The Elements Of Loss - Chapter One: Wind
Fading sunlight crept across stone, slowly retreating from the corridor as Remus stood, chagrined, watching the sun sink behind distant hills. How many times had they chased that horizon before James and Lily had died? How many moonlit gallivants had been attended when they'd failed to catch it? He'd been a fool back then, a willfully ignorant fool. In the end, he wondered how it could be that Severus had been the one to sum up their relationship best: "A pack of flea-bitten fools, playing at a game of follow the leader."
Remus had often wondered what would happen when they parted ways...willfully ignorant, but not entirely blinded to reality. He was too logical for that. The impossible had been Sirius's area of expertise, laying out grandiose plans for a future where the four of them (he had a tendency to forget about Peter, they all did at times)-himself, Remus, James, and Lily-all cozied up together, making names for themselves as famous Aurors. "Times are dark, Remus, my friend, and someone ought to stand up against that bastard," he would say, slinging an arm heavy with promise over Remus's shoulder... and so someone had.
Remus hadn't needed to see the bodies to imagine the struggle that had ensued. James and Lily were more than capable, but capability had played little part in what had occurred. Betrayed: the concept had clutched at him, the grief hanging heavy, suffocating him. He was unable (or more accurately, unwilling) to comprehend it those first few lonely nights, to believe that Sirius was capable of destroying all that they had held dear.
Taking a breath, Remus slowly unclenched his fists. The parchment was now crinkled along the edges where he'd clutched at it, and he made quick work of smoothing it. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." His voice barely above a whisper, full of reverence for four foolish boys and the clever witch who'd unwittingly taken them under her wing, he stared at the flowing script as it began to present itself from seeming nothingness.
'Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, purveyors of aids to magical mischief-makers, are proud to present the Marauder's Map.'
Remus's finger traced the ink as it appeared. It hadn't been Sirius, a small consolation in the end, though at the time he'd treated the news and the man himself as his everything. A bitter smile twisted already twisted features as he recalled shared embraces and desperate couplings thought to be the epitome of passion. The last of the Marauders-it had spoken of struggle and pride and survival against impossible odds when Sirius had said it; now it spoke of nothing but pervasive loneliness.
"It's just me now, Sirius."
A breeze stirs the map as if in reply, and Remus's answering smile tells a complex tale of faith deferred. What he hasn't told the others, those hopeful, steadfast souls that he's always known he won't be able to match (though he seems to fit amongst them well enough), is that he has absolutely no intention of retrieving it again. It's just the wind, he tell himself as he steps away from the courtyard and retreats back into the castle, parting ways with the few remaining rays of daylight. It's just the wind.
Remus had often wondered what would happen when they parted ways...willfully ignorant, but not entirely blinded to reality. He was too logical for that. The impossible had been Sirius's area of expertise, laying out grandiose plans for a future where the four of them (he had a tendency to forget about Peter, they all did at times)-himself, Remus, James, and Lily-all cozied up together, making names for themselves as famous Aurors. "Times are dark, Remus, my friend, and someone ought to stand up against that bastard," he would say, slinging an arm heavy with promise over Remus's shoulder... and so someone had.
Remus hadn't needed to see the bodies to imagine the struggle that had ensued. James and Lily were more than capable, but capability had played little part in what had occurred. Betrayed: the concept had clutched at him, the grief hanging heavy, suffocating him. He was unable (or more accurately, unwilling) to comprehend it those first few lonely nights, to believe that Sirius was capable of destroying all that they had held dear.
Taking a breath, Remus slowly unclenched his fists. The parchment was now crinkled along the edges where he'd clutched at it, and he made quick work of smoothing it. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." His voice barely above a whisper, full of reverence for four foolish boys and the clever witch who'd unwittingly taken them under her wing, he stared at the flowing script as it began to present itself from seeming nothingness.
'Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, purveyors of aids to magical mischief-makers, are proud to present the Marauder's Map.'
Remus's finger traced the ink as it appeared. It hadn't been Sirius, a small consolation in the end, though at the time he'd treated the news and the man himself as his everything. A bitter smile twisted already twisted features as he recalled shared embraces and desperate couplings thought to be the epitome of passion. The last of the Marauders-it had spoken of struggle and pride and survival against impossible odds when Sirius had said it; now it spoke of nothing but pervasive loneliness.
"It's just me now, Sirius."
A breeze stirs the map as if in reply, and Remus's answering smile tells a complex tale of faith deferred. What he hasn't told the others, those hopeful, steadfast souls that he's always known he won't be able to match (though he seems to fit amongst them well enough), is that he has absolutely no intention of retrieving it again. It's just the wind, he tell himself as he steps away from the courtyard and retreats back into the castle, parting ways with the few remaining rays of daylight. It's just the wind.