realmofthemuse: Surviving the Apocalypse.
Prompt 1.89.3d: Do you think you could survive an apocalypse? Would you want to?
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November 1981
If it wasn't for the steady ticking of the clock on the wall, Remus would guess that time has stood still as it should have three nights ago. For years, due to the war, he has experienced what it feels like to lose friends and not having time to deal with that loss because some other battle needed to be fought, someone else needed help, but now there's none of that anymore.
The war has been over for three days now. There are no more threats to be wary of, there is no more reason why anyone should look over their shoulder as a precaution while stepping out onto the street, and the wizarding world can breathe in relief because Voldemort is gone.
But Remus hasn't been able to breathe for the past three days. He has barely even stepped out onto the street to find out if he really shouldn't look over his shoulder anymore because, ever since he was informed that the war was over and that the destruction of their world had been prevented, it feels as if the breath he had been holding during all the years the war had been going on has died in his lungs. It feels as if his heart has stopped beating as well.
As he stares blankly up at the ceiling while lying on the couch, for the millionth time he tells himself that he's not supposed to be the last one standing. James and Lily are supposed to be alive, raising Harry and enjoying their freedom since there are no more reasons why they should be hiding. Peter should not be dead. Sirius should not be in Azkaban.
The Marauders have fallen, however. Sirius is locked away. Peter is dead. James and Lily had been killed three nights ago. And Harry is alive, but his parents are dead. And Remus...
How is it that he's alive? he wonders, again for the millionth time. How did he survive everything while his friends, the ones that had so many reasons to live had not been able to? At twenty-one their lives have ended, and he's still alive.
He's not supposed to be the last one standing.
He should have died that night when Fenrir attacked him and he had become a werewolf. He should have died during the war. His best friends - his family, because that was truly what they had been - are now gone, and he's left with nothing. No friends. No family. And, worst of all, he has nothing to offer Harry so he cannot even do that.
In many ways, he thinks bitterly, he did die three nights ago. The only difference is that his heart is still beating, and he is supposed to be free.
But he isn't. He's not free, and he is well aware that he may never be.
The wizarding world didn't end, but Remus' world did. How he survived, he doubts he'll ever know. How he is supposed to survive and live now, he doesn't know either. He's supposed to have the rest of his life to look forward to now that the war is over, but the simple truth is that he isn't. All he wants to do is disappear completely.
Closing his eyes since they have started to sting too much, and that constant ticking of the clock is suddenly unbearable, he fervently hopes that by the time morning comes he will finally be able to do so. Right now he's sure that is the only way he will ever be free again.
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November 1981
If it wasn't for the steady ticking of the clock on the wall, Remus would guess that time has stood still as it should have three nights ago. For years, due to the war, he has experienced what it feels like to lose friends and not having time to deal with that loss because some other battle needed to be fought, someone else needed help, but now there's none of that anymore.
The war has been over for three days now. There are no more threats to be wary of, there is no more reason why anyone should look over their shoulder as a precaution while stepping out onto the street, and the wizarding world can breathe in relief because Voldemort is gone.
But Remus hasn't been able to breathe for the past three days. He has barely even stepped out onto the street to find out if he really shouldn't look over his shoulder anymore because, ever since he was informed that the war was over and that the destruction of their world had been prevented, it feels as if the breath he had been holding during all the years the war had been going on has died in his lungs. It feels as if his heart has stopped beating as well.
As he stares blankly up at the ceiling while lying on the couch, for the millionth time he tells himself that he's not supposed to be the last one standing. James and Lily are supposed to be alive, raising Harry and enjoying their freedom since there are no more reasons why they should be hiding. Peter should not be dead. Sirius should not be in Azkaban.
The Marauders have fallen, however. Sirius is locked away. Peter is dead. James and Lily had been killed three nights ago. And Harry is alive, but his parents are dead. And Remus...
How is it that he's alive? he wonders, again for the millionth time. How did he survive everything while his friends, the ones that had so many reasons to live had not been able to? At twenty-one their lives have ended, and he's still alive.
He's not supposed to be the last one standing.
He should have died that night when Fenrir attacked him and he had become a werewolf. He should have died during the war. His best friends - his family, because that was truly what they had been - are now gone, and he's left with nothing. No friends. No family. And, worst of all, he has nothing to offer Harry so he cannot even do that.
In many ways, he thinks bitterly, he did die three nights ago. The only difference is that his heart is still beating, and he is supposed to be free.
But he isn't. He's not free, and he is well aware that he may never be.
The wizarding world didn't end, but Remus' world did. How he survived, he doubts he'll ever know. How he is supposed to survive and live now, he doesn't know either. He's supposed to have the rest of his life to look forward to now that the war is over, but the simple truth is that he isn't. All he wants to do is disappear completely.
Closing his eyes since they have started to sting too much, and that constant ticking of the clock is suddenly unbearable, he fervently hopes that by the time morning comes he will finally be able to do so. Right now he's sure that is the only way he will ever be free again.