In Flames of the Past | Wolfstar

Passed Alger Brook Road, I'm over the bridge

A minute from home but I feel so far from it

The death of my dog, the stretch of my skin

It's all washin' over me, I'm angry again

The things that I lost here, the people I knew

They got me surrounded for a mile or two

The View Between Villages – Noah Kahan

Kreacher had spent the better part of an hour explaining everything to him in excruciating detail—what had happened, where it had happened, and every agonizing step in between. The elf seemed a little unhinged, desperate to finally share this with someone. Every few minutes, he would pause to ask if Remus was really going to destroy it.

It was clear that this had been Regulus's final wish, and Kreacher was clinging to it with a ferocity that made Remus's chest ache. So he lied. Over and over. Of course, he assured the elf, he would destroy it. Never mind that he had no idea how. Never mind that he was desperately hoping Dumbledore would.

Which was how he ended up here—dragging himself toward Hogsmeade, because, of course, you couldn't Apparate directly into Hogwarts. No, that would be too convenient. Instead, he had to walk the whole damn way, exhausted, his mind spinning, with the weight of yet another impossible task pressing down on him.

Remus Apparated to Hogsmeade, the cursed pendant hanging heavily around his neck. The damn Horcrux was draining him, both physically and emotionally. It felt as if he'd just run a marathon, his limbs like lead and his head spinning. The weight of everything that had happened in the last few hours pressed down on him all at once. He was torn between the urge to cry or punch something—anything to release the tension building inside him. The strain, the pain, the confusion—it all felt so overwhelming, as if every bad moment had decided to converge at once and he just couldn't shake it.

Remus looked at the imposing Hogwarts castle, getting bigger the closer he got. He hadn't expected it to hit him like this—the tightness in his chest at the sight of the towering castle. For a moment, he felt like a teenager again, walking back from Hogsmeade after a few butterbeers, the warmth still buzzing in his veins. He could almost see it—James and Sirius, arms slung around each other's shoulders, probably singing some ridiculous song, Peter trailing behind with him, talking his ear off about some girl he'd met.

Back then, things had been simple. No war. No fear. No fighting for their lives.

The memory was bittersweet. It made him smile, but the urge to cry was just as strong. Strange, isn't it? Smiling at all the good times, yet feeling them slip further away with every step toward the castle. Hogwarts looked the same, but the memories felt distant, as if they belonged to someone else entirely. Because in a way, they did. That boy—young, hopeful, surrounded by friends—was gone.

Everyone he had known back then was either dead or lost to him. And yet, they haunted him still, their ghosts lingering at the edges of his mind, surrounding him in a grief that never truly faded.

The weight of it all crashed over him, and in an instant, the sorrow turned to anger.

Angry at everything he'd lost.