Dusk was falling on the silent graveyard, the shadows behind the gravestones lengthening as the sun dipped below the horizon. Many gravestones, many deaths, all held here in this one silent churchyard. People, living, breathing people, with personalities of their own, all reduced to names carved on stones. A name, two dates and a short inscription, these were all that was left of someone’s life.

A shadowed figure moved between the gravestones, appearing to have no fixed sense of direction. Occasionally, he stopped at one, to read a name, to wonder what that person was like. Had been like. Jenny Elliott. Andrew Pike. Elizabeth Davies. All had been people, people with families and friends to mourn their losses, lives that had been left behind by their deaths.

He would be one of these one day. He would be a headstone in a churchyard, maybe with flowers by it, maybe covered with weeds. What would it say though? Would his friends think of a nice epitaph? No, they wouldn’t. They were dead, all the ones that mattered, and almost all his family too. His mum and dad were gravestones too, lying in some faraway graveyard.

‘Remus John Lupin’ and some dates. That would be all. Nothing else, not for him, nobody would bother about what was on his gravestone. His closest friends and family were dead, leaving him with who? Nobody. No friends left, none who trusted him and liked him for who he was.

He had some family, two sisters, but they weren’t real family. Family should love each other, help each other, be there for each other. Ana was always worried he would bring her career and social standing down. Having a werewolf for a brother was hardly a status symbol. And there was Elisa, scared to death of him, with no money, but always trying to help. He loved her too much to trouble her; he couldn’t cause her any more pain than she already had.

He wandered on, around the stones. Where did you go after you died? He’d tried to find out once before, but nobody could tell you, not once they’d gone. The ghosts didn’t know, they’d chosen to come back, chosen not to face the unknown. Lily, James and Peter all knew, but they were there now, not here. He couldn’t ask them.

In fact, he couldn’t ask them anything at all, even again. Not to pass the cornflakes at the breakfast table, not whether they had done their Transfiguration homework, nothing. Simple conversations he’d taken for granted. He could never talk to them again in the middle of the night, laugh and joke around in class when they were bored, or play pranks on the entire Gryffindor common room just for the sheer hell of it. No more stupid advice from James.

And then there was Sirius. Remus had never though Sirius could do something like that, to betray James and Lily to Voldemort. He was, no, had been, so close to them, always with James. He just wasn’t the type of person that would betray his friends.

But there was no other way. Sirius had been their Secret Keeper, only he could tell someone where James and Lily were. Nobody else could have told Voldemort, it was completely impossible. It must have been Sirius, but how? How could he have done that? He must have betrayed them to Voldemort, there was no other way. But, despite this reasoning, Remus found that he couldn’t believe it. There must be another way, he would find one. Sirius couldn’t have done it. Remus couldn’t be all alone.

His haunted grey eyes stared meaninglessly over the dark graveyard. How many hundreds of others had gone through the pain he was feeling tonight, were going through the pain right now? The funeral had been yesterday, the day for mourning James and Lily was gone. Now, everyone had to try to get on with their lives again, live as if they hadn’t lost anyone.

That was difficult.

Remus hadn’t gone to the funeral. He didn’t feel welcome there, not with Lily’s family and friends, James’ other friends from work. He had been invited, by Lily’s sister Petunia, but she hadn’t really wanted him there. It was polite to invite him. She must be going through pain too, her only sister gone. Anyway, he would have been alone, out on a limb, no close friends to share his grief with. Instead, he would have been alone in a group. Alone, in a whole group, alone in his feelings despite everyone else feeling the same emotions as him.

Was there any point in his being here anyway? Unemployed, homeless, just another useless man. James should be here in his place, or Lily, or Peter, or any one of the other witches and wizards who had died fighting Voldemort. So many had died, all missed, many nameless. They should be here still, still living life, as happy and as normal as they could be.

Happy and normal. Two things he could never be.

Trying not to think, Remus walked on. It was less painful not to think, to stop thinking of the fact that they were gone, to allow his brain to harbour the thoughts that perhaps they weren’t. Left, right, left again, wandering on through the graveyard, meandering through the stones, flowers for the dead clutched in his hand.

Stopping to look at another gravestone, Remus spotted them. They were side by side, James William Potter and Lily Donna Potter. Two carved stones, plain, with a round top, their only ornament being three lines of writing. Just three lines of writing, to describe 22 years of a life. His friend’s lives.

Remus knelt on the floor at the foot of the graves, silently adding his flowers to the many bundles littering the graves. He started to read the tags, identifying the mourners.

‘RIP Lily and James’

‘My dearest sister Lily, I loved you for all your life, and I will always love you.’

‘I will always remember you’

They’re dead. Gone. They can’t come back, never will come back. Their house was reduced to ruins, their baby son Harry off to God knows where. Tears pricked at Remus’ eyes, but still he carried on reading, willing them to go away.

His body shook with the force of withholding his emotions, tears welling up behind his eyes, numbness spreading through his brain. Realisation hit him, they really were dead. Up until now, he’d never really believed it. Crumpling onto the floor, Remus broke down and cried, for Lily and James, for Peter, for Harry, and for himself.

He straightened up, tears still falling thick and fast from his eyes, staring at the gravestones. They weren’t supposed to die! He wasn’t supposed to have to go through this, left behind on Earth to cope, alone! Suddenly, he was angry at everything, the moon, the gravestones, James, Lily and Peter for leaving him behind, Sirius for causing the whole damn mess. Most of all, he was angry at himself. How could he have let this happen to his best friends?

Left behind. Why hadn’t God taken him, left James and Lily here? They had a purpose; they had everything to live for! They had Harry, their friends, and their families. Homes, jobs even, more than he had. What did he have in the world now? Nothing at all, except what he had with him right now, a few sets of robes, a battered and torn cloak, a few personal possessions. Nowhere to go, nobody to be with. God had taken that away from him.

Angrily, he kicked out at James’ headstone, wanting somebody, something, to feel some of the pain he was feeling now. All he achieved was stubbing his toe, which made the anger worse if anything. Violence never helps matters, he thought. How many times had he told James and Sirius that?

Peter never even got a gravestone. Cursed into pieces by Sirius, his body spread all over the street. And Sirius had laughed. The biggest bit they’d found was his finger. That was all that was left after Sirius had finished with him. Peter had died for his friends, trying to fight back at the man who had betrayed them all.

Life was stupid, stupid and pointless. Why did he even exist? Surely he would be better off with James, Lily and Peter. It was the full moon tomorrow, and he had nowhere to go. He’d used to transform in Sirius’ basement flat, Sirius had moved all the furniture out of his living room for Remus. All that trouble, just for him.

Sirius was a good friend. No, had been a good friend, Remus corrected himself. He wasn’t a friend any more, no doubt about that. There was no way he couldn’t have betrayed James and Lily. He was an evil, bastard of a Death Eater, that was all. Not a friend, not even a Marauder any more. Remus was the last Marauder left now.

The last Marauder.


He’d always imagined himself dying first, somehow. Some illness, or a full moon
injury, or something. He always had plenty of those. He’d been so sure, he’d never really stopped to think how he’d cope on his own in the world, without his friends. They were always destined to have long, happy lives. But that had gone wrong, and he was here, alone, crying over two lumps of stone. It seemed stupid, but those two lumps of stone were all that was left of his best friends.

The only other reminder of his previous life was Sirius. The evil traitor, who Remus would do his best to forget. He wasn’t worth remembering, wasn’t worth the time. Bastard. Remus hardly ever swore, but that was the only word strong enough to sum Sirius up.

Dark had fallen completely on the graveyard. Graveyards in the dark had always scared him, ever since Ana had told him those stupid ghost stories as a child. He had always clung to Elisa, both scared of Ana and of the story, but never wanting the story to stop. Well, he wasn’t scared any more. He was in a ghost story now, surrounded by the dead, but he wasn’t scared. Three of his best friends were among them, and they would never hurt him. Death and the dead weren’t as scary as they seemed.

After all, he’d join them one day.

But not yet. Remus wasn’t going to give in yet. He had to live, he was here for a reason. The resolve he’d needed in the weeks since their deaths came to Remus in a moment, the resolve to live. He would live, he would live for James and Lily, for Peter, and for all the other witches and wizards who had died fighting Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

He’d considered suicide many times in his life, and had considered it again when he heard the news. He hadn’t wanted to live then. So many times, there had been problems he never thought he could have faced, problems that made death seem attractive to him. He’d almost done it, almost killed himself, a few times. Depressive, some people called him.

But now, he had a purpose to life. Maybe not a purpose like other peoples, but a purpose. The paper-pushers at the Ministry would never understand, people like Sirius and the Death Eaters would not either. But he did. He was going to live his life for his friends, forget his own grief.

Like he had before, so many times, Remus would rise above his problems and live. He didn’t know how, not yet, but he knew he would manage it.

“I will live. And I will never forget you.”

Speaking aloud, to the stars, the moon, and to the dead, Remus took one last look at the gravestones, and promised to come back. He would come back, he would remember the one who had been lost, and he would live his life for them. He left the graveyard, going forward to an uncertain future, but going forward nonetheless.