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'This can't be happening,' he thinks to himself. That one sentence repeating itself over and over as he walks quickly through the halls. The halls that were familiar, but he couldn't think of them in the same way. Eyes watched him as he marched, young, innocent eyes filled with relief and happiness, wondering why he was here and why he looked so angry. But Remus couldn't celebrate with everyone else this November 1st. At last reaching his destination, he halted suddenly, realising he didn't know the password. He was about to go and find someone when the passage started to open. He climbed the stairs quickly and flung open the door without knocking.
Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, quill in his hand, staring over his half-moon spectacles at the dishevelled man who had just burst into his office.
"Ah, Remus. I thought I might be seeing you today," Albus said sadly. Remus looked as if he didn't know what to say, how could Dumbledore be so calm whilst his whole world was crashing around him.
"You were supposed to protect them!" he finally managed to shout.
"I did everything in my power-"
"No! Don't you dare say that! You- I-" his voiced voice faded off into a rasp and he collapsed into a chair, defeated. He put his head in his hands and weak sobs could be heard every so often.
Albus remained silent as the man cried.
"Was it Sirius?" Remus whispered after a while, lifting his head and meeting the intense blue gaze.
"It would appear so," Albus answered gravely.
"H-how could he do this? He wouldn't do this. There has to be another explanation," Remus said.
"I wish there was, but he was the secret keeper. Only he could've told Voldemort," Albus said.
"They could've changed without telling us. I've known Sirius since I was eleven, Professor. There was nothing he hated more than what Voldemort was doing," Remus pleaded, grasping onto anything that could explain his friend's innocence.
"Sirius killed Peter Pettigrew and 12 muggles; he's been taken to Azkaban. There's nothing you can do, Remus."
Remus stared at his hands, trying to take in what was happening. Three of his best friends were dead, and the fourth was in Azkaban for killing them. Everything was all wrong.
"Is there anything else I can help you with?" Albus asked.
"Where is Harry?" If Remus knew one thing, it was that he would do everything in his power to protect his best friends' son. He could tell that not all danger had passed for the child and he'd be damned if he let that poor boy suffer anymore.
"He is with his Aunt and Uncle." Remus stared at the old man horrified.
"Lily's sister? Professor, you can't be serious! She hates Lily and everything to do with magic, she can't look after Harry."
"They are his only family," Albus said.
"What about me? I could take him. I'm sure James and Lily would rather me have him than her sister," he says pleadingly.
"Remus, you are unfit to look after a child by yourself. You're a werewolf, and though that does not make you a bad person, and I do not doubt that you would make a fine father, but alone it cannot be done. What would you do with him at the full moon? It is unsafe," Albus explains.
Remus nodded. Who was he kidding, of course he couldn't look after a child. 'I can barely support myself, never mind a baby,' he thought to himself sadly.
"Perhaps you should go home and get some rest." Remus stood up and left the room without another word. He could feel the tears building up, threatening to overflow. How could his entire world blow up in one night?
At home he stood in his kitchen staring at the kettle as it boiled. 'I'm here making tea whilst James and Lily and Peter are dead,' he thought bitterly to himself. He slapped the kettle off the stove, not caring how it scalded his hand. Anger welled up inside as he kicked and punched any piece of furniture around him. How could this happen? How could he have let this happen? What kind of friend was he to allow his friends to die? He should've been there for them, to protect them. He stopped suddenly, breathing heavily and clenching his bleeding hands. His face was wet with tears as he stared at the mess around him.
His face dropped and his eyes looked around in horror. 'People are right, I am a monster,' he thought. His eyes flickered to the knife block. 'If I could just take away the pain...' His hand reached out and grasped the steal handle. He eyed it's sharp point warily. 'What if...?' He lifted his hand and stared at his pale wrist. There was already a scar, faded now, from a full moon ages back. 'No one would even notice, they'd think it was just another scar.' He placed the sharp edge against the skin, closed his eyes and pulled. The pain was instant, and a breath of fresh air compared to the pain in his chest. He open his eyes and watched the blood run down his arm. His head felt dizzy as he watched, fascinated.
He brought the knife back up and did it once, twice, three times more, until the pain was enough to block everything out. The cuts weren't deep, but he still felt relieved of a huge amount of pressure he didn't even know was there. He put the knife in the sink, and ran his arm under the cold tap. Hissing in pain, he dried off the wound and pulled a bandage out of the cupboard. He stared intently at the scars before he wound the material around them. They were new and unfamiliar, but he felt that he could get used to them if it continued to relieve him of the pain that was the end of his world.