy of that changed, his past (and other people’s perception of his past) would change along with it.

But then there was that feeling- the feeling when suddenly the smile fell from Nymphadora’s face, and he realized he’d stopped smiling himself. That was the moment when he realized how miserably he’d failed, and that he was in fact mad about her, and she about him. That feeling as his heart pounded like a teenager’s, the petrifying horror that filled him as he felt how devastatingly glorious another human’s lips felt on his own.

It was in that moment that he forgot himself. It felt as though his past were gone- it even felt as if he had a future- more of a future than a past, even. That was only for a moment, though, before his mind came rushing back to him and he realized that everything he was, was dead or turning sour, and everything she was, was young and blooming,

and he pulled away

pale as a sheet, and told her stricken face that he was sorry, he’d forgotten himself, this was a foolish thing to do, and other streams of reasoning nonsense which he could not comprehend while she looked at him that way.

He’d store it away with the feel of James’s head on his shoulder, Lily’s arms around him, Sirius’s elbow in his ribs.

He’d always remember;

only remember;

that was all.