Lonely {Remus}
Remus Lupin was a lonely boy.
Anyone could see it just looking at him. It was surely part of who he was, by now. How could you forget eleven years of isolation, not having friends, no one but your parents and the occasional guests for company?
He didn’t blame his parents for it. They were trying so hard, he knew. He was a lot of work, and they had to care for and love him dearly to manage to put up with him. Even when they weren’t dealing with his furry little problem, Remus was a force to be reckoned with for most. He had a temper on him- got it from both of his parents. They were quick to anger, quick to snap, but never at him. They had never yelled at him, not once in his life. They were proper good parents. Other people had it far worse, even without the little monthly that he had.
Still, it was hard, growing up without friends. He read a lot. His parents played with him, when they could, but they always had so much work to do. His father, especially. Always out, always working, home late and tired and straight to bed without so much as dinner. It made Remus sad. He didn’t know what was wrong, his parents tried to shelter him. He knew his father kept things from him. His mother knew little more than he did. Lyall Lupin was a secretive man. But he only wanted to protect them.
Remus wished he could protect his parents the way they fought so hard to protect him. Especially his father. He could already protect his mother- he told her as much, when he was little. She was so big and strong, but her heart was so soft that it made her seem like a little flower. He had to keep her safe, protect her from being picked or stepped on. In his mind, at least. Hope Lupin was a very capable woman, but she allowed her son to feel like he was the one protecting her. She loved him too much to dare risk making him sad. He’d suffered through so much already. So had she, though she would never show him. Maybe she really did need him to protect her, the same way his father did.
But his father had no one protecting him. That much he knew for a fact. If his father was being protected, then why was he always so tired? So weighed down? Remus didn’t know about the war, but he always knew his father was sad. Sometimes he would come home and just hold his mother, and they would cry, and he would ask what was wrong and they would just hold him and cry, too. No one ever explained. They wanted to protect him. He wished he could protect them instead.
Though Remus eventually grew, and understood his parents’ pain, and knew he couldn’t protect them any more than he could protect himself, that instinct remained. His instinct to protect people who he saw were hurting. That’s what drew him to Sirius so quickly, when eleven year old James Potter had barreled into their lives and brought them and Peter together. James liked runts, he could see it. The scarred up, raggedy little boy, the hurt and abandoned young heir, the emotional little kid who was never quite good enough for anyone. James jumped on them all immediately. He honestly didn’t mind it- it was nice, to have friends, to not be so alone anymore.
But Sirius always seemed to be alone, even when surrounded by friends. Remus pushed his own sadness out- he let his sadness be found in others, he cared for them, let his sadness help him to nurture. Sirius bore his sadness with him. And Sirius was a horribly sad person. He laughed the loudest, hit the hardest, came up with the funniest pranks, shouted easily, and did wonderful and hilarious accents and impressions. But Remus could see the weight that dragged him down- the weight of his sadness. It was the same weight his father had when he came home late every night, when he grabbed his mother and wept openly and grabbed up Remus the moment he stepped within reach, and they all held each other. The weight of sadness was a heavy burden to bear. His father shared it with his mother, he realized one day, watching them eat dinner and laugh about something. That was what kept him going out every morning, and making sure to come home every night. Lyall and Hope Lupin bore one another’s sadness. They shared it when they hugged, when they kissed, when they smiled over Remus’ head or sat down for the telly or ate dinner as a family. Love was what pushed away sadness. Remus had been pushing away sadness with love, too, though he hadn’t realized it. He loved his friends so fiercely that it took away his sadness, the same way his parents took away sadness from one another.
He’d been able to help James and Peter, he believed. Not that James had much sadness in his life. But they were all here, when he did, and his parents were just as loving as Remus’, if not more, so he had little need for extra love in his life. And Peter, he got sad sometimes. His emotions were flighty. He was a bit erratic, but never too so, and he did well to hide it from the others. Besides his natural empathy, Remus could smell people’s emotions on them. An unexpected side effect of lycanthropy, but not one without merit. It never took much with Peter, to get him feeling better. A good part of erratic emotions, he supposed- if Peter could switch from happy to angry or sad quickly, he could switch back even faster. All it took was a few kind words, some shared notes or homework, maybe a chocolate frog or tart, and Peter returned to his happy self. James and Peter both loved so freely, and they all helped one another stay happy. Even if they had fights and such occasionally, the love remained.
Sirius Black did not love freely.
Remus never quite understood why, not at first, at least, but he could feel it. The sorrow Sirius held was like a cage, it trapped him in and allowed no love in or out. Joy could slip through the cracks, anger, excitement, other emotions. But Sirius seemed to deliberately keep love locked up tight. He didn’t want any of it getting out.
When Remus finally understood, what Sirius’ family had done to him, how horribly they had hurt him, the years of torture, he did not feel Sirius’ sadness. He felt his own rage.
He never could have imagined parents could do something like that to their own children. He could never understand how anyone could do something like that to Sirius Black, who, though sad, was still fiery, outspoken, and the strongest person he knew, even stronger than James. Sirius Black was one of the best people he knew.
Sirius didn’t like to talk about his family. Remus didn’t force him to. But he did force him to feel. Let out more than just sadness, have emotions that were more than just short and temporary bursts. They spoke a lot. Soon, they were as close as Sirius was with James- perhaps closer.
Remus Lupin was strong, even as a child. He bore the emotions of others with ease, and though he was a bit dry and rude, he never pushed it farther than he knew people could take. He never hurt anybody, if he could help it.
There was a memory that his mother liked to recall often, when they were sad, when father didn’t come home before it was time for bed. She would sit him on her lap, even though he was far too big for that, too tall and lanky, even at a young age, and she would hold him close and they would close their eyes and she would speak to him.
“I remember,” she would always start, in her soft accent, so that Remus knew what she was going to say, so that he could stop her if it hurt. He never stopped her. “I remember once, when you were only six years old. My little baby boy. It was the night after a full moon, and you were so tired, and so was I. Your daddy had gone out to work, because there was an emergency, one so important that he couldn’t stay. And when you came back to me, turned back into my baby boy, I couldn’t get in the room, ‘cause your daddy locked it up tight, ‘cause he was supposed to be back. He was supposed to be back hours before. He didn’t usually run so late. I sat by the door and I heard you crying. Only six years old, my baby, suffering so much. So much more than anyone ought to, ever.” She was always crying by this point, sniffling quietly, but she never stopped, always pressed on with the story.
“And I called for you, my little baby, but all you could do was cry and cry. You were hurting so bad. And I was hurting hearing you hurt, so I cried too. But when I started crying, you stopped, and I heard you press your little self up to that door. And even though you were suffering, and you were in pain, so much pain, you said to me, ‘Mommy, it’s okay. Don’t cry. I’m strong, like daddy. I can protect you.’” By that point they were usually both crying. Remus hated seeing his mother cry.
“Those were your exact words. I’ll never forget it. And I knew, in that moment, I had given birth to the strongest and the best baby boy there is. So I need you to be strong, baby. Be strong for me, and daddy, and yourself. Be strong for every person you meet who cries and stays out too late and just can’t do what they need to. You hear me? Be strong, my baby boy.”
Sometimes, when things got dark, his mother would still tell him that story. Always roughly the same, always holding him close, even when he was too old to sit in her lap. But his father always came home.
The wolf was strong, too. Remus couldn’t deny that- couldn’t leave out that part of him, try as he might. But their strengths were two different things. The wolf was strong through his rage, his anger at being trapped in such a thin and weak body, through his hunger and his blood lust. The wolf’s strength came from hatred and physical power. Remus was strong through love and care. They were two parts of the same being, a shared strength, but they were far from the same, far from similar.
Remus Lupin was a strong boy. So he would be strong for Sirius, the same way he would one day need to be strong for his parents, the same way he already tried to be strong for everyone.
And he was strong for Sirius. He tried to be, as often as he could. But Sirius surprised him. Sirius was strong for him back.
Remus had more pain than he knew. He had been lonely, so lonely, for so long. He had to be so strong for so many people. For Lily, when she cried to him about some awful thing Snape had said, even though she crawled right back to the creep every time. For James, when the sparkle left his eyes, when things got too tough with the war, and his parents. They were old. They got sick easily. But James had a lot of love, and his parents were strong, too. He was strong for Peter, when he got into his moods or felt left out by the others. He was strong for Mary, when she got hexed by some people for being muggleborn, and by others for being foreign and black. He got similar treatment, being a half-blood and just as dark, but it was never the same. He was born in England. And he was stronger than her. He was strong for Marlene, who was always so gentle and kind, but who so rarely got the treatment she gave. Remus Lupin was strong for many people.
Remus was a lonely boy, even with his friends. He never really realized it. He was always giving up some part of himself, being the strongest he could be for everyone. But, he never had anyone doing the same back. At least, not quite the same. James loved them, he knew, so strongly. Loving someone wasn’t the same as being strong for them. Just as good, just as powerful, but not the same. Remus and Mary were strong together, as they had to be, but their strength was given to everyone around them, not just one another. Peter wasn’t strong. Peter was a good man, but he had never been strong. That’s why he needed the marauders so badly, and they were just enough for him. Lily was only able to be strong for herself. She needed it more than anyone, he supposed, and never blamed her. Marlene’s strength was quiet and fleeting, always a bit shy to show itself, but she only loaned it out when she felt she needed to. He didn’t want to ask that of her.
So he was still lonely. He was alone in his strength, in giving it so freely to his friends. He needed more, he never realized.
Sirius Black was strong for Remus.
He was never quite the same, with others. A bit careless with James, because he knew he had plenty of strength, and a bit sharp with Peter, because they never quite got along. But Remus was a special case, he supposed. With Remus, Sirius was strong.
Sirius’ strength was an intimate thing. If it was ever granted to anyone else, Remus didn't know. It wasn’t his business, really. Sirius was not his to own. But he seemed to be Sirius’.
With Sirius, he wept. He shared his darkest thoughts, some of his deepest secrets, his resentments and his longings. He also shared his laughter, most freely, and his joy and tears of happiness, and his snide remarks and sarcastic comments. He shared the best and worst of him with Sirius, and reserved the rest for everyone else. They were close. They were the best of friends.
They were better than that, Remus supposed, finally being drawn from his thoughts. His eyes fluttered a bit- it was late, later than any of them tended to stay up. In the darkness, he could see a mop of dark black hair in front of his face, and a warmth settled over him. Sighing sleepily, Remus tightened his arms around Sirius, nestling his face into his neck as he finally began to drift.
Once Sirius began to love, he loved so fiercely. It was all Remus could do to return his love. Hugging Sirius close, he was glad for the life he had lived, even with all the pain they shared. Without this life, without the strength he shared, he would never have loved James and Peter, and come to love Sirius in a way he could never love anyone else.
Even with his friends, he had been lonely. There had always been something missing.
With Sirius, he wasn’t so lonely anymore.