TM Prompt 3 - Is there ever a good reason to get blinding drunk?
Remus Lupin does not like to lose control of himself. He doesn't tend to rage, to weep, to get utterly pissed in a bar full of strangers.
He has done the first two already, and he is working on the third.
The Hog's Head is loud tonight. None of the tense silence, the wary stares, the huddled secrecy that is its trademark. People are celebrating, clinking their dirty glasses together, singing and shouting and grinning.
He would like to. He would like to raise his glass and shout to the world that Voldemort - no, he hasn't been scared to say that name for a long time - is dead. They've fought for so long, and now it's finally over.
He cannot. He can focus only on who else lost their lives that night.
He finds himself wondering, as he raises a third glass to his lips, how it played out. Did they have time to fight back? Did James or Lily manage to injure him before he set his sights on their child? He knows they died protecting Harry, protecting each other.
The Boy Who Lived who will Live an orphan.
Then, naturally, his thoughts stray, because the images burn too much to touch for long. To Wormtail - to Peter, shy, nervous, bumbling Peter - confronting the traitor, and dying needlessly with a dozen other innocents.
He can't bear to think his name. Can't bear to wonder why. They were supposed to be friends, the best of friends and now…now it's over, irretrievable.
He knew he would lose people in this war. He remembers hearing that Edgar and his family were slaughtered. He remembers Caradoc vanishing and slowly losing hope that he would return. He remembers aiding the search for what was left of Benjy's body. He remembers Gideon and Fabian dying together, Marlene murdered with her family, Dorcas killed personally by Voldemort. He remembers helping his parents into hiding and never quite losing that creeping dread.
He was prepared to give his life for it. Several times, he almost did. He has so many more scars now, so many more nightmares, but he's dealt with both since he was a child.
He never expected to be the last Marauder.
He has done the first two already, and he is working on the third.
The Hog's Head is loud tonight. None of the tense silence, the wary stares, the huddled secrecy that is its trademark. People are celebrating, clinking their dirty glasses together, singing and shouting and grinning.
He would like to. He would like to raise his glass and shout to the world that Voldemort - no, he hasn't been scared to say that name for a long time - is dead. They've fought for so long, and now it's finally over.
He cannot. He can focus only on who else lost their lives that night.
He finds himself wondering, as he raises a third glass to his lips, how it played out. Did they have time to fight back? Did James or Lily manage to injure him before he set his sights on their child? He knows they died protecting Harry, protecting each other.
The Boy Who Lived who will Live an orphan.
Then, naturally, his thoughts stray, because the images burn too much to touch for long. To Wormtail - to Peter, shy, nervous, bumbling Peter - confronting the traitor, and dying needlessly with a dozen other innocents.
He can't bear to think his name. Can't bear to wonder why. They were supposed to be friends, the best of friends and now…now it's over, irretrievable.
He knew he would lose people in this war. He remembers hearing that Edgar and his family were slaughtered. He remembers Caradoc vanishing and slowly losing hope that he would return. He remembers aiding the search for what was left of Benjy's body. He remembers Gideon and Fabian dying together, Marlene murdered with her family, Dorcas killed personally by Voldemort. He remembers helping his parents into hiding and never quite losing that creeping dread.
He was prepared to give his life for it. Several times, he almost did. He has so many more scars now, so many more nightmares, but he's dealt with both since he was a child.
He never expected to be the last Marauder.