Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/946711.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Sirius_Black/Remus_Lupin
  Character:
      Remus_Lupin, Sirius_Black, Harry_Potter, Severus_Snape, Albus_Dumbledore,
      Ron_Weasley, Hermione_Granger, Peter_Pettigrew
  Additional Tags:
      Romance, Hogwarts_Era, Werewolves, Teaching, Flashbacks, Getting_Back
      Together, Canon_Compliant
  Series:
      Part 2 of Survivor's_Guilt
  Stats:
      Published: 2004-06-09 Completed: 2004-11-30 Chapters: 24/24 Words: 70634
****** Moony's Tale ******
by picascribit
Summary
     1993-94: Twelve years have passed and Remus still cannot forget, nor
     is he any closer to understanding why Sirius betrayed his friends and
     the man he loved. Now Sirius has escaped from prison, and Remus has
     come back to Hogwarts looking for answers. A retelling of Prisoner of
     Azkaban from Remus's point of view. Heavy in Marauders-era and First
     War flashbacks.
Notes
     This story was my first foray into fanfiction back in 2004. It has
     undergone several major edits since then as my writing and knowledge
     of the characters have improved, and I plan to give it a complete
     overhaul one of these days, to bring it in line with my "A Conspiracy
     of Cartographers" series. Original version remains available, for
     nostalgic reasons, as a downloadable PDF on my_webpage.
     Warning: This story has not been edited yet, and may contain
     unintended problematic elements and tropes.
***** Prologue *****
Remus Lupin awoke, disoriented and sweating, at once trying desperately to
recall the dream, and cursing himself for having it at all.
God damn you for a traitor, Sirius Black! He could still feel the bastard's
touch on his skin -- hear his voice echoing in the darkness.
It was hot and stuffy in the small, bare room, and he went to open the window.
The cool air of the late summer night felt good against his skin, and the moon
was a reassuring sliver, low in the sky. He breathed in deeply, willing his
heart to slow. Dawn would break soon, and he knew that, with it, the memories
would recede to manageable proportions once more.
In the darkness, he was at the mercy of his past. The dreams came to him less
frequently than they once had, but they were still unsettling when they came,
and they left him feeling guilty and uneasy until he slept again.
Twelve years loomed between him and that dreadful day. Betrayal, murder,
heartbreak, devastation. He often felt that they had all died that day; not
just Lily, James, and Peter. The bonds of their friendship had been shattered
by an act as shocking as it was brutal. Sirius, in Azkaban for life -- Not that
he doesn't deserve it, he thought savagely -- and he himself exiled to this
living death of loneliness and pain.
He tried unsuccessfully to shake off the memories of Sirius Black that prowled
the room.
Remus was the only one left of that great friendship, and the loneliness of
that knowledge had held him captive for a dozen years. He had drifted, living
hand to mouth, existing for nothing and no one. He had learnt to hide his
lycanthropy well enough, but his immense sadness made people uncomfortable, and
he never managed to hold a job for long.
But just last week, there had been a letter: Albus Dumbledore had written,
inviting him to take the vacant Defence Against the Dark Arts post at Hogwarts
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Dumbledore had mentioned that Harry Potter
was now a student at the school. It had been a cordial if formal letter, but
Remus had read between the lines. Dumbledore knew the broken life Remus lived,
and was offering him a chance at something else; to have something and perhaps
someone to live for again.
Harry was the one bit of goodness that remained of his poisoned past. And
Dumbledore had chosen Remus to help guide Harry, who also came from a place of
loneliness, without family and perhaps even without friends to care for him.
It was the timing of the offer that troubled him. It had been the reason for
the dream, as well. The arrival of Dumbledore's letter had coincided with the
appearance of the story and the photo in the Daily Prophet.
Remus shivered. He had almost turned past the story when it had first appeared,
not recognising the face in the picture. But then the name had jumped out at
him from the stark, bold of the headline -- a name that still haunted his
dreams and conflicted his soul: Sirius Black.
A dozen years in Azkaban had changed the man he had once loved. The face he had
known better than his own was now gaunt and pale with shadowed eyes, the hair a
long, greasy tangle. He certainly looked the part of the mad, vicious killer
now, even as he had not before. He seemed barely human.
He had escaped from the Wizarding prison, much to the bafflement of the
Ministry of Magic. It had never been done before. Remus had an inkling of how
Sirius might have accomplished it. But why now? Why come for Harry after all
this time?
Remus sighed, rubbing his hand through his disheveled, graying hair. Whatever
the reason, he had a job to do now, and he would do it. He would protect Harry
from this madman who had destroyed all that was good in both their lives. And
if that meant destroying the man he had loved, or dying himself? Well, he'd
just have to cross that bridge when he came to it.
***** Raising Ghosts *****
He arrived early and exhausted at King's Cross Station on September the first,
hoping to secure an empty compartment for himself. He was in no mood for
company. The full moon the previous night had drained him utterly, and under
normal circumstances, he would have spent the day sleeping and regaining his
strength. He hoped he would be able to sleep on the train; the soothing sound
of the rails might help, but memories lay thick on the ground here, and he
feared the dreams they might inspire.
Boarding the Hogwarts Express apprehensively for the first time in fifteen
years, he made his way from car to car. Here was the compartment where James
and Sirius had set off a load of dung bombs under the seat of a sleeping
Severus Snape. Here, they had played Strip Exploding Snap, and had been caught
and reprimanded by the witch with the food trolly. Here, he had walked in on
Lily and James having a blazing row. And here -- here was the compartment where
he had seen Sirius for the first time, over twenty years ago. He hurried past,
and at last found a memory-free -- and mercifully also student-free -
- compartment at the end of the train. There, he pulled his cloak up over his
head, and went to sleep.
===============================================================================
He awoke, disoriented this time not due to disturbing dreams, but because it
was suddenly very dark and very cold. The train had stopped and the lights were
out, but he could hear children's voices calling to one another, nervously
asking what was happening. From the sound of it, there were three or four
children in his own compartment now. More entered, tripping over the others and
exchanging hurried apologies.
"Quiet!" he told them, quickly lighting his wand. "Stay where you are."
He rose, and was just about to move toward the door, when it opened. Standing
in the corridor was the thing he had known it must be, but had hoped it was
not: a Dementor of Azkaban.
The temperature in the compartment dropped still further as the tall, black-
clad creature drew a rattling breath. By the dim light of his wand, Remus saw a
boy drop into a dead faint. The other children were clearly terrified, cowering
back against the seats. Remus did not feel much braver than they looked, but as
their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and as the only adult present, he
knew he must do something.
His mind filled with the image of Sirius laughing madly, surrounded by the
death and destruction he had wrought.
Oh, no you don't! he thought. That image was with him daily; the Dementors
could not break what was already broken.
He stepped over the prostrate form of the fallen boy, looked the Dementor
squarely in what he supposed must be its face and said, "None of us is hiding
Sirius Black under our cloaks. Go." His heart skipped a beat and his mouth went
dry as he spoke the name he had not voluntarily uttered in twelve years.
The Dementor did not move. If it did not understand his words, still he knew
one thing to which it would respond.
"Expecto Patronum," he muttered softly, trying his hardest to summon up a happy
thought.
It was a pathetically weak Patronus -- barely more than a flash of silver light
-- but the Dementor turned and quickly retreated down the corridor, taking some
of the cold with it.
For a moment, there was silence in the compartment. He could feel all the
children's eyes on him. Then the train shuddered back to life, the lights came
back on, and the Hogwarts Express began to move again.
"Harry!" cried a girl, crouching beside the prone form on the floor. "Harry!
Are you all right? Wake up!" The other children crowded around the unconscious
boy.
Remus stared, stunned, at the boy's face, but there could be no mistaking him.
Even without the telltale mark on his forehead, he looked enough like James to
make Remus feel mildly dizzy. So this was the boy he had been living for. Then
Harry's eyes opened, and Remus felt a second painful lurch at the colour -- a
deep, emerald green, just like Lily's.
The other children crowded in, asking the boy if he was all right. He looked
very pale. None of them paid the slightest attention to Remus, giving him a
much-needed chance to recover himself. Harry asked whether anyone had heard
screaming, but Remus could not remember anyone having screamed.
He shook himself. Chocolate. That was what was needed under the circumstances.
Remus took a large slab of the stuff from his bag, and broke off a piece for
Harry.
"Here," he said hoarsely. "Eat it. It will help."
Everyone was looking at him again. He began handing out smaller bits of
chocolate to the other children, as he explained to them what they had just
seen.
"I need to speak to the driver," he lied then, and left the compartment
quickly.
What he really needed was time alone to collect himself. There had been no
mistaking James's son, nor Lily's either. It was as if their ghosts had walked
into that compartment and spoken to Remus. Well, in a way, they had. He had a
duty to them; he must protect their son. With that thought firmly in mind, he
went to send an owl ahead to Dumbledore.
===============================================================================
Remus's reintroduction to his old school continued to be both disconcerting and
bewildering. In a way, it felt like coming home. Not only was he amidst
familiar surroundings, but he was properly a part of the Wizarding world again
for the first time in more than a decade. He had lived for so long as an
outsider -- almost a ghost -- that just hearing all these young voices and
being surrounded by so many people felt strange.
The children looked upon him with either speculation, or outright mistrust.
They all surely knew which post he had come to fill, and Dumbledore's letter
had informed him that their previous experience of Defence Against the Dark
Arts masters had been less than confidence-inspiring. It was understandable
that they would view a newcomer with suspicion.
In another way, coming back to this place made him feel more like a ghost than
ever. He was still an outsider. When last he had walked these halls, they had
been filled with friendly -- or at least familiar -- faces. These children were
strangers to him. Some of the professors he knew, and some he would rather he
didn't, but all in all, coming back was a very lonely feeling.
He drifted into the Great Hall, and found his place at the head table among the
other professors. Headmaster Dumbledore offered him a warm greeting, looking
very much as he had in Remus's own schooldays: a tall, cheerful man with
twinkling eyes, of indeterminate but decidedly great age.
And then there was Severus Snape. It had been many years since Remus had seen
him, but he looked just as Remus would have expected him to look by now:
bitter, sour, unwashed, and beginning to age ungracefully. The black-haired
professor met his eyes for an instant, but they both looked away quickly in
dislike. Remus had been warned that the man was Potions master here. In fact,
it was Snape who would be making the new Wolfsbane potion for him when the full
moon approached. Neither man was happy with this arrangement, but it was a
necessary one; Remus had always been woefully unskilled when it came to
potions.
Remus's feeling of otherness was not to last long, however. His isolation from
his surroundings crumbled a little when Dumbledore -- old, familiar, warm,
funny Albus Dumbledore -- rose to make the start-of-term announcements. These
began, of course, with the bad news about the presence of the Dementors around
the school grounds, and their search for Sirius, but since these thoughts were
never far from Remus's mind, they caused him no undue discomfort.
When Dumbledore announced his own arrival, the halfhearted applause of the
students was broken by enthusiastic cheers and whistles from the middle of the
Gryffindor table. Remus looked in surprise, and saw Harry and his friends
beaming down the table at him. At once, the feel of the place changed. These
children -- and especially that child -- were glad he had come to Hogwarts, and
suddenly, so was he.
This feeling of tentative optimism was nearly lost to him, following the
banquet. He was prowling the corridors in a much better frame of mind than when
he had first arrived, remembering the happy and innocent moments of his early
days at Hogwarts, helped along in these thoughts by the clusters of first
years, discovering the wonders of the castle for the first time.
Then he turned down a corridor, deserted but for one person: Severus Snape.
"Lupin," Snape said, nodding stiffly. A twitch of his lip betrayed his barely-
concealed dislike.
Remus sighed. He knew this could only go one of two ways: either they could
spend the rest of the year pretending not to know one another and avoiding all
contact, or they could acknowledge their long-standing animosity, and try to
deal with it like the adults they now were.
"Severus," he said, steeling himself. "You're looking --" But he could not
think of anything complimentary, or even civil, with which to end the greeting.
"Indeed," replied the Potions master with a chilly smile. "As are you."
His eyes traveled over Remus, taking in his shabby appearance, the lines of
hardship and old grief etched into his face, and the premature graying of his
hair.
"Severus --"
But Snape cut him off with a hiss. "Never forget, Lupin; I know what you are. I
know what you've done. And yes, I know who you've fucked, as well. Dumbledore
may trust you, but that old man can be a sentimental fool. I know you. Make no
mistake; I saw enough during our schooldays, and heard enough after, to know
that you're a man to be watched, especially now that the name of Sirius Black
is being whispered again. I'll make your damnable potion, because someone has
to for the sake of this school, but know this: I will have my eye on you." And
with that, he turned on his heel and strode away down the darkened corridor,
robes billowing in his wake.
Remus closed his eyes and sighed. Apparently schoolboy grudges were not to be
forgotten, at least not while the two of them were still within the walls of
Hogwarts. It was going to be a long year.
***** The Boggart *****
A few days later, he woke with something like anticipation -- a feeling he had
not experienced for some time. He had already taught a few classes, but today
would be his first with Harry and the other third year Gryffindors.
He found himself anxious for the boy to like him, but knew better than to
expect a thirteen-year-old boy to have any regard whatsoever for a shabby,
taciturn, and antisocial professor, middle-aged before his time. The
bittersweet memory clutched at his heart of the days long gone, when a toddler
had smiled up at him with those same wide, green eyes, and begged his Uncle
Moony to pick him up.
Third year Defence Against the Dark Arts focussed on dealing with Dark
creatures, and he had planned this first lesson carefully, to capture the
attention and interest of the class. They were going to get to try their luck
against a real Boggart; one had been found living in a wardrobe in the staff
room. Boggarts were not terribly dangerous, but they could be very tricky, and
more harm was usually caused by the stampede to get away than by the Boggart
itself.
Part way through his lesson plan, however, it had occurred to him that it might
be dangerous to have Harry come up against one of these creatures. After all,
most teenagers feared things like humiliation before their peers or heights or
spiders or any number of relatively harmless things. Harry, on the other hand,
had met Voldemort himself face-to-face on more than one occasion, and had a
better idea of where real danger lay than most young witches and wizards.
To have Voldemort suddenly appear in the middle of the Hogwarts staff room -
- well, it was perhaps not the best idea. While it might look strange if he let
all the students except for Harry face the Boggart, that was a risk he would
just have to take. He hoped the boy would not be too disappointed.
He arrived in the classroom a few minutes late, but resolved in what he planned
to do. The students seemed puzzled by the idea of a practical Defence Against
the Dark Arts lesson, especially so early in the term, but they followed him
through the corridors of the school without protest. He even managed to gain a
tiny bit of admiration from the group on the way, through a brief encounter
with Peeves and a wad of chewing gum.
Remus even smiled to himself as they continued down the corridor, remembering
how, in his younger years, there had been some debate as to whether Peeves or
the Marauders caused more trouble at Hogwarts. The smile quickly faded as he
remembered that one of the Marauders, at least, had caused more real trouble
than Peeves could ever dream of.
It felt odd, going into the staff room. It had been as forbidden for students
to enter that sanctum in his time as it was now. Not that there weren't
legitimate reasons for students to be there, such as this lesson, and not that
he and his friends had not visited the room in the course of a prank or two in
their time. In fact, there had been that time he and Sirius had had to hide
quickly in the very wardrobe that now rattled with its imprisoned Boggart.
It was one memory Remus still cherished. On that occasion, their feelings for
one another had only recently been discovered, and they had shared a few
secretive kisses there in the dark, waiting for a safe moment to steal away,
unnoticed. Remus was certain that, in those days, there had been no evil in
Sirius; only mischief and high spirits. He felt no guilt in loving that boy,
though he felt it deeply when he thought of the man he had become. He wondered
now, as ever, when that change had happened, and how he had failed to notice
it.
Snape sat reading in an armchair by a window as the class filed in, apparently
oblivious to the Boggart's rattling. When he saw that this class contained both
his least favourite colleague and his least favourite student he rose, made a
snide comment, and departed in his usual billowy manner. Remus smiled tiredly
at the class, hoping that they had learnt to disregard their Potions master's
rude remarks.
The Boggart lesson went well, he thought. The children were nervous at first,
but he managed to dispel some of those nerves by choosing the most frightened-
looking of the lot -- a boy named Neville -- to try the lesson first. Remus
tried very hard not to laugh out loud when the Boggart became Snape in an old
lady's dress and absurd vulture hat. After that, the students seemed to gain
confidence, and some even appeared to be enjoying the exercise, treating it
like a game, and trying to make the Boggart appear as foolish as possible.
Remus kept glancing at Harry out of the corner of his eye, gauging the boy's
reactions. He had started the lesson looking as nervous as any of the other
students, but thoughtful as well. As one by one his classmates were called upon
to face the Boggart, and he himself was not, his expression changed to
impatience, and finally to puzzled bewilderment when he realised that Remus did
not mean to call on him at all.
Remus was forced to step in and confront his own fears for a moment, when the
Boggart came too near to Harry. He managed to narrowly avert the appearance of
Voldemort among the students, who were still in some distress over the
Boggart's previous manifestation as a very large spider.
He reflected that he was lucky on two counts. Firstly, the full moon was not an
inherently frightening object, though, seeing it, he felt the familiar tingling
sensation at the back of his neck that always preceded his transformations.
Secondly, he was fortunate that the Boggart chose that shape, rather than that
of his other great fear: meeting Sirius face to face again in this life.
Remus glanced around to see if the students had taken any notice of what the
Boggart had become for him, but most of them seemed to be too busy reliving and
exulting in their own triumphs over their fears to pay any attention. Only
Harry and one or two other students seemed to be casting curious glances in his
direction. He looked quickly for Neville to finish the lesson, before the
Boggart had a chance to change its mind about what might scare him.
When the class was over, Harry tried to question him about why he had not been
given a turn with the Boggart. Remus gave him a vague excuse about answering
questions correctly at the start of class, and hurriedly dismissed the
students. Harry looked disappointed as he left with his friend, and Remus felt
a sudden surge of guilt for lying to the boy. Perhaps he would explain the
truth to him another day, but not in front of the whole class. What Remus
really needed was a chance to talk with Harry alone.
===============================================================================
It was dark. He could tell from the close feeling of the space around him that
he was in the wardrobe, and he knew that the Boggart was in there with him.
"Lumos," he whispered into the darkness, though he was not holding his wand.
Soft light flooded the enclosed space, and he saw the Boggart's face.
"Remus," it said, in a voice he had not heard in the waking world for many long
years.
Sirius stood, close enough to touch, a look of tenderness in his mad eyes. This
was not Sirius as Remus had known him, but the stranger on the front page of
theDaily Prophetand in the "wanted" posters that currently littered the
Wizarding world. He felt terrified and a little breathless. He wanted to get as
far away from this wreck of a man as possible. And yet --
Those eyes still captivated him. He felt as though he were falling into them.
Were they really so different from the eyes that had looked into his in his
youth? The longer he looked, the less difference there seemed to be.
And suddenly, he was no longer looking at the ragged stranger, but at a
handsome, dark-haired youth dressed in school robes, a mischievous smile
playing on his full lips. Remus looked down and saw without surprise that he,
too, was wearing his school robes, with scuffed trainers peeking out from under
the hem.
"Remus," said the voice again, younger this time -- lighter and more compelling
than ever.
He found himself looking into that face with a hunger he had not known in
years. The Boggart-boy raised his hand, touching Remus's face, running his
fingers through his hair. Remus made a soft, anguished sound in his throat and
closed his arms around his love, burying his face in his neck.
"Sirius! Sirius, tell me it was all a mistake! Tell me you never meant for any
of it to happen!"
He knew he was weeping, but he could not stop himself. He felt the hot tears
flowing across the tender skin against which his face was pressed. He could
taste the salt of them, as well as the other boy's sweat.
"Hush. Hush now, Moony," murmured the dark-haired boy, enfolding him in his
arms. "Don't you see, Moony my love? I saved you. You were never meant to be
part of it. I kept you out of it -- kept you safe. You lived. I wanted you to
live."
His hands caressed Remus's back. Remus pulled away, but not quite out of the
circle of Sirius's arms.
"Sirius, I loved you! I trusted you! We all did. Why --?"
The other boy looked at him with pity in his eyes. Suddenly, his face was very
near. Remus closed his eyes, and then there were soft lips against his own, a
wicked tongue flicking teasingly against his mouth.
I should be trying to get away,he thought dimly.
But the sweetness of it, at once so familiar, and so long lost to him,
overwhelmed him, and he surrendered. Opening his lips, he accepted and hungrily
returned the kiss. He could feel the rough boards of the wardrobe against his
back, the arms around him, squeezing tighter and tighter, the kiss that was no
longer playful, but rough and suddenly harsh, the bristly stubble against his
tender young face.
He gasped, shoving the leering madman of Azkaban away from him, but the arms
would not let go.
"I love you, Remus. I'm coming to find you. I promise we'll be together soon."
He tried to fight, but he could not get his arms free. He could not find his
wand. He could not breathe --
There was a sudden jolt, and Remus found himself lying on the stone floor of
his bedroom, tangled in blankets, hot, sweaty, and once more in his
prematurely-aging body. He threw off the covers and continued to lie there in
the cool, still darkness, waiting for his heart to slow.
After a time, he climbed back onto the bed and lay staring up into the
darkness. He tried not to think of the bed as "lonely". He tried not to think
of Sirius at all -- neither the youth who still caused his blood to stir, nor
the haggard lunatic whose face was quickly becoming all too familiar.
It was too disturbing to acknowledge, even to himself, how much he still wanted
the man, despite his horrific betrayal of all Remus held dear. At last, he
closed his eyes, but he knew there was little chance he would sleep again that
night.
***** Harry *****
It was late October before Remus found an excuse for a private chat with Harry.
He had not wanted to take the boy aside in front of his friends, nor send for
him to visit his office. Dumbledore may have asked him to Hogwarts to keep an
eye on Harry, but there were others who remembered the close association
between the names Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, and sometimes they conveniently
forgot that the Potters had called both their friends. He did not want to draw
attention to his particular interest in their son.
The other professors were either formally polite to Remus, or ignored him
altogether. Only Dumbledore was openly friendly, but he was a very busy man.
The upshot was that Remus was very rarely privy to the discussions the rest of
the staff shared, even in the staff room.
He knew, of course, that much of the talk these days concerned the search for
Sirius, and whether or not he was, in fact, after Harry, which seemed
increasingly likely, after he was sighted near the school. Remus gleaned this
much from the snippets of conversation he heard before entering rooms or
rounding corners. All talk of the escaped prisoner stopped dead the second his
own presence was noticed.
There was one useful bit of gossip he managed to overhear Professor McGonagall
share with Professor Flitwick. Harry, for whatever reason, had been unable to
obtain his aunt and uncle's permission to go on the regular Hogsmeade outings
the older students were occasionally allowed. McGonagall was clearly relieved;
it was one less thing for the staff to worry about. Much better for Harry to be
safe in the castle, instead of wandering out in the open where anything might
happen.
So it was that on Halloween afternoon, Remus finally got his chance to speak to
Harry away from prying eyes and ears. It took him a while to locate the boy.
Hogwarts was a large castle, and there were many places where a thirteen-year-
old boy might go to sulk and feel dejected about not being allowed to enjoy an
adventure, however small, with his friends.
Remus felt sorry for the boy. He remembered many times in his first few years
at the school when he had been forced apart from his own friends by the
necessity of the full moon, before they had even learnt his fearful secret -
- before they had learnt to change and join him. He had always felt, on those
nights, that he was missing out on something wonderful. Occasionally, he had
missed some merry caper or adventure or particularly delicious prank. Most
times, however, his friends had waited until he was able to take part in their
plans, and he had only missed a night spent talking or studying or playing
games. Yes, he knew exactly how Harry must feel.
But try as he might, he could not find the boy. Eventually, he returned to his
own office. Perhaps Harry was not sulking around the castle, after all. Remus
had had many letters from Dumbledore over the past two years, telling tales of
the boy's resourcefulness, his remarkable ability to turn up in unexpected
places without being detected, and his ability to get hold of information which
had been intentionally withheld from him.
James had had that uncanny ability as well, and Remus was one of the few who
had known his secret: an invisibility cloak, handed down to him by his father.
I wonder what ever became of that old thing?
He shook his head. Chances were, it had been lost in the destruction of Lily
and James's home on the night of their deaths, but Remus thought he would not
be surprised to discover it had somehow found its way to their son, in much the
same way James's nose for mischief had. If Harry had the cloak, and if he knew
half of what the Marauders had known about the secret passages of Hogwarts,
there was every chance the boy was in Hogsmeade even now, despite all the
precautions of his elders.
Remus had sincerely hoped he would be able to find Harry, but a small part of
him left over from his own schooldays could not begrudge his friends' son an
adventure of his own. He only hoped Harry would be careful.
Talking to the boy would have helped take Remus's mind off some of the dark
thoughts that plagued him, however. This was the twelfth anniversary of the
night his life had ended.
It was one of our favourite holidays, he remembered with a sad smile.
There had been the traditional Hogsmeade trip, of course, and the Halloween
feast, but their little circle had always managed to arrange an unsanctioned
adventure or prank on that night.
Some of their adventures had been harmless, silly ones, like getting dressed up
and riding their brooms past the first years' windows at midnight, shrieking
their heads off. Others, he reflected, had been truly stupid, like the time
they had convinced Davey Gudgeon that Whomping Willow sap was a surefire cure
for spots.
But there had been no Halloween pranks, or even company, for twelve long years,
and this year would be worse than most. Or better. He couldn't decide. Tonight,
after the feast, the full moon would rise.
He sighed. At least there were no pranks to be missed because of his unwilling
transformation. He was even beginning to think that the full moon would be a
blessing, this once. Most Halloween nights of recent years had been spent lying
awake and alone with his memories, some sweet and some deeply bitter. At least
with the help of the potion, he would sleep, and would not remember anything
when he woke. But that blessed oblivion was hours away yet, and he had nothing
to do until then but remember.
Or so he thought, until he heard slow footsteps echo in the corridor. He put
his head out of the office and blinked in surprise to see Harry walking past.
"Harry?" he said incredulously.
He had half-convinced himself that the boy really had done as his father would
have, and gone to Hogsmeade regardless of rules and warnings.
This is not James, he reminded himself sternly.
He looked around, just to be sure they were alone, suppressing his own pleasure
at this chance meeting as he inquired after the whereabouts of Harry's usually-
inseperable friends, Ron and Hermione. When Harry confirmed in a dejected tone
that they had gone to Hogsmeade without him, Remus invited the boy in with the
excuse of showing him a newly-arrived Grindylow.
He offered Harry a cup of tea as the boy examined the ugly little water demon
and invited him to take a seat across his desk.
"I've only got tea bags, I'm afraid," he said, rummaging through his desk, "but
I daresay you've had enough of tea leaves?"
Remus allowed himself a tiny smile. He had heard from Professor McGonagall
about Sybil Trelawney's dire predictions regarding Harry. He gathered she was
rather a joke in the staff room -- a place she rarely visited. Still, it was
understandable that Harry would feel a little uncomfortable. Death omens,
however dubious the source, had a way of unsettling people.
Harry stared moodily into the dark, steamy beverage. Remus could see that the
boy had much on his mind, but was at a loss how to begin.
"Anything worrying you, Harry?" he asked gently.
"No," said Harry. Then after a moment, "yes."
As he had known he would eventually, Harry asked him again about the Boggart,
and why he had not been allowed to face it. Remus explained to Harry his
concerns over having Voldemort suddenly materialise in the midst of a group of
students. But it seemed he had misjudged the boy.
"I did think of Voldemort first," he admitted, "but then I -- I remembered
those Dementors."
Remus was intrigued. While nearly everyone in the Wizarding world had gone in
terror of Voldemort, and most who had met him face to face feared him more than
anything else, this boy who had faced him three times already did not. He even
spoke the Dark wizard's name without flinching. His real fear -- fear itself -
- was much more abstract and grown up than Remus would have expected.
Remus felt a rush of sympathy at this first insight into the mind of his
friends' son. His own fears were just as abstract, though in his case, it was
love that truly terrified him. He was gratified to see Harry cheer up when he
understood that his teacher had not actually thought him incapable of
successfully performing the lesson.
Their conversation was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Severus Snape,
carrying a steaming goblet. Remus groaned inwardly. It was bad enough having to
depend on Snape for his monthly potion. He had not wanted Harry to see this. He
had also seen over the past weeks how Snape treated the boy -- another thing he
and Harry had in common -- and he felt badly for drawing any further attention
to him. He knew the Potions master would watch the boy with more suspicion than
ever if he suspected a friendly association between Harry and his erstwhile
schoolmate.
Remus tried to treat the situation as casually as possible, smiling and
thanking Snape for the potion, and informing the man that Harry was just
visiting to see the new Grindylow. Snape was not to be deflected by
pleasantries. His eyes flicked suspiciously between them. Scowling, he reminded
Remus that the potion was better drunk sooner than later, while it was hot, and
departed without any valediction.
Harry stared after him curiously, then at the steaming goblet on his teacher's
desk, clearly drawing his own conclusions. Remus could tell from the boy's
expression that he did not trust the Potions master any more than Remus himself
did. But at least Remus knew, as the boy did not, that Snape would do what he
must for the great debt he owed Dumbledore, including keeping the school safe
from the likes of him.
He explained the potion away to Harry in the vaguest possibly terms, hoping the
boy would lose interest, and maybe even forget about it.
"I've been feeling a bit off-colour," he told Harry as he took a sip.
It was nasty, bitter stuff, and he shuddered. Harry was still eyeing the goblet
suspiciously.
"Professor Snape is very interested in the Dark Arts," he said at last, giving
Remus a significant look.
So that was it. Harry was worried Snape might try to poison him to get his job.
Remus had to admit that he had forgotten what a talent the other man had had in
his schooldays at Defence Against the Dark Arts. That would certainly explain
the extra dose of loathing and disdain with which the Potions master regarded
him. It was not just a festering schoolboy grudge; it was the disappointment of
a man who had yet again failed to attain the position he wanted -- and not only
that, but had lost it to someone he despised. Remus actually felt a small
measure of pity for the man.
He also felt the back of his neck beginning to tingle a little. Outside the
window, the autumn sun was just touching the horizon. He had better hurry up
and finish his potion; it would forestall the onset of the change for a time,
among its other benefits. In the meantime, the tingling was very distracting,
and made him poor company; he was having a difficult time focussing on anything
Harry was saying. Draining the goblet, he quickly dismissed the still puzzled-
looking boy from his office.
The timing was a shame, really. He would have liked to talk to the boy a while
longer. Talking with Harry had been a pleasant distraction from his dark
thoughts. He gazed across the smoking, empty goblet to see Harry hurrying away
down the corridor, looking thoughtful.
As soon as the boy was out of sight, Remus turned down the corridor in the
opposite direction, toward his rooms. He would have just enough time to get
changed before the feast, and he needed something to get the taste of the
potion out of his mouth.
***** Halloween *****
The feast itself went well enough. Nothing ever tasted as it should on the
evenings before moonrise, but he knew that if he did not eat now, he would be
ravenous in his wolf form, and weaker than usual tomorrow. The potion would not
only slow the change, but possibly cause him to sleep through his time as a
wolf -- a heretofore unknown experience for Remus. But if he was hungry tonight
-- Locked in his rooms, he should be no danger to anyone, but he might make a
mess of the place out of frustration. Better to eat now, even if it did not
taste quite right.
During the Hogwarts ghosts' hilarious reenactment of Nearly-Headless Nick's
near-beheading, he felt the tingling sensation start to spread, and began
planning his escape back to his rooms. He knew from long experience that the
change in sensation meant that he might have as little as half an hour left
before the transformation was upon him. He might make it to the end of the
feast; things seemed to be wrapping up.
The ghosts' show ended, and all the students applauded. Remus could see Nearly-
Headless Nick beaming with pride at his part in the performance, and bowing to
the audience, carefully holding his head in place.
The students rose and began filing out of the hall and toward their respective
house dormitories. He waved to Harry, who waved back and leaned to whisper
something in his friend Hermione's ear. She also turned to look at Remus, then
realised he was watching them, and waved awkwardly.
He was just beginning to think he should make a quick exit out a side door,
instead of waiting for the students to clear the hall, when a breathless first
year came bursting back in through the crowd. He saw Remus, and grabbed the
sleeve of his robes urgently.
"Professor Lupin, Sir, have you seen Professor Dumbledore?" The boy squeaked,
clearly excited about something. "He's needed right away at Gryffindor!"
The boy scanned the crowd frantically, looking for the silver beard, half-moon
spectacles, and comforting face of Albus Dumbledore. Remus had the advantage of
height, and caught sight of the headmaster much more quickly. He pointed him
out to the boy, then followed to see what could be so urgent that a first year
-- usually so meek and easily cowed -- would seek out and speak to the
headmaster.
He caught up with the boy just as he was saying, "-- slashed clean in half,
Professor. I saw it, Sir. Me and Aurelia were the first ones there, and I came
straight back down to find you, Sir."
Professor Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Thank you, Julius, you did the right
thing, coming to me."
They were already walking toward the stairs that led to Gryffindor tower.
Remus's legs were long enough to keep pace with the headmaster, but Julius and
several other curious students were having a hard time keeping up. Remus
followed Dumbledore up the stairs, and saw out of the corner of his eye that
Professors McGonagall and Snape were hurrying after him.
The crowd of students at Gryffindor tower's entrance seemed to part easily
before the headmaster, but Remus and the rest had to push their way past. When
he finally saw what all the excitement was about, he went pale. The portrait
that guarded the entrance to the tower was slashed to ribbons, its occupant
vanished.
His blood pounded in his ears, drowning out all other noise. The tingling was
spreading down his back. He had to go. Now.
One phrase floated to his ears out of the hubbub, as he turned and hurried away
down the corridor.
"Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black."
Once he was out of sight of the students, he almost sprinted back to his rooms.
He wanted to stop, just for a moment, to try and understand what this latest
incident meant, but he could feel the change coming.
Remus slammed the door behind him and fumbled for the lock, shrugging out of
his robes at the same time. With Snape's potion in his system, he might not be
a danger, but he didn't want anyone seeing him like -- that.
He rested his forehead against the door, breathing hard. Any minute now. His
abnormally keen senses were becoming even sharper. Vision, hearing, smell.
Suddenly, he knew he wasn't alone in the room. He whirled around, and just had
time to register the huge black dog lying on the bed, staring at him with big,
pale eyes, before the change took him.
===============================================================================
Light. Sunlight. Light falling across his eyes, waking him. He had dreamed -
- No.
He opened his eyes wide enough to squint, putting up a hand to block the
dawning daylight streaming into his room. He lay naked on the cold stone floor,
comforter dragged over him, the room in disarray. He sat up.
A full moon last night -- yes, that was it. It was coming back to him, slowly.
He remembered taking the potion. Harry had been there for that. It must have
some narcotic compound in it that was making his brain so fuzzy. He remembered
the feast somewhat less clearly. Things became even more confused after that.
But he knew there was something important -- something he must remember.
Eyes. Pale eyes looking at him. No, that must have been a dream.
The image of the slashed portrait came floating to the surface of his mind.
Sirius. Sirius had been in the castle last night, trying to get into Gryffindor
tower. And he had been in this room. On Remus's own bed. He turned so quickly
that it made him mildly dizzy.
He half-expected to see the big black dog still lying on the bed, pale eyes
taunting, tongue lolling in the sardonic doggy grin he had once known so well.
But the bed was empty. Like everything else in the room, it was in a state of
complete chaos; the blankets, sheets, and pillows torn off, bunched up, or
strewn about the room. It looked almost as if -- He cut the thought off with a
guilty shock.
No. Surely not.
Shakily rising and picking up the comforter from the floor, he drew it back
across the bed, over the crumpled sheets, hiding them from view. Smoothing the
comforter into place, Remus found a scattering of shiny, coal-black hairs
clinging to it. Instinctively, he reached out trembling fingers to touch them,
cursing himself all the while.
It was not fear or anger or hatred that caused his trembling, and he knew it.
Love still owned him, and the longing to touch the one still beloved in spite
of all ran deep with Remus.
He traced the curve of a single hair with the tip of his finger. Then he lay
down on the bed, wrapped the comforter around his shivering body, buried his
face in its folds, and wept for Sirius -- for his love and his betrayal -- one
more time, until the relief of sleep found him again.
===============================================================================
Much later that morning, Remus knocked on the door of the headmaster's office.
A cheery voice from within invited him to enter, and he did so, closing the
door behind him. The Dumbledore sat at his desk, Professor McGonagall seated
across from him.
"Remus, dear fellow!" exclaimed the headmaster. "I trust you're feeling better
today? You seemed not quite yourself yesterday evening, but I suppose that's to
be expected."
"Yes, thank you, Professor. I'm much improved today." He attempted a weak
smile.
"Dear boy, you really must start calling me 'Albus'. You're not a student
anymore!" He beamed at the younger man. "I've just been having a chat with
Minerva about one of our young wards. I think you'll know the one." He winked
at Remus.
Lying on his bed after he woke for the second time, Remus had thought a great
deal about what he planned to say to Dumbledore.
The whole school already knew Sirius had been in the castle the night before.
The halls were buzzing with whispered gossip this morning, and the students
kept glancing nervously over their shoulders, as if they expected armed madmen
to pop out from behind every statue. Just on his way here, Remus had heard a
dozen whispered theories about how Sirius had gotten past the Dementors and
into the castle.
Was there really any need for him to inform the headmaster of his unexpected
visitor the previous evening?
On the one hand, he was ashamed. Everyone -- well, the staff, anyway -- already
knew of the former close association between himself and Sirius. And if
anything had -- happened -- last night, he would frankly rather no one found
out. But in the balance, there was Harry's safety, and that was the reason he
had finally made himself come to see Dumbledore this morning.
"He must be told the truth," Remus informed the headmaster in a firm voice.
"Harry deserves to know all of it. We're all walking on eggshells around him,
because of -- well, because of how things are right now. But he needs to know
that Si -- er -- that Black is after him." He looked pleadingly from Dumbledore
to Professor McGonagall. "I have every confidence that, if he only knew the
danger he might be in, he wouldn't intentionally put himself in harm's way. He
should be on his guard. Surely you can both see the wisdom in that?"
Dumbledore nodded. "I was just saying something very similar to Minerva. You
are absolutely right; Harry must be told. Not all of it -- that would be folly.
The boy does have a history of finding trouble as soon as he knows where to
look for it. I've known only a few students in my time with such a nose for
trouble." His eyes twinkled over his half-moon spectacles.
"As the head of his house," said Professor McGonagall, "it is my responsibility
to inform the boy. I'll be sure to tell him only as much as I think it is
prudent for him to know."
"In that case, Minerva," said Dumbledore, "I leave the matter entirely in your
capable hands. I have never found myself to be in the wrong, trusting in your
good judgment. Does that satisfy you, Remus?"
"It's all I can ask," he replied, wondering exactly what McGonagall would think
it "prudent" for Harry to know regarding himself. "I only want him to be safe."
===============================================================================
Remus prowled the deserted corridors of Hogwarts. No students were allowed to
wander the halls unescorted or without good reason, following the incident with
the portrait. It made the castle seem an unusually quiet and lonely place. He
turned up one corridor and down the next, no real goal in mind, allowing his
mind and his feet to wander. It took him nearly an hour of pacing the echoing
corridors to realise what he was doing.
He was hunting. He was looking for Sirius.
Sirius had managed to get past the Dementors twice when no one else had ever
managed it. Remus supposed it must have something to do with his being an
Animagus. He knew he should inform Dumbledore of Sirius's unusual ability, but
he could not bring himself to do it.
They had sworn, the four of them, never to tell. They had sworn it in blood and
magic -- as close as Remus had ever come to performing the Dark Arts himself -
- and they had taken that oath very seriously. If any one of them ever betrayed
their secret to the detriment of one of his fellows -- Remus did not like to
think about what might happen.
Such a confession would also mean admitting he had betrayed Dumbledore's trust
all those years ago. He had known the rules and restrictions the headmaster had
laid down for his own safety and the safety of his fellow students, allowing
him the chance to attend Hogwarts, and he had disregarded them for the sake of
risk and adventure with his friends. How could he admit such a thing to the man
who had done so much for him?
He knew that the school had been thoroughly searched the previous night, and
that no sign of Sirius had been found, but this wandering investigation of the
castle he was a means to assuage his guilt in a small way.
If they had only come to my rooms, he thought, what might they have seen?
He didn't want to think about it. Dumbledore had likely covered for him,
preventing his rooms from being searched at such a highly inconvenient time. He
was doing an excellent job of protecting Remus's secret, which only made him
feel worse about keeping Sirius's ability and his Halloween visit from the
headmaster.
He wondered how long Sirius had stayed. Remus had only seen him for a few
seconds. He might have left right after the transformation, or he might have
stayed the whole night.
He knew he could hide there, Remus thought savagely. It was the full moon; he
knew I could do nothing, and that no one would dare check my rooms for him.
The man he had known would never have taken advantage of his weakness like
that. But then, the man he had known would never have slashed a portrait to
ribbons in a frenzied attempt to murder a child, nor would he have murdered a
street full of people in cold blood.
A familiar tapestry echoed in his memory, and Remus realised there were other
places in the school that no one would have thought to search: the numerous
secret passages beneath the castle and the grounds. He was certain that, in his
days as a student, the Marauders had been the only ones who knew about some of
those hidden corridors, and they had kept them a closely-guarded secret. Was
the one that opened behind the statue of the one-eyed witch still unknown? If
so, it might not be guarded, leaving the way clear for Sirius to sneak in and
out of the castle via Hogsmeade, without having to slip past the Dementors at
the gates.
Remus turned down a side passage, ducked through a low doorway, and into a room
filled with rusty suits of troll armour, then behind a tapestry, and up a
rickety flight of wooden steps. He was amazed at how quickly it all came back
to him. At last, he found the corridor he had been looking for.
No, no guards were posted around the innocent-looking statue -- well, as
innocent as any of the Hogwarts statues ever looked. He peered up and down the
corridor, listening for footsteps. When he was certain that no one was coming,
he stepped up behind the statue, tapped it with his wand, and whispered,
"Dissendium."
The entrance through the witch's hump swung open, and Remus quickly ducked into
the cold, dank, dark passageway.
"Lumos," he murmured.
The faint glow of wandlight illuminated his surroundings, but he knew at once
there was nothing to see there. Even if Sirius had used the passage, he would
have had no reason to hang about. Instead, he closed his eyes, breathing deep,
giving his wolfishly keen hearing and sense of smell free rein.
Insects scuttled up the walls, and mice or rats scurried and gnawed further
down the passageway, but apart from that, the place was silent as a tomb. It
was his nose, as always, which told him the truth. Beneath the smells of damp
and dirt and mildew, there was a sharply familiar animal scent.
Remus growled low in his throat. He had almost hoped that there would be no
sign of Sirius in the air but ghost-scent from days long gone, but the canine
scent hanging heavy in the air was recent and unmistakable. Sirius had been
here, and no more than a few hours before.
For a moment, Remus stood, eyes closed, letting himself breathe the scent. But
the cold, damp smells of the place dulled it enough that he was not undone by
it as he had been by the warm canine smell that had found him in his bed that
morning. His breath caught in his throat -- the ghost of a sob -- and with a
will, he brought his wayward emotions back under his control.
Remus had learned all he needed to know, but still he crouched low to the
ground, searching the damp earth. He found them almost immediately: paw prints
circling, pacing, and finally leading away into the gloom.
He took a step to follow. What would happen if he did encounter Sirius there in
the darkness? The knowledge of what he would have to do, and the fear of what
he might do were too much for him. His courage deserted him, and he turned his
face back to the school and safety.
***** Echoes *****
It was very much like being back at school, Remus reflected ruefully. The full
moon came around, some excitement happened, and he missed it. The potion made
his transformations easier, but it still left him feeling dizzy for days after,
and he was forced to postpone the lesson on Hinkypunks he had been planning.
He had done too much too soon in searching the castle, and was disappointed to
find himself too weak even to venture out to the Quidditch pitch to see Harry
in action in his first match of the year. He had heard the young Seeker's
talent put even James's abilities to shame -- something he would very much have
liked to see for himself -- and was sorry not to even be able to wish him "good
luck".
But when he finally felt well enough to leave his rooms the following
afternoon, he found he had missed yet more excitement, though of a very
different character. The Dementors had invaded the pitch mid-game, drawn by the
high-running emotions and energy of the crowd. They had come to feed.
Harry's response to them had been once again to faint dead away, only this
time, the boy had been flying high on his broomstick, and had fallen more than
fifty feet.
Thankfully Dumbledore had intervened -- angrier than anyone had ever seen him,
Professor Flitwick confided -- and had arrested Harry's fall and called the
Dementors off him. Unfortunately, Harry's broomstick had not survived the
incident, having sailed directly into the branches of the Whomping Willow.
Remus was grateful for Harry's safe recovery, but the near-accident only
highlighted the irony of the situation: the presence of the Dementors was doing
as much harm as good. They might protect the boy from Sirius, but they seemed
just as likely to kill him as a side effect.
Remus wanted badly to speak with Harry again. He was becoming more and more
concerned about the boy's reaction to the Dementors, and was curious to know
how much Professor McGonagall had told him about his connection to Sirius. But
every time he put his head into the hospital wing, Harry was either surrounded
by his friends, or he was sleeping, and Remus was loathe to wake him. At least
he seemed none the worse for his fall.
The following Monday, Harry out of bed and back in class, but Remus's pleasure
was tempered by the class's grievances about the work Snape had apparently
assigned in his absence. The vindictive Potions master had decided that an
essay on the very advanced subject of werewolves was just the thing Remus's
third year students needed.
He groaned inwardly. Snape was prevented from directly revealing his secret by
Dumbledore's injunction, but it seemed he was planning to do his level best to
make sure the students drew their own conclusions.
Assuring the class that they would not be expected to turn in any such essay,
he found, much to his relief, that most of the students had not even started on
the assignment. Only Harry's friend Hermione seemed disappointed, declaring
that she had already finished it.
That was worrying. He had had two months now to get to know the students, and
as was only natural, he had paid particular attention to Harry and his friends.
If anyone in the class was likely to put two and two together and come up with
"werewolf", it was brilliant, muggleborn Hermione Granger. He would just have
to cross his fingers that she would not make the connection.
He quickly turned the class's attention to the subject of Hinkypunks and their
misdirecting habits, explaining, among other things, their relation to Will o'
the Wisps. To his relief, the students seemed just as happy as he was to
abandon the subject of werewolves, and move on to these much less sinister
creatures.
When the lesson ended, Remus called Harry back for a private word, expressing
his sympathy over the fate of the boy's racing broom.
"They planted the Whomping Willow the same year that I arrived at Hogwarts," he
said, unsure why he should be telling the boy such a thing.
But if Harry wondered at the reason anyone would plant such a violent tree on
school grounds, he did not ask. Something else was occupying his mind.
"Did you hear about the Dementors, too?" he asked stiffly.
Remus acknowledged that he had. He could tell the subject troubled the boy
deeply.
"Why?" Harry finally burst out. "Why do they affect me like that? Am I just --
?"
"It has nothing to do with weakness," Remus assured him.
He was something of an expert on the subject of Dementors, having studied
Defence Against the Dark Arts to NEWT level, and attained an O in the subject.
Following Sirius's capture and incarceration, Remus had developed a morbid
fascination with the Azkaban guards. He explained as quickly and simply as he
could the nature of Dementors, glad at least that his knowledge and insight
could serve this boy who was so obviously desperate for answers.
No, it was not weakness that led Harry to lose consciousness in the presence of
the Dementors; it was simply their nature to drain away every positive thought
and memory, leaving only the worst of a person's experiences. And the worst of
Harry's experiences went far beyond those of most children his age.
Many adults, especially those who had lived through the war, had experienced
things equally terrible, and occasionally much worse, than Harry had, but
adults were better equipped both mentally and emotionally to face that kind of
darkness. Harry himself would harden to it with age, but for now, it was a
serious inconvenience to him, as well as a source of embarrassment. Remus
resolved to do whatever he could to help the boy overcome his difficulty.
"When they get near me --" Harry paused, as if uncertain how much to confide to
a near-stranger, even one who might be able to help him. "I can hear Voldemort
murdering my mum."
Lily. Remus's mind reeled. Surely he was too young to remember --
He reached out a hand to touch Harry's arm, but drew back. The boy might be as
dear as a son to him, but Harry knew him as nothing more than his teacher. Such
a gesture out of context would not be appropriate.
Remus had been avoiding thinking about Lily. It was bad enough thinking about
Sirius all the time, without adding her to it. But seeing this boy -- looking
into those emerald green eyes -- it was impossible not to recall the woman who
has bestowed them upon her son.
Sweet, gentle Lily. Kindhearted, but with a fiery temper when it came to
defending those she cared for. She was the first person at Hogwarts to whom he
had confided his secret -- the first person to whom he had confessed his
feelings for Sirius. She had been his truest and first real friend.
He had met them all on the day of his arrival at Hogwarts, but he had grown
close to her first, when the rowdy boys he roomed with offered no understanding
to the quiet, lonely child he had been. Slowly, though, he had been drawn into
the Marauders, earning their respect and friendship with his cleverness and
wit, and by the end, they and she had become family all together; two couples
and two sets of best friends.
Only Peter had had no one within the group in whom to confide in above all
others. Remus had often felt badly for the boy who had looked up to James and
Sirius with a kind of hero-worship. He wondered if Peter had ever felt jealous
of the bonds the rest of them shared. Poor Peter, who had died for love of
James -- killed by the wand of Sirius Black.
The worst of it for Remus had been, of course, Sirius's betrayal of their love
and trust, but his complicity in Lily's murder had been a close second,
depriving Remus of lover and best friend in one terrible stroke.
And now Harry had brought him face to face with the moment of her death,
revealing an event which Remus had thought long lost, and to which Lily's
infant son had been the only witness.
A small part of him hungered to find out how much more Harry might remember -
- if, unknowing, he held some truth that might have been missed -- but his more
prudent self knew that it would be better for them both not to dig too deeply
into the events of that night. It was unlikely, after all, that Harry retained
more that the vaguest impressions.
Harry was speaking again, asking him why the Dementors had to appear just then,
in the moment when the Snitch had been within his grasp. Remus shook himself
and explained about the feelings the Dementors had come to feed on.
"Azkaban must be terrible," mused Harry.
Remus nodded. His thoughts had spent much of the past twelve years inside the
wizard prison. Sometimes he felt he was trapped there himself, inside his head.
He had never seen the place with his own eyes -- no one visited unless they had
business there or, had no choice in the matter -- but Sirius was there, and
Remus could not help wondering what it must be like for the man he had loved.
Such thoughts were his penance and his revenge.
The Dementors would have drained away every happy thought, feasting on their
love -- always assuming Sirius had ever truly loved him -- until he was left
with -- what? Remus wondered what grim and horrible memories plagued Sirius,
alone in his cell. Did he feel remorse for what he had done? Loneliness? Did he
remember Remus at all anymore, or had he lost the last shreds of his humanity
in that dreadful place?
He found himself explaining the nature of the place out loud, talking more to
himself than to Harry. If he could only think about the place rationally, in
the most basic terms possible, forgetting about the man for a moment, maybe the
tightness in his chest would ease.
"The fortress is set on a tiny island, way out to sea, but they don't need
walls and water to keep the prisoners in, not when they're all trapped inside
their own heads, incapable of a single cheerful thought. Most of them go mad
within weeks."
"But Sirius Black escaped from them," said Harry. "He got away --"
The bitterness with which James and Lily Potter's son spat the name unsettled
Remus so badly that he dropped his briefcase. How much had Professor McGonagall
told him? Obviously she had told him enough. While the idea of an escaped
murderer might be interesting and maybe a little scary for any boy, only the
knowledge of at least some part of the truth could engender such tones of
loathing.
Sirius had taken Harry's parents from him, destroying his chance at a happy
childhood, and Remus could not blame him for the way he felt. But Harry had
never known Sirius, Lily, or James -- not like Remus had -- and he could not
begin to understand the complexity of sorrow and confusion that Remus felt.
Remus longed to speak to him about the great friendship and love his they had
all shared, even Sirius, but it was impossible. Harry was much too young to
understand the possibility of loving someone who had done unforgivable things.
To have those eyes turn their loathing and disgust on him would be unbearable.
Maybe when he was older Remus would explain to him, but not now.
"Yes," he said finally, forcing his emotions back under his control. "Black
must have found a way to fight them." It was incredibly hard to say the name in
front of the boy. "I wouldn't have believed it possible. Dementors are supposed
to drain a wizard of his powers if he is left with them too long --"
"You made the Dementor on the train back off," Harry exclaimed suddenly.
It was becoming apparent to Remus that while his own thoughts could not help
but be of Sirius, Harry was much more concerned about the Dementors. He was not
sure whether that was wise, but he could think of nothing helpful to say to the
boy regarding Sirius. He did know a trick or two that might help against the
Dementors, though.
Ten minutes later, Harry left the classroom content in the knowledge that he
would soon be taking private anti-Dementor lessons with Remus, while Remus
himself was once more left alone with his thoughts.
===============================================================================
There was another Hogsmeade visit planned for the students on the last day of
term before the Christmas holiday, and Remus was looking forward to tracking
Harry down for another chat. He found he enjoyed talking to Lily and James's
son, in spite of the strong feelings he occasionally unknowingly raised. It had
been a long time since Remus had been interested in talking to anyone -
- perhaps a good habit to encourage in himself.
But try though he might, he was unable to locate Harry anywhere in the castle.
He even walked down from the castle through the snow on the off-chance that the
boy was taking tea with Hagrid, but the huge gamekeeper was not in his hut.
When Remus knocked, there was a scrabbling sound and a dog began to bark
inside.
For a moment -- just a moment -- Remus had the urge open the door for a look at
the dog, just in case. But no; that wasn't Sirius's bark. It also sounded as if
there might be other large animals inside the hut, and Remus had little desire
to make the acquaintance of any of Hagrid's "pets" in his absence. He
remembered only too well the gamekeeper's great love for "interestin'
creatures".
Remus and his friends had often visited Hagrid during their school days. The
big man had always enjoyed hearing tales of their pranks and adventures. Remus
had not sought to renew that friendship since his return. He had meant to, but
in the first week of term, he had overheard Hagrid declaring vehement hatred of
Sirius, and Remus did not feel like subjecting himself to that. Hagrid was not
a man to hide his feelings, and those feelings were decidedly anti-Sirius.
Remus knew that his own presence would only serve to remind the gamekeeper of
the old days, and inevitably of the events which came later.
As he turned back toward the castle, feet chilled by the snow melting into his
shabby, inadequate footwear, his eyes were drawn to the Forbidden Forest. If
Sirius was still around, and had not given up after his failed attempt, was
that not the most likely place for him to lie hidden? Perhaps he was nearby
even now, watching from the shadows.
Remus shivered and pulled his thin cloak more tightly around his shoulders. The
snow was beginning to fall again, swirling softly around him, the wind tugging
at his hair.
I could go have a look, he thought. Pawprints in the snow shouldn't be hard to
find.
Similar thoughts had prodded him many times since Halloween. Sirius was nearby,
he was sure of it, and he could no longer deny to himself how much he longed
for another glimpse of the man. When the November full moon had come and gone,
he had awoken almost hoping for some sign that the black dog had visited him
again, but there had been none.
Only two things prevented him actively seeking Sirius. The first was that
someone might ask or even guess what he was doing. Secondly, he had no idea
what he would do if or when he found Sirius. He knew in his heart he could not
callously turn him over to the law. Perhaps that was weakness, but Remus had
always been one to acknowledge and accept his own limitations.
What he longed for, deep in his broken heart, was simply the nearness of one
beloved. But what could be done when the beloved was in the grip of a violent
madness?
He stood gazing into the forest for a long time before shaking himself and
beginning the long trudge up the hill to the castle, his search for Harry
forgotten.
***** Erised Christmas *****
Christmas was always hard for Remus. He had been raised in the bosom of an
affectionate and old-fashioned family, and had certain ideas about how
Christmas out to be. It could involve being surrounded by friends and family,
warmth and love. It had been a long time since his last real Christmas.
He tried to go home once or twice -- tried spending Christmas with his parents
and Natalie and her family -- but his parents had taken a very dim view of his
relationship with Sirius, and that still hurt. It didn't help that, every time
they saw him, they asked if he was seeing anyone special, because they knew a
nice young lady who would love to meet him.
Natalie was a bit more understanding, but the two of them had grown apart after
he started at Hogwarts and she learned she was a Squib. Her little boy barely
knew the uncle he resembled so much, and Remus had overheard her once telling
their parents that she hoped the boy would be "normal". He preferred not to
think what she might mean by that.
His last Christmas with his friends -- the last real Christmas -- had been
wonderful. He and Sirius had spent the week with Lily and James and baby Harry
in Godric's Hollow. Peter had been invited, too, but he had already agreed to
spend Christmas with his ailing mother.
Remus recalled with longing the twinkling tree, the gifts heaped high around it
-- most of them for Harry, of course -- and its moving ornaments which had so
delighted the baby. The house had been filled with the mouthwatering aroma of
Christmas dinner cooking, and later, Lily's special biscuits: tiny red and
green cinnamon-flavoured reindeer that actually walked about on slender legs,
their red noses glowing and blinking. Lily had always been a great one for
charms.
He remembered how she had beamed with pride when she brought them out. Harry
had crowed with delight and grabbed for one, which had skittered out of his
reach to the other side of the plate. He had been ready to start wailing, when
his father had swooped in and grabbed one, presenting it directly into Harry's
fat little hands. The memory of that toothless baby grin as Harry had put the
biscuit in his mouth still made Remus smile.
"They're brilliant, Love," James had said. "You're brilliant. You could write
your own book of cooking charms. Really, Padfoot, she comes up with such clever
ideas. She's going to make me rich one day."
She had squeaked as he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her, laughing,
into his lap.
"That's my girl!" he had declared. "She makes the most wonderful squeaking
noises as well, but those are just for me!"
Baby Harry screeched and giggled at his parents' antics, drooling cookie crumbs
all down his front.
The scene faded from Remus's mind, his smile with it. It was cold in his rooms.
There were no decorations or any indication that it was the holiday season;
only deep, dark winter. He shivered. There was hardly any daylight this time of
year so far north, and the cold was a damp one.
He had considered joining in the Christmas Eve feast for those few who had
elected to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays. Harry would be there, he knew.
It would have been nice to share Christmas with the boy, but the last thing a
thirteen-year-old boy would want during the holidays was his teacher's gloomy
company. He had friends of his own, and a hundred adventures still to be had,
and a thousand laughs still to be shared.
I haven't even got a gift for him, Remus thought guiltily.
He had no idea what boys of that age liked these days, besides having little
money of his own. Thirteen years ago, he and Sirius had bought Harry a toy
Snitch for his first Christmas, but they had had Sirius's inheritance from his
uncle at their disposal in those days, as well as their own small combined
incomes.
Harry had been much too young for such a toy, which was larger, softer and
slower than a real Snitch, but James had been overjoyed at the gesture, and had
spent hours trying without success to teach the baby to catch it. The golden
ball whizzing about the room had still been enough to delight Harry.
James had been sure that Harry was going to play Quidditch for England one day,
and he often mentioned looking forward to box seats at the Quidditch World Cup
in his old age.
"In fact," he had once joked, "in twenty years time, they'll have to rename the
England team 'the Potters'. I'm going to teach all the sprogs to play. They'll
be bloody fantastic, just like their old man."
The grin he had flashed at Lily echoed briefly now on Remus's own lips before
fading. Lily and James had already been talking about having another baby, and
the last time he had seen Lily, he could almost have sworn -- But that thought
was too painful on top of everything else. Suffice it to say, it had not
happened, and the England team would just have to do without all that amazing
Potter talent.
I'd be alarmingly bad company tonight, he thought with a sigh. Best for
everyone concerned if I don't inflict myself on people.
He knelt to start a fire in the hearth instead. Another Christmas alone. Well,
he was used to it. His mood was unlikely to improve tomorrow, only two nights
before the full moon, so he would probably be better off giving Christmas
dinner a miss as well.
Shivering, he stood up. It would be some time before the fire had any effect on
the chill in the room. Perhaps he would go for a walk and try to warm up. If he
kept to the little-used north half of the castle, there was little chance of
encountering anyone. The trick was getting that far without being required to
stop and display a little holiday spirit.
Peering out the door, he found the corridor deserted. He set off toward the
North Tower at a quick walk, trying to recall the shortcut to the disused
portion of the school.
If I remember correctly --
Checking behind a tapestry that hung near the stairs, he found a door. It was
locked, but a quick "Alohomora" gained him entrance, and he was soon standing
in a cold, dark, and musty-smelling corridor. Solitude.
His steps slowed as he walked down dusty hallways, past darkened classrooms -
- some of which were currently being used for storage -- around shadowed
corners, up uneven steps, stooped through low doorways, trying all the while to
think of nothing at all.
He had learned to live his life wrapped in layers of gray numbness over the
past several years. The pain was no longer sharp, but still a dull, throbbing
ache that underlay his every waking moment. But the combination of being in
this place, of seeing Harry -- so much like his father -- and most especially
of being confronted daily with both talk and images of Sirius -- not to mention
the familiar canine smell which still clung to his bedclothes -- had brought
the pain and memories sharply into focus once more.
There was very little he could think about without feeling his throat tighten,
his chest ache, his eyes burn. So as he walked, he allowed his mind to think
only of the hardness, the colour, the age of the stones, the scents of dust and
damp and nothingness.
His efforts were more or less successful until his eye caught a flicker of
movement through the open door of a darkened room. Curious, he went to the door
and peered inside. What he saw made the blood drain from his face, and weakened
his knees considerably.
There was only one thing in the room: a huge, ornately framed mirror.
Erised, he remembered with a shock.
He should turn around and walk away, right now. He should go back to his rooms
and lock the door and forget he had ever found the damn thing again. But the
mirror drew him like siren song. What would it show him this time?
Remus knew already what he wanted more than anything else on earth: Sirius. But
a brave and loyal Sirius -- the Sirius he thought he had known -- the one who
would rather die than see his friends harmed. He wanted Lily and James alive
and well and raising Harry.
I want the last twelve years of my life back, dammit! I want the balance of
good and ill everyone else gets -- just a normal life; friends and family and
love. Small daily triumphs and tragedies. This great, gaping loneliness to
leave me --
From the depths of his mind, the images swam to the surface of the mirror.
Thinking the words had done nothing to prepare him for the seeing.
At first, he thought he was seeing that Christmas long ago in Godric's Hollow.
There were the four of them, sitting around the tree, their heads bent close in
talk. Then a dark head raised, and Sirius looked out of the mirror directly
into Remus's eyes and smiled that wonderful, mischievous smile, gray eyes
sparkling under dark, expressive brows.
It was not Christmas of thirteen years ago; there was Harry, come to sit
between his parents, looking much as he did now. No, there were differences.
The scar on Harry's forehead was missing. His glasses were new, and of a shape
and style which suited him. His hair was a bit longer.
Now that he looked at them closely, Remus saw that they were all older. Lily
and James -- was this truly how they would look if they were alive today? Lily
did not look so different from the way he remembered her, though she was
obviously now more woman than girl. She was still pretty and slim, but her hair
was cut so that it brushed her shoulders, rather than falling nearly to her
waist. James's hair seemed to be lying reasonably flat for once, and was going
attractively gray at the temples. He had just opened a package containing a
shirt in Gryffindor colours and hugged his son, who looked pleased and
embarrassed at the same time.
Remus saw himself sitting next to Sirius, hand resting on the other man's
thigh, Sirius's arm casually draped around his shoulders. In the mirror,
Remus's hair was less gray. There were fewer lines around his eyes and mouth.
His clothes were better quality, and looked new. Every now and then, he and
Sirius would glance at one another and smile, or Sirius would say something and
he would laugh.
Sirius leaned over and whispered something in his mirror-self's ear and that
Remus gave Sirius a sideways glance, mouthing "later". Sirius grinned and gave
his shoulder a squeeze.
Sirius looked much more like the man Remus had known than like the haggard
stranger in the papers. There were no shadows under this Sirius's eyes, he was
clean-shaven, and, like Remus-in-the-mirror, there were fewer telltale lines
denoting the passage of a difficult life. On this occasion, his hair had been
neatly brushed and tied back at the nape of his neck. The shining black waves
fell halfway down his back.
Remus's fingers twitched. He longed to run them through that hair. Somehow he
knew that, in the mirror world, it had been he who had brushed those shining
tresses and tied them back, planting a kiss on that neck as he did so.
More figures appeared in the mirror. Three younger children ran between the
adults, giggling and chasing one another. There was a girl of about ten who
looked like Harry. She had freckles, and her hair hung in two neat plaits.
Chasing after the girl was a small boy of seven or so, who was the spitting
image of Lily. Harry grabbed the boy as he went by, and proceeded to
incapacitate him with tickles. He giggled and shrieked silently in the mirror
and appealed to his mother to save him.
The last child puzzled him -- a girl of about eleven with long, blonde curls
and big, brown eyes. She was wearing new flannel pajamas in Ravenclaw colours,
and she looked like neither Lily nor James. She had been chasing the other two
children, brandishing a sprig of mistletoe. When she got to Harry, she stopped,
held the berried twig over his head, and kissed him unabashedly on the cheek
before running away, giggling. Harry was so stunned that he let his little
brother go, blushing furiously.
The blonde girl ran through the scene again, this time in the other direction,
and barreled directly into Sirius, who caught her and kissed her on the
forehead. She held up the twig, this time between Sirius and Remus-in-the-
mirror, and as the two men in the glass obligingly leaned in to kiss, Remus saw
the girl's mouth move to form the word "daddy".
Remus sat down hard on the cold stone floor, head shaking slow denial, eyes
fixed on the scene. Somehow, the mirror knew even the desires he had not let
himself think of for years.
They had talked about it. Shyly the first time, as they helped Lily and James
decorate the nursery that would be Harry's in a few months. After Harry was
born, it had become a frequent topic on conversation.
They could adopt a child. God knew enough Wizarding children had lost their
parents in those dark days. They would make good fathers, they had thought.
When Harry was born, they had both sworn to protect him with their lives, like
he was their own.
Remus had meant every word, even if Sirius had not. Remus still loved Harry
like his own blood even now, when he was practically a stranger.
They had gone so far as to obtain the proper paperwork from the Ministry that
fateful October, even though they both knew the chances of the Ministry
awarding custody to two men, one a werewolf, were slim. Only the night before
Remus's world had crumbled, they had lain in bed talking about the possibility.
They also discussed how, should anything happen to Lily and James, Harry would
come to them, but Remus had thought that was an eventuality too horrible to
contemplate.
Now he gazed into the enchanted mirror, seeing another possibility -- a life
that might have been. This child sitting in Remus-in-the-mirror's lap, gazing
up at him, handing him gifts. What was her name? What her story? He could well
understand how this mirror could drain a man's life away while he sat,
transfixed, not noticing.
The little girl was pulling on a gray hood, tying it under her chin. A hood
with wolf-ears on it. She dropped to all fours and howled, then pounced on
Remus-in-the-mirror. Sirius, shifting to his Animagus form, did the same. The
three of them tumbled and wrestled and laughed and licked one another's faces.
Remus could not bear it any longer, looking into this life that might have been
-- that could never be -- his. He stumbled to his feet and fled.
He hurried up a corridor and around a corner, seeking the exit at the North
Tower, wanting only to put distance between himself and that accursed mirror.
He needed to erase those too-sweet visions of longing from his mind. He needed
the safety and relative comfort of his own rooms and a stiff drink.
It seemed to take him forever to find the base of the North Tower again, and
when he did, he was brought up just short of running headlong into Professor
Trelawney. He steadied himself against the wall, wanting only to get away
quickly, but constrained by instinctive politeness.
"Professor," he gasped. "Good evening. It's, ah, unexpected to see you."
"But not for me to see you, Professor Lupin. The crystal does not lie." She
peered at him mistily though the thick glasses that made her look like a giant
insect. "But, my dear Professor, are you quite well?"
"Ah, no," he said quickly. "No, I don't feel quite myself this evening, I'm
afraid."
She pursed her lips and nodded in exaggerated sympathy. "If you would like,
Professor, I should be more than happy to crystal gaze for you, and see if I
can't find the source of your turmoil." She raised her brows inquiringly. "Many
factors are only to be perceived by those of us who are masters or mistresses
of the exalted art of Divination, you know."
"Thank you, no, Professor," said Remus, casting about for a hasty exit. "I, ah,
I think I'll just go back to my rooms and have a bit of a lie down. Thank you.
Good night, Professor."
He turned aside and hurried off down the corridor, casting glances over his
shoulder to make sure he was not followed.
***** I'm Your Man *****
Chapter Notes
     Many apologies. I let my love of a certain album get away from me in
     this chapter. The lyrics ("There Ain't No Cure for Love", "I'm Your
     Man", "I Can't Forget", and "The Tower of Song") are the property of
     Leonard Cohen, and come from his 1988 album, I'm Your Man, which
     makes a bloody marvelous R/S soundtrack.
Safely back at his rooms Remus closed the door behind him and sagged against
it, with a sigh. The mirror had given him such a backhanded Christmas gift -
- to show him that beautiful scene, full of light, love, happiness -- but also
the knowledge that it could never be so for any of them.
Maybe one day there'll be a happy ending for Harry, poor boy, but not for the
rest of us.
Lily and James dead, Sirius a madman, murderer, and fugitive, and himself a
prisoner to unending loneliness.
How fortunate the people who gazed into the face of Erised and saw that their
heart's desire was an achievable thing -- a goal they could work for and
attain! He had been one of them once, the first time he had seen the mirror,
though what it had shown him that time had shocked him to the point of denial.
Remus went to the cupboard below the window, took out a bottle of firewhiskey,
and poured himself a generous measure. He felt he deserved it. His hands were
shaking as he poured.
In his fifth year at Hogwarts, the first time he had found the mirror, he was
suffering from a general discontentment with his life, filled with the angst,
frustration, and confusion that are the usual malaise of the fifteen-year-old
boy. He had been irritable and snappish with his friends, especially Sirius,
saying intentionally hurtful things to all of them without knowing why. He had
even yelled at Sirius for teasing him about his grouchiness and saying it was
"that time of the month". Of course he had felt badly about it after, but his
pride would not let him apologise.
He had spent weeks wondering why he was so unhappy. It was spring, the weather
was gorgeous. What did he want? He didn't know.
The mirror had taken him by surprise then, too. He had found it entirely by
accident. The Marauders had been up to their usual antics, sneaking about the
castle at night, testing their new map. Then Filch had appeared out of nowhere,
nearly managing to corner them, and they had all taken off in different
directions, even knowing that if only one of them were caught, it would still
implicate the other three.
Remus had gone tearing off down a side-passage, trying doors until he found one
that was unlocked. He had ducked in and shut it quickly behind him. And when he
turned around, there was the mirror. He had blinked at it stupidly for a
moment, but the first word of the inscription, Erised, told him what he had
found. The mirror was whispered legend all over the school, and many students
claimed to have found it.
He had approached it nervously, unsure what he might see. At first, he thought
there must be some mistake, for in the dim room, it seemed like any other
mirror. Then he had realised that the person reflected in the mirror was not
himself, but Sirius, looking into his eyes and grinning back at him. Remus had
smiled hesitantly, unsure what this meant.
Sirius-in-the-mirror raised his hand, and Remus, powerless as a reflection, did
the same, reaching toward the smooth surface until their fingertips met against
the glass. In that moment Remus, so full of youthful innocence, began to
understand.
The mirror seemed to work in the way dreams did; a series of images strung
together without much continuity.
He saw himself and his friends lounging beside the lake on their outspread
cloaks, enjoying the sun of a spring day. He saw Sirius turn and say something
to Remus-in-the-mirror, and he saw himself blush and try to hide a smile. He
saw Sirius's hand casually brush his own, and felt his own real fingers tingle
with the touch.
The mirror worked its magic on him. The more he saw -- the more the truth
dawned on him -- the more he wanted. The tingling in his fingers had spread to
his chest and began rushing through his limbs. He felt different, as if
something had clicked inside him, and now the world made a great deal more
sense.
Now he saw himself and Sirius sitting on his own bed, talking and laughing, the
fingers their hands interlaced. Then Sirius leaned to kiss Remus-in-the-mirror
on the mouth. Remus-in-the-mirror looked surprised for a second, then, as the
kiss continued, appeared to be enjoying himself. Remus saw his own fingers run
through Sirius's dark hair, caress his neck, slide around his waist, and pull
him close.
The boys in the mirror were lying on the bed together, lips locked hungrily,
hands moving over one another's bodies, exploring tentatively at first, and
then more boldly. He saw his own hand slide up under Sirius's shirt, and longed
with all his heart to feel that smooth, warm skin beneath his fingers. Without
transition, they were naked, their bodies pressed urgently together, tasting
one another's neck and shoulders, kissing and biting.
Remus had stood enthralled as scene after scene of passion, affection, love
unfolded before him. He had still been standing there, fingers against the
glass, when Filch finally found him.
He had blushed a deep crimson, forgetting that only he could see his own
desires. Filch had grabbed him by the ear, effectively halting the sensations
that were coursing through his young body, and dragged him to his office where
the other three Marauders sat looking sullen.
Without his willing it, his eyes had sought Sirius, and their gaze had locked
for a brief moment, Remus's searching, Sirius's puzzled by the look his friend
was giving him. Then they had both quickly looked away. When Remus had glanced
back a moment later under his lashes, he could almost have sworn he saw a faint
blush staining his friend's cheeks.
Filch had railed at them for a bit, threatening them with the usual range of
unlikely punishments -- everything from torture to dismemberment -- and had
kept the map, which he had found when he caught Peter (thereby enabling him to
easily catch the rest of them as well).
It had been a shame to lose such an inspired piece of sorcery as the map and
been, and so soon after it was finished, but James created a diversion, and
Sirius had been able to tap the parchment quickly with his wand, whispering
"mischief managed!" They had all agreed afterwards, during the week of
detention which followed, that it was unlikely Filch would ever figure out how
the thing worked.
Even after seeing the truth in the mirror, it had taken Remus months to work up
the courage to say anything to Sirius. He had told Lily, though, when she had
tearfully confided her own guilty secret to him, late that spring. They hadn't
spent much time together that year, and he was worried that they might not
still be friends, but much to his relief, she had been the soul of
understanding, and had told him he would find a way, and that he deserved to be
happy. There had been a kiss, too, but it had signaled nothing more than mutual
sympathy.
Raising his firewhiskey to his lips, Remus shook his head at the follies of his
boyhood, smiling sadly. But the vision he had seen in the mirror today, and the
recollection it had raised of what he had seen on that day almost twenty years
ago, would not leave him.
It was going to be a long night, whatever he did. He might as well spend it
remembering happier times. Crossing the room to his old gramophone, he
hesitated over his LPs, finally selecting one against his better judgment. As
the music filled the room, he poured himself another large firewhiskey, then
settled back into his armchair, pulling a large, leather-bound book from the
shelf beside him.

                      I loved you for a long, long time.
                          I know this love is real.
                    It don't matter how it all went wrong;
                     That don't change the way I feel....
The leather cover was scuffed and worn and darkened with age and much handling.
There were no words printed on the binding. Remus opened it to the first page.
The faces of the young Marauders smiled back at him. Page after page was filled
with boyish antics, followed by Lily and James's wedding, and the round, red
face of a newborn Harry.
The photos ended abruptly in the autumn of twelve years ago, with nearly a
third of the pages still empty. There had not had a day since then that Remus
felt worth remembering.

                       And I can't believe that time's
                    Gonna heal this wound I'm speaking of.
                             There ain't no cure,
                             There ain't no cure,
                        There ain't no cure for love.
He had finally been able in recent years to look through the photo album
without feeling a knife twist in his heart. Sometimes he pretended that they
had all died that day, including Sirius, and that the memory of those events
was far enough removed from him that he could recall the good times with
bittersweet fondness.
The photo album had not been opened, however, since the day Remus had learnt of
Sirius's escape from Azkaban. It was no longer possible to pretend the man was
dead when he might be just around the corner, or looking in at the window.

                          I'm aching for you, baby,
                           I can't pretend I'm not.
                           I need to see you naked
                      In your body and your thought....
Remus turned the pages slowly, every now and then pausing to tenderly trace the
features of one long dead, long lost. Absently, he poured himself another
drink.
There. That picture. Sirius, as he so often remembered him; young, handsome,
smiling, wicked gray eyes dancing, wicked grin full of fun, full of life. In
this photo, he was dressed in very formal, well-cut black robes, looking sharp
and sexy as hell. The day that picture had been taken was engraved upon Remus's
mind and heart, and he knew it would be with him until the day he died.

                          I've got you like a habit
                        And I'll never get enough....
Halloween, a year to the day before his world had fallen apart. It had been the
day of Harry's christening, when Lily and James had made Sirius Harry's
godfather. It had been a small, private event, with only the four of them and
baby Harry attending, and Dumbledore officiating. Sirius had teased Remus about
being Harry's "fairy godmother", and Lily had given him a playful smack.

             I don't need to be forgiven for loving you so much;
                       It's written in the scriptures,
                       It's written there in blood....
And then there had been another ceremony, short and equally private; an
exchange of words and promises and rings and a kiss, a smiling Dumbledore
presiding, Lily and James witnessing, and Harry asleep in his mother's arms.
It had not been a secret, precisely. Such life-bonds were old magic, but many
old houses, including the Most Noble House of Black were staunch in their
disapproval of such ideas.
They had felt it was enough for them to do the thing, saying the words and
speaking the truth of their love. They did not need any but their nearest and
dearest to know. They would have invited Peter, as well, but he had been so
busy in those days.

                             If you want a lover,
                       I'll do anything you ask me to.
They had not worn the rings much; they had talked about it and decided that,
while the symbolism was nice for the ceremony itself, they were not practical
for daily wear on a shape-changer. There was too much risk of them being lost
or damaged. Instead, they had decided on a more indelible sign of their love.

                            If you want a partner,
                                Take my hand,
                  Or if you want to strike me down in anger,
                                Here I stand.
                                I'm your man.
Unconsciously, Remus laid a hand over his heart, over the ornately scripted
"S", black against his skin. He would bear that mark until the day he died -
- see it every day -- and even if he could have removed it, he would not have.
His heart still belonged to Sirius -- had since that first dawning moment of
realisation before the Mirror of Erised -- and he was powerless to change that.
He still had the rings, as well. They lay in a small wooden box in the drawer
of his nightstand, never too far away to touch the heavy gold in moments of
need.

                          Ah, the moon's too bright,
                            The chain's too tight,
                         The beast won't go to sleep.
               I've been running through these promises to you
                      That I made and I could not keep.
Several of the pictures in the album were from that day. Remus gazed at the
happy, glowing faces, so young and full of life. It had been a wonderful time,
despite the war and the horrors perpetrated by Voldemort and his followers. But
their suspicion of one another had grown in the year that followed -- Remus's
had, at least, and Sirius had faked his well enough. A year to the day after
their exchange of vows, it had all been smashed to pieces.
Remus poured himself another drink, and then another, as he gazed into the
laughing gray eyes of Sirius Black.
"Why'd you do it, Sirius?" he asked the picture softly, tracing over and over
the line of brow and jaw with his finger.

                           I'd crawl to you, baby,
                          And I'd fall at your feet,
                         And I'd howl at your beauty
                             Like a dog in heat,
                         And I'd claw at your heart,
                         And I'd tear at your sheet.
                           I'd say please, please!
                                I'm your man.
Remus lost track of the passage of time, staring at the pages of photos, and
occasionally noticing with some surprise and puzzlement that his glass was
empty again. It took him a while to realise that the record had finished some
time ago, and he got unsteadily to his feet to turn it over.

                        Yeah, I loved you all my life
                       And that's how I want to end it.
                          The summer's almost gone,
                           The winter's tuning up.
                           Yeah, the summer's gone
                          But a lot goes on forever,
                     And I can't forget, I can't forget,
                  I can't forget but I don't remember what.
He stood swaying alarmingly over the gramophone. Perhaps he had had a bit too
much to drink, he thought hazily. Turning to check the level of the firewhiskey
bottle, the room spun and wobbled in unsettling ways. Nothing looked quite
right.
"Been enjoying yourself?" asked a hoarse voice from the doorway.
Remus turned, overbalanced, and sat down hard on the floor. He squinted
blearily at the man standing by the door, looking at him warily. Ah, so that
was it. He had fallen asleep and was dreaming. That explained why everything
looked all swimmy.
"Stay outta m'dreams, Sirius," he slurred at the thin, ragged figure cautiously
approaching him. "Knew I was gonna dream tonight. Knew it. Erised always does
that," he nodded, causing the room to wobble alarmingly. "Thought I'd dream
'bout th'girl, though. Lollia. I'd've called 'er Lollia. Or mebbe Erised. 'S a
pretty name. Sweet li'l thing. An' mebbe she 'n' Harry --"
He looked down in puzzlement to see that there was a bony hand on his arm, and
found himself being pulled to his feet.
"Christ, you're drunk! What on earth are you rambling about? Erised? Girls?"
Sirius held him by the shoulders to keep him from swaying too much. "Moony, I
came to explain, if you'll let me. I need your help --"
"Go 'way, Sirius. Lemme 'lone," Remus said dully. "Tired of dreaming 'bout -
- 'bout you -- all th'bloody time." He tried ineffectually to shake off the
other man's grip.
"Poor Moony," said Sirius with a trace of humour in his rough voice. "What's
become of you with no one to look after you?"
He guided Remus by the arms until they were standing next to the bed, where
Sirius made him sit down.
He sighed. "I can see that you're in no state to hear me out tonight." He knelt
and began to remove Remus's shoes.
"Stoppit! I do'need -- I do'want -- Just bugger off, Sirius!"
He pulled away, but nearly lost his balance, and had to grip the bed with both
hands to remain upright.
Sirius sat back on his heels and put his hands up. "All right, Moony. I'm
sorry. It just looked like you could use a hand."
"Sorry? You're sorry?! You killed them, Sirius -- killed me too. Sold us all,
traded in everything we were. And for what? Pat on th'head from Voldemort? Just
get the fuck 'way from me! Don'want you 'nywhere near me."
But as he said it, he looked down into the saddest eyes he had ever seen, and
the anger drained away.
"M'sorry, Padfoot, Din' mean it," he mumbled tearfully. "It's just been so hard
-- S'all right if you visit m'dreams. Do'mind s'much."
Still kneeling on the floor before of him, Sirius took Remus's hands in his. "I
wasn't going to come down here tonight," he said at last. "I knew it would be
too risky with the full moon not for a couple of nights yet. But I had to come,
on the off-chance that you might listen to what I have to say."
He looked up hopefully at Remus, but apparently failed to find what he was
looking for. The corners of his mouth drooped.
"I could smell the firewhiskey all the way down the corridor, and, well, I knew
there wasn't much chance of you turning me in if you were already that drunk.
But I guess there wasn't much chance you'd understand either."
He squeezed Remus's hands, then said softly, "How could I not come see you,
Moony? It's Christmas."
Remus frowned. This was a very strange dream, he decided. He had never had a
dream where Sirius had behaved in quite this fashion. Nor could he remember
ever smelling anything in a dream, and the man at his feet certainly smelled as
though it had been some time since he had seen proper bathing facilities or a
change of clothes. Remus thought that if he could just get his mind to focus
for a second, he could figure this all out -- what the dream meant, why he was
having it -- but he felt so tired. Maybe he would just close his eyes for a
bit. He lay back on the bed.
Dimly, he heard Sirius sigh. "Poor Moony. I can see you're in no state for
company."
Remus felt his shoes and socks being removed, but did not struggle this time.
He felt thin but strong arms swing his legs up onto the bed, and lift his head
to put a pillow under it. A blanket was tucked up under his chin, and he could
feel himself beginning to drift into unconsciousness. The last thing he felt
before descending into sleep was a brief but tender kiss on the forehead, and
the whispered words, "Good night, Moony. Happy Christmas"

                Well, my friends are gone and my hair is gray.
                  I ache in the places where I used to play,
              And I'm crazy for love, but I'm not coming on ....
***** Dr Padfoot's Patent Hangover Cure *****
The light was a painful shade of red, but he knew that if he opened his eyes,
the dull throbbing in his temples would very quickly turn to needles of agony
stabbing his tender brain. He moaned and turned over, burying his face in the
pillow. Flashes of the previous night came swimming to the surface of his mind.
Erised, he remembered. And firewhiskey. Far too much firewhiskey.
And he had dreamed about Sirius. But such a strange dream it had been. Not at
all the sort he was used to; neither the burning passion of days gone by, nor
the dark, nightmarish scenes in which a laughing Sirius betrayed and killed
them all, over and over again, each time leaving Remus a little less alive, a
little more alone.
He turned his head away from the window and risked opening a single eye. It
hurt, and the room took its time coming into focus. His brows drew together in
puzzlement at what he saw. There was a gently steaming goblet sitting on the
nightstand beside his bed.
Potion, his brain told him. That was it. Snape must have brought his potion
while he was asleep. Damn. The thought of that man seeing him in this state
gnawed at him. He was sure to hear about it later. Well, there was nothing to
be done about that now.
Very slowly, he sat up. The room promptly set to spinning around him. He closed
his eyes again and put both hands to his head, as if to keep it in place.
God, I hope I can keep this down, he thought, making a face and reaching for
the goblet.
But when he brought it to his mouth, the smell of the potion was not right.
Remus's eyes popped open again, and he peered suspiciously into the goblet. He
breathed in deeply through his nose, dimly recognising the scent. It took him a
moment to place it.
It smelled of rich chocolate, fresh ginger, honey, a mixture of spices and some
other things, including what Remus thought might be powdered dragonbone.
"It's a secret," Sirius had said to him once, long ago. "Drink up, Moony; it
will make you feel better."
Dr Padfoot's Patent Hangover Cure, they were going to call it. Yet another in
the line of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers that the Marauders has planned to
sell and get rich, once the war was over. But the chocolate -- Sirius had made
it chocolate-flavoured just for him.
It had not been a dream, after all. Sirius had been here. Remus glanced across
the room to the cabinet where he kept his small supply of herbs, spices, and
various other ingredients. The cabinet doors stood open, and the countertop was
littered with bits and pieces, powders and leaves.
He knew from personal experience that this was a quality product which always
brought good results. But how far could he trust the man who had made it? A
madman and convicted mass-murderer? A betrayer of friends and lovers? And yet,
if Sirius had wanted to kill him, he could easily have done so last night,
without Remus making much of a fuss. He sniffed the potion again. No, it
smelled just the same as he remembered it.
His head ached fiercely; he would have to take something for it, and he didn't
think he had anything lethal in his cabinet.
Only one way to find out, he thought.
He lifted the goblet to his lips and drained it. The warm, rich potion flowed
through him, sending soothing tendrils through his body from the moment it
touched his tongue. Within seconds, his head had begun to clear, and in under a
minute, he felt as good as he had all week.
As he set the empty goblet down, he noticed that it was not the only unexpected
object on the nightstand. There was also a small, wooden box tied with a black
silk ribbon. Tucked into the ribbon was a scrap of paper with his name on it.
Remus pulled it out and unfolded it.

        Give me a chance to explain. I swear, it's not what you think.
                                      -S
With trembling fingers, he untied the ribbon and fumbled the top off the box.
Inside lay a tiny dog, roughly carved out of wood. Remus gently picked the
carving up and cradled it in the palm of his hand. He noticed that the dog had
something in its mouth. Remus carried it over to the window for a better look
at it in the weak winter sunlight. What he saw caused him to make a tiny,
involuntary noise, low in his throat.
Between its jaws, the dog held a lock of black hair.
Remus looked at the dark curl blankly. Why --? There were so many spells that
could be done to a person with such a key ingredient. Spells of revenge, of
location, of love. One of the first things young witches and wizards were
taught at this very school was that they should never entrust anyone with such
a token. It could too easily fall into the wrong hands, with disastrous
results. To break that injunction was an act of madness -- or of absolute
trust. And if what he remembered of last night was anything close to what had
actually happened, Sirius had seemed as sane and rational as he had ever been.
Remus's train of thought was interrupted by a knock on the door. Guiltily, he
dropped the little dog into the pocket of his robes before saying, "Who is it?"
"I've brought you your potion," said the grudging voice through the door.
He sighed and crossed the room, opening the door only just far enough to allow
Snape to pass him the smoking goblet.
"Thank you, Severus," he said. "You may tell Professor Dumbledore I shall not
be at supper tonight."
He closed the door on the Potions master without waiting for a reply.
===============================================================================
After he drank his potion, Remus spent the rest of Christmas afternoon pacing
his rooms, trying to make sense of it all for the thousandth time in twelve
years. He had to admit to himself that it just did not add up. If Sirius really
was a crazed murderer, then his behaviour of the previous night made no sense,
anymore than his behaviour right up to that dreadful events for which he had
been imprisoned in the first place.
Remus would swear on everything he held sacred that he had known Sirius -
- really known him -- better than anyone, and as well as one person could know
another. Never once in Remus's presence had Sirius been anything other than,
well, if not utterly sane, at least not unhinged. His only madnesses, Remus had
been certain, were a wicked sense of humour, and irrepressible high spirits.
But if Sirius was sane, he could not have done what he clearly had done. And
if, supposing for a moment, he had not been the betrayer, who had been, and
where was the proof? Someone had to have done it, and there was no one else.
Sirius had been James's best friend. James had made him their Secret-Keeper.
Lily and James had been betrayed and murdered. An entire street full of Muggles
had seen Sirius kill Peter and a dozen innocent bystanders in cold blood. These
were facts. He had seen the devastation for himself.
He simply could not see any other way it could have happened. It didn't make
sense, but there was only one person he could ask for the answers he could not
seem to find for himself, and that was Sirius. But how could he trust the man?
He didn't see how he could. There had been no trial, and Sirius had never
confessed to anything. He would probably say he hadn't done it, whether he had
or not.
Remus shook his head. He had been going around and around in the same senseless
circles for years. Perhaps if he had ever managed to completely convince
himself of Sirius's guilt, he could have eventually got on with his life. But
it just hadn't made sense, nor had he been able to come up with any compelling
evidence for his innocence. Remus had lived the last twelve years of his life
in bondage to doubt, unable to move forward, unable to undo or make sense of
the past, living the gray existence of one whose life has lost its meaning.
If he was honest with himself, he knew that regardless of whether Sirius was
innocent or not, he wanted him to be innocent -- wanted to find the evidence to
convince himself that it had all been a mistake, and that their love had been
real. It was dangerous to think like that. It put him in a position of wanting
to trust someone who, by all accounts, was not worthy of the least shred of
trust. By trusting Sirius, he could be putting not only himself, but Harry and
all the other students in the castle, in danger.
What he should really do was go to Dumbledore, confess everything, including
the secret of the Animagi, and hand over the lock of hair. His fingers curled
impulsively around the tiny, carved dog in his pocket. He should turn towards
the door now. He should walk down the corridor. He should go to Dumbledore's
office. But he couldn't. It was weakness, he knew, but he just could not make
himself do it.
Sirius's actions of the night before, insofar as he remembered them, had said
one thing very clearly to Remus: whether or not Sirius was guilty of the crimes
laid to his account, the man still, on some level, loved him. It was a love
Sirius might find it easy to betray, but Remus never could.
Please, God, he begged silently, let someone else be the one to do this thing.
Let someone else catch him. Don't let it be me.
But that wasn't it at all. He didn't want Sirius to be caught and given back to
the hell that was Azkaban. Not only could he not be the one to catch Sirius; he
could not countenance anyone else doing it either. Every time Sirius came into
the castle to see him like he had last night, he risked capture, and Remus
couldn't bear to have that on his conscience.
The full moon was two nights away, and somehow he was sure Sirius would take
the risk again, whatever his reasons, to lend the wolf the company of his own
canine presence. Remus could not allow it -- could not be the bait that drew
Sirius into the castle. But there was somewhere else he could go.
The Shrieking Shack still stood in Hogsmeade. The Whomping Willow was still in
place, grown larger and more violent than ever. He could tell Madam Pomfrey and
Dumbledore that, while the potion helped, he had still made a mess of his
rooms, and request the use of the Shack again. It should be a simple thing.
If Sirius meant to come to him again, at least that way he would not come near
the castle -- near Harry. He should be able to follow Remus's scent easily in
the cold winter air.
Feeling weak and shameful and guilty, Remus went to find Poppy Pomfrey, fingers
resting on the tiny wooden dog in his pocket.
***** First Love *****
Feeling like a fugitive fleeing the scene of a crime, Remus made his guilty way
down to the Whomping Willow through the gathering dark, every now and then
glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching. It was a foolish
fear. All the windows of the castle were dark, save those of the Great Hall
where even now those few professors and students who remained at Hogwarts over
the holidays were gathering for their meal. Prodding the tree with a handy
branch, he ducked beneath the bare, rustling branches and lowered himself into
the hidden entrance to the secret passage.
It was pitch black in the tunnel, but Remus did not need light to find his way.
How many times had he traveled this path in his school days? How quickly it all
came back to him!
He ducked suddenly, remembering just in time a large root that grew down
through the low ceiling. He had to walk bent almost double. The passage had
seemed bigger when he was a boy, but he had had a final growth spurt near the
end of his seventh year, which had left him almost a head taller than his
friends.
It suddenly occurred to him that Sirius could be here in the tunnel, and he
stopped short, willing his heart to quiet its pounding so he could listen. He
sniffed the air. No, he was alone in the darkness. Perhaps to be on the safe
side, he had better have some light.
"Lumos," he whispered into the darkness, drawing his wand.
The glow lit the passage to about ten paces ahead of him on the straight bits.
He continued through the tunnel at a cautious pace.
The passage from the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack was nearly half a
mile long, and as Remus emerged at the far end, he straightened painfully. He
had a crick in his neck and an ache at the base of his spine. As he stretched,
he paused to listen again. No, there was no sound of anyone or anything in the
house.
Most of the Wizarding world, he knew, would be terrified to find themselves in
this place. Its haunting was legend, and even the boldest and most foolhardy of
teenagers hesitated to approach, even on a dare.
It's silly of them, really, Remus thought. After all, there are dozens of
ghosts at Hogwarts, and hardly anyone ever turns a hair.
But it suited him well enough that people avoided this place, because that made
it one of the safest places in the world for him. He had always felt at ease
here. Coming back almost felt like coming home.
At first, in the old days, it had only been his place, arranged by Dumbledore
for his monthly transformations. But his friends had been clever boys, and they
had figured out his secret within a year. Weeks of pestering had finally made
him agree to bring them down here. After that, it had become their place as
well. It was a place where they could all relax and be themselves, hide and
plan mischief, and, as they grew older, arrange romantic trysts.
It was here that his friends had first experimented with their Animagus shapes,
before letting him in on the secret which had been a birthday surprise. Here
that he had awoken to dozens of painful dawns, face pressed to warm, comforting
black fur. And here the bed where --
The Remus Lupin of a few hours ago might have glanced away from the bed in
guilt and shame at the thought, but the wolf was rising in him, and now he
stared hungrily at the large, dusty four-poster, remembering unnumbered scenes
of passion that had taken place there. Not the first time, but so many times
after that.
The inevitable had been a long time coming, though.
In the spring after sixteen-year-old Remus had seen the truth in the Mirror of
Erised, things had become awkward between himself and Sirius. He could feel
himself withdrawing, becoming more thoughtful, often unable to meet Sirius's
eyes. And he had noticed Sirius becoming more arrogant, standoffish, and
occasionally downright cruel. He had hated how things were between them then,
but was at a loss to know what to do about it.
It had seemed like Sirius was in a state of constant arousal. Not that he had
said anything, but the pheromones pouring off him told Remus clearly enough,
and made his life a living hell as his body responded to the scent in the only
way it could. Remus had assumed at the time that there must be a girl Sirius
wanted who had put him off somehow. The thought demoralised Remus. Sirius was
beautiful. Eventually, he would find a willing girl who would take him out of
their circle, and beyond the reach of Remus's agonised hopes.
They had gone home that summer barely speaking to one another.
But in early July, James had sent Remus an owl informing him that Sirius had
run away from home and come to stay with the Potters for the rest of the
summer. Remus had been glad to hear this, since the Potters lived closer to him
than the Blacks did, and were much more pleasant to visit.
Remus had spent most of June thinking about things, and trying to decide what
he would say to Sirius if he ever got the chance. They were friends, after all,
and good ones -- or had been until recently -- and now that Sirius was away
from the stresses of dealing with his family and school, he might be willing at
least to listen to what Remus had to say with understanding.
Not that Remus had been planning to proposition him, but he thought he might be
able to bring the conversation around to the topic of certain feelings and see
what he could find out what Sirius thought about -- certain things.
After the July moon, Remus's parents gave him permission to spend a few weeks
with the Potters. Things seemed to be back to normal, much to Remus's relief.
Sirius was friendlier and more relaxed than he had seemed in a while, but it
still took Remus the better part of two weeks to work up the courage and find a
moment to say what must be said when James was not around to overhear.
At last, he had invited Sirius to come stay with his own family for a week. The
Potters had been planning a holiday in France, and while they said they would
be delighted to have Sirius along, Remus desperately hoped he might at least
consider the alternative of spending some time with his fellow canine. Much to
his surprise, Sirius had quickly accepted.
But Remus, being awkward and sixteen, had fumbled the smooth, well-planned,
casual conversation he had been over, time and again, in his head.
"Sirius," he had said one lazy, hot afternoon as the two of them lounged on the
grassy bank of a river near his home, "what do you think about -- girls?"
Sirius's brow had furrowed, but he had not opened his eyes. "They're all right,
I guess," he said. "Your friend Evans is a bit stuck up, but she's nice enough
to look at. Prongs fancies her like anything."
Remus was not sure where to take the conversation from there, and was so busy
trying to think of what to say next that he failed to notice what an odd answer
it was that Sirius had given to a relatively straightforward question.
"Yeah, Lily's great," he agreed vaguely. "I can really talk to her about -
- stuff. You know?"
Sirius nodded, eyes still closed.
"I mean," Remus pressed on, "it's not that I don't think I can talk to you and
Prongs and Wormtail. But Lily, well, she understands about -- stuff," he
finished lamely.
He stared very hard at a single blade of grass, willing himself not to sound
like an idiot.
"Moony," said Sirius grumpily, finally opening one eye and fixing it on his
friend, "are you trying to tell me you fancy Evans? Because if you've been
messing about with her, Prongs'd better not find out."
"No, no! Nothing like that," Remus replied quickly.
There was a moment's silence in which Sirius closed his eye again.
"But -- that's the kind of stuff she understands about. Fancying people, I
mean." He blushed furiously and continued staring hard at the blade of grass.
"Mmmm," said Sirius, frowning. "So you do fancy someone, Moony? Why didn't you
say so? Need me to talk to her for you?"
Remus had begun to realise that there was no smooth, casual way to find out or
say the thing that was on his mind. Best to just out with it, then. He took a
deep breath.
"Sirius -- no, I don't need you to --" he gestured helplessly. "I -- it's not -
- Sirius, it's not a girl I fancy."
Sirius's eyes popped open at that. He squinted at Remus down his long nose.
There was a look of puzzlement in his eyes, and something else, too, though
Remus was not certain what.
"Do you fancy Prongs, Moony?! Is that why you're talking to Evans?" Sirius
whistled softly. "What is it about him? People are always falling all over
themselves to do things for him. Everyone fancies him." Sirius sat up and ran
his hands through his hair.
"No, Sirius --" Remus tried.
"Moony, you're one of my best mates, so I will tell you this as gently as I
can," Sirius looked like he might be on the verge of shouting. Remus shut his
mouth. "Prongs isn't like that. You know he's all for Evans. I'm not getting
involved in a tug-o-war with you lot over my best mate. There are just some
things that go beyond the bounds of friendship."
Sirius was looking at him, expecting some kind of response. Remus was stunned.
Sirius was not at all bothered by the idea that he might be that way inclined.
Maybe the next thing he had to say would not be so hard. But Sirius was still
staring at him with those gray eyes under those straight, black brows.
"Sirius," he began softly, "Padfoot, I think you mistook my meaning."
Suddenly, words failed him. Looking pleadingly into Sirius's eyes, he laid a
hand on the boy's knee.
"Oh," said Sirius softly, a look of sudden comprehension dawning in his eyes.
It seemed like forever that they sat there, still and silent, gazing into one
another's eyes, Remus's hand on Sirius's knee.
Then Sirius had looked away. Remus felt a deep disappointment well up inside
him. He drew back his hand.
"Did I ever tell you --" Sirius began, then cleared his throat. "Did I ever
tell you about how we all became Animagi?" He glanced quickly back at Remus who
shook his head, and then looked out over the river again. "It was my idea. I
thought it must be fun, being able to be an animal once in a while.
"I know," he said quickly, though Remus had not planned to interrupt. "I was
naive then. I didn't realise how the transformations hurt you. I just thought
it seemed like you were out having fun while we were all holed up in the
castle. I wanted --" He smiled ruefully. "I wanted to come out and play with
you, I guess. I got the idea when Hagrid had that litter of hellhound pups.
Watching them play-fight and tumble over one another -- I thought it would be
fun to have that -- to have a pack. And I thought you'd like it." He blushed.
"So I started doing research into Animagi. It was complicated stuff. Advanced
incantations, rare ingredients, lots of mental discipline. I told Prongs what I
was doing, and he offered to help. Then Wormtail joined in. We spent every full
moon night for three years researching, preparing, gathering ingredients when
you weren't there to see. I don't think I ever slept on the night of a full
moon all that time. It was like an obsession.
"I wanted to be out there with you, running by your side in the moonlight. And
for the first couple of years, I never thought to wonder why I wanted it so
much. But then one night I got in late after detention, and you were sprawled
out on your bed with open books and bits of parchment all around you, sound
asleep, and I looked at you -- really looked -- and I knew."
Remus could barely breathe. If Sirius was saying what it sounded like he was
saying --
"What did you know, Padfoot?" he asked softly.
Sirius looked at him then, and smiled shyly. "I knew it wasn't pack mates I
wanted. It wasn't running through the woods in the moonlight. It wasn't the
prestige of being an Animagus. It was you, Moony," he said simply, taking
Remus's hand in his. "I wanted to go where you went and do the things you did
because I didn't like being apart from you. But how could I ever say something
like that to you, and hope you'd understand?"
Remus's chest had felt tight, and his head swam as if he were not getting
enough oxygen. He turned squeezed Sirius's hand. They both sat looking at their
intertwined fingers as the sun began to set.
"When did you know?" Sirius asked presently.
Remus looked into the other boy's eyes and smiled. "This spring," he said.
"Ever hear of the Mirror of Erised?"
Sirius looked at him blankly.
"Never mind," said Remus. "It's not important."
After a moment of silence, he added, "Padfoot?"
"Hmmm?" Sirius was once again looking out over the river at the sunset, this
time thoughtfully.
"Would you mind -- I mean, would it be all right -- Can I kiss you?" He blushed
deep crimson at the awkwardness of the question.
Sirius had said nothing, but turned to look at him again. Then, very slowly, he
had leaned toward him. Remus had closed his eyes as their lips met; soft,
boyish mouth to soft, boyish mouth. They were both awkward, and their teeth
clicked together, but they had not stopped. Tentatively, they had tasted and
explored one another for the first time as Remus's heart had swelled in his
chest, bursting with the knowledge that life was better than he had ever
imagined.
It was long moments before they had finally drawn back from one another,
blushing and grinning, their hands still clasped together.
"Let's not tell Prongs just yet," Remus had said.
Sirius had nodded, a wicked, conspiratorial smile on his swollen lips.
In the Shrieking Shack, Remus Lupin growled low in his throat, licking his lips
at the memory.
***** Happy Birthday, Moony *****
The memories continued to wash over Remus as the rising wolf shook loose his
last vestiges of self-control and emotional restraint.
That July so long ago, first at his parents' house, and later back at the
Potters', had been spent in brushing fingertips and sharing secret smiles and
stolen kisses when no one was looking. Remus was captivated to discover that he
had only to look at or touch Sirius, and his scent would change to a sharp
smell of animal desire.
Of course James, not being stupid, cottoned on very quickly to the fact that
something was up. It only took him catching a couple of significant glances,
and seeing them jump guiltily apart once when he entered a room, for him to
figure it out.
"Oh, my God!" he had said, drop-jawed with shock. "You guys are into each
other, aren't you?"
There had been some embarrassed coughing and nervous biting of lips, but in the
end, James had been relatively accepting.
"Wow. Okay. Just -- er -- don't let my folks catch you, all right?"
As the August full moon had approached, Remus found it harder and harder to
keep away from Sirius. He knew he would have to return home for that night; the
Potters had no safe place to keep him, and James's parents were ignorant of his
condition, in any case.
On the last afternoon before Remus's father was due to come collect him, they
managed to find a private moment, while James ran an errand for his parents.
"Your eyes turn gold right before the full moon," Sirius had observed.
He was standing very close. Remus could smell him -- could see the pulse
leaping in his throat. Sirius wanted him. Badly. With a growl, Remus had pulled
him close. The kiss was neither cautious nor innocent; it was hungry,
demanding, passionate, and it shook both of them to the core.
The wolf had made Remus bold. His hands wandered over Sirius's body, at last
coming to rest on the place where Sirius's trousers strained against his need.
Sirius gasped against his mouth, and Remus drew back, searching his eyes, but
did not remove his hand. Sirius's eyes were dilated and unfocussed with desire,
his lips swollen from the kiss, parted and panting slightly. Remus thought he
had never seen anything so beautiful.
Then the doorbell had rung, and they had jumped apart, Sirius ducking into the
bathroom, and Remus into the bedroom to gather his things. He had departed
moments later, and had not seen Sirius again until the Hogwarts Express took
them back to school three weeks later.
The moment they boarded the train, Remus had realised that it was going to be
difficult to keep their secret, surrounded by hundreds of nosy teenagers, and
that not everyone would be as understanding about their new bond as James. He
had sent a carefully-worded owl to Lily two weeks before, and received a reply
filled with heartfelt joy at his new happiness, but Lily had been a rare
creature.
Peter had to be told as well, eventually. He was not stupid, and when four boys
share a room and two of them share a secret, before long they are all going to
be in on it.
It had been easier to find private time, now that they were away from parents.
They conspired to make time when James and Peter would be out of the room to
enjoy the novelty of being able to lie down together, kissing and touching.
The September full moon had only been about a week into term, and Remus found
it harder and harder to restrain himself as it approached. Sirius filled up his
senses completely, and yet he wanted more.
They lay one afternoon on Remus's bed -- James was at Quidditch practice, and
Peter was out trying to talk Madeleine Yaxley into spending more time with him
that year -- pressed close together, breathing hard, hands under shirts, skin
hot and sticky with sweat. Remus could tell that Sirius was as hard as he was.
Sirius ground against Remus's thigh and moaned against his mouth. Remus had
closed his eyes, willing himself into stillness, until Sirius gave a sharp cry
and threw his head back, eyelids fluttering.
"Sorry," he had muttered, embarrassed, a moment later.
Remus had stared at him. "You looked amazing. Did you really just --?"
"Yeah," Sirius gave him a lopsided smile. "You just sort of do that to me."
Then Sirius's hands had gone to the flies of Remus's trousers, and Remus had
held his breath as Sirius unlaced him, plunging a hand into his pants. For one
moment, Remus had let it happen, losing himself in the sensation of Sirius's
hand stroking his hard cock. Then he had pushed the other boy roughly away and
run to their bathroom to finish himself off.
When he had emerged, Sirius had looked crushed. "Did I do it wrong?" he had
asked, crestfallen.
"No, it was fine," Remus had said, not meeting his eyes. "Sorry."
"Don't you want me to touch you?"
Remus had cast him a longing look. "I'm just not ready to risk it," he had said
regretfully.
"Risk what?"
"Losing control like that, " he said, settling himself back on the bed and
taking Sirius's hands in his. "I don't want --"
"I do," Sirius had said. "God, Moony; you looked so amazing when I thought you
were going to --"
Remus looked away. "I just don't think I can do this, Padfoot," he said
miserably.
"Why not?" Sirius let go his hands and sat up, looking angry. "So you'd lose
control for one bloody second of your life. So what? Can't you just let me --"
"No!" Remus growled. "Don't you get it, Sirius? If I lose control, it's not you
that gains it. It's this thing that lives inside me."
Sirius sighed and shook his head. "Moony, you're not going to turn wolf if it's
not the full moon."
"Maybe not," Remus had replied darkly. "But I might hurt you."
That conversation had not put Sirius off for more than a day or so. The night
before the full moon, Remus had been in his bed, trying to be quiet as he took
care of his own needs, when Sirius had climbed between the curtains and onto
the bed, stark naked, wand in hand.
Remus had sat bolt upright. "What are you doing, Padfoot?" he hissed.
"I'm putting a silencing charm on your drapes," Sirius had said, touching a
flame to the candle on the nightstand.
Then he had crawled up the bed, between Remus's splayed thighs, and without
hesitating, had taken Remus's aching cock in his mouth.
"Wh-what --?" Remus had gasped.
"Hush," Sirius murmured, releasing him for a moment. "You need this."
Bursts of light, colour, and sensation had spiraled through his brain at the
sight and feel of Sirius's mouth serving him like that. But it wasn't right. He
had pushed Sirius away once more.
"No, Padfoot!" he had implored. "Please! I need --"
But Sirius was not to be put off easily this time. He looked up into Remus's
eyes.
"What do you need? Tell me, Moony. Please."
Remus's voice was choked as he gasped out, "God! I need --"
Sirius raised himself then, bringing his face close to Remus's, and kissed him
softly on the mouth.
"Let me be what you need, Moony," he murmured.
He had not been able to say it, looking into Sirius's eyes. His eyes fluttered
closed and he shivered, then whispered his confession.
"God, Padfoot! I need to fuck you. Right now."
There was a moment of stillness. He opened his eyes, and found Sirius still
gazing at him. He saw the shiver run down his spine.
"So what are you waiting for?" Sirius had said.
With a moan half despair and half surrender, Remus had shoved him down, face-
first, onto the bed, pushing his thighs apart and falling on top of him. Sirius
hadn't protested or struggled, but Remus smelled the sharp reek of fear mixed
with his desire as he pressed his hardness against Sirius's tender opening. He
paused, groping under him, until his hand wrapped around Sirius's hard cock.
Sirius moaned, pressing against his palm.
"Last chance," Remus had growled, shaking with the effort of restraint. "Do you
want this?"
"Yes!" Sirius had hissed between clenched teeth.
Remus hadn't been gentle -- couldn't be, so close to the moon -- and Sirius had
given a strangled yelp of pain and shock as he entered him. He thrust hard, his
movements quick and sharp and relentless, but he kept a steady rhythm with his
hand on Sirius's cock, and after a moment, Sirius began making different
noises, thrusting back to meet him. Then he had jerked and shaken and cried
out, spilling hot over Remus's hand, and with a cry of triumph and exultation,
Remus had thrust hard into him one last time, his climax echoing in his bones.
They had collapse on the bed, stunned and gasping, hearts pounding. As soon as
he felt able to move, Remus pulled out of Sirius and rolled over to look down
at him. Sirius didn't move. Remus thought he smelled blood. It made him dizzy.
"Bloody hell!" Sirius had breathed at last.
Remus had reached out a tentative hand, brushing his sweat-soaked hair back
from his face. "Are you okay, Padfoot?" he asked softly.
There was a pause. Then, "I think so."
Remus buried his face in the pillow. "I'm so sorry, Padfoot!" he cried. "Did I
-- Did it hurt a lot?"
He had peeked shyly into Sirius's eyes, their faces inches apart.
"Yeah," Sirius had admitted reluctantly. "But it -- felt good, too. Are you all
right, Moony?"
A helpless laugh burst from Remus's lips. "Am I all right? God! Yes, I'm fine,
apart from thinking that I've maybe damaged you."
"I'm fine, too," Sirius assured him. "Just a bit sore. It was still amazing.
Did you like it?"
Remus closed his eyes, reliving the moment in his mind. "The way you looked -
- how you felt -- the sounds you were making -- 'like' doesn't cover it. Not by
a lot." His eyes opened again. "You're incredible, Padfoot."
Sirius grinned at that. "You too, Moony. I know it's a few days early, but -
- happy birthday."
That made Remus laugh again. "Thanks, Padfoot. But I don't think there's
anything you could say to make me believe you actually enjoyed that."
Then Sirius's lips were on his, his body pressed close against him.
After a moment, he drew back just far enough to murmur, "What if I said, 'do it
again'?"
And now, almost twenty years later, Remus stood staring at the bed that had
seen many such days and nights, eyes unfocussed. The wolf was already prowling
his thoughts, his instincts more animal than human.
Where is he? Damn that man, will he not show himself?!
Just remembering the passion they had shared had brought him to a point of
painful arousal. If Sirius were here now -- well, what he wanted to do with the
man need not involve trust.
He sniffed the air. Yes, Sirius had been here recently. Unconsciously, he
growled deep in his throat. His hand went to his pocket, clutching the tiny
carved dog. He could summon Sirius with that lock of hair. He could do all
manner of things to the man with it. Any second now, he would draw his wand and
summon him, he decided. If only this damnable tingling in his neck would stop
long enough for him to focus!
He fumbled for his wand, but it dropped to the floor with a clatter. Damn! Why
were his hands so clumsy? Picking it up again, he took the carved dog from his
pocket. He pointed the wand at the dog, and stood for a moment, holding one in
each hand, trying to remember a spell -- any spell. He shook his head, once,
twice, trying to clear it.
And then he stood perfectly still. There it was. That sound. Footsteps.
Footsteps on the creaking wooden floorboards of the rooms downstairs. Another
sniff of the air around him confirmed exactly who it was.
The wolf won out. Instinct took over, and in a heartbeat Remus was out of the
room and flying down the stairs, knocking Sirius to the floor and crouching
over him, growling. For one satisfied moment, he registered a flash of fear in
Sirius's gray eyes, and then he was looking into the pale eyes of the great
black dog who growled right back at him. And then he was Remus Lupin no more.
***** Tactus Amatori *****
"Professor Dumbledore has every confidence in you, Professor Lupin, and that
being the case, so have I," said Minerva McGonagall, giving him a look that
belied her words.
He nodded tiredly but said nothing, instead taking another long swallow of
honeymarrow tea, savouring the flavour of the soothing and beneficial brew
which did not carry the bitter aftertaste of wolfsbane.
"Now, Professor," continued McGonagall, "Gryffindor's chances are really quite
good this year, and I'm sure Potter will want his broom back as soon as
possible. That is, if you're certain there's nothing wrong with it." She gave
him a steely look. "Please do take extra care in examining it. I have good
cause to believe that --" she paused, looked around, and lowered her voice,
fixing him with a meaningful look "-- that Sirius Black may have sent it to the
boy. In which case it is most assuredly dangerous. Undoubtedly full of Dark
Magic."
"Certainly, Professor," he said with an inward sigh. He had already heard the
rumours about Harry's mysterious Christmas present from the whispers of other
members of staff. "I shall do all within my power to discover whether this
broom represents a danger to Harry or anyone else. I'll have to run a few tests
to be sure, but I should be able to give you a full report on the matter in a
week's time."
He put out his hand to take the broom. McGonagall hesitated. She didn't trust
him. So few of the older teachers did -- the ones who remembered the boyhood
bond between himself and Sirius. She knew he was good at his job, and that if
the broom had any secrets, he should be able to discover them. But he knew she
had only come to him because Dumbledore had insisted. He also knew that, once
he made his assessment of the broom's safety, she would still take it to
Professor Flitwick to run yet another series of tests. Harry would be lucky to
have his new Firebolt back by spring.
"We are all concerned for Harry's safety, Professor," he reminded her quietly.
"Lily and James Potter were my friends, too."
Her eyes softened at that, and she blushed slightly. Finally, she laid the
gleaming broomstick in his hands and left him mercifully alone.
When she had gone, Remus returned to his desk, and, leaning the broom against
it, poured himself a fresh cup of tea. The honeyed brew was soothing to his raw
throat, and the calming magic with which it was infused radiated through his
body, numbing the ache in his bones and the pain of the fresh, raw marks on his
arms. But the tea unfortunately did nothing for his weariness. His mind felt
dull and his limbs heavy.
It had been a hard night. Full moon nights always were. But with the help of
the Wolfsbane potion, he would have expected to feel better than this by late
afternoon the next day.
I must be getting old, he thought.
He closed his eyes and massaged his throbbing temples. If only he could
remember what had happened --
He remembered going to the Shrieking Shack. Or maybe he didn't, and only
thought he remembered it because that was where he had awoken. He had been
lying on the hard, bare floorboards, naked and shivering. There had been a
familiar scent -- a comforting scent -- and the feel of thick fur against his
skin, and then there had been warmth. Still mostly oblivious with exhaustion,
he had turned instinctively toward the great black dog, burying his hands in
its fur.
It was only seconds before consciousness began to invade his brain. The first
switch that went on said, "No!" before he even remembered why, and he was
scrambling backwards on hands and knees until he fetched up sharply against the
wall, casting about frantically for his wand.
The dog had turned and looked at him, looked with those piercing, pale eyes.
Remus went cold. Between the dog's jaws was his wand. Slowly, he got to his
feet, back and hands still flat against the wall. The dog rose, too, facing
him. It shook itself, then gave him an appraising look from head to toe,
something very like a doggy smirk evident on its face. Remus had felt a faint
blush tinge his cheeks and had experienced a sudden urge to cover himself.
The dog had turned and trotted toward the door. In the doorway, it paused to
look back at him almost regretfully. Then it had carefully laid the wand on the
floor and padded away down the stairs and out of the house. Remus had sunk
slowly back to the floor and closed his eyes.
In his weakened state, he would have been no match for Sirius, especially
without his wand. Why the man had come to him again -- and gone again without a
word -- was still a mystery to Remus, and it was a mystery that had only
deepened when he had returned to the castle an hour later and met Professor
McGonagall waiting for him in his office.
Harry, it seemed, had been given a new broomstick for Christmas, evidently to
replace his beloved Nimbus 2000, which had fallen prey to the Whomping Willow.
But the source of the new broom was unknown, and therefore suspicious.
McGonagall suspected Sirius, and Remus could not deny that that seemed the most
likely explanation; while many people were undoubtedly fond of Harry, few could
afford to express that fondness with a gift like the Firebolt, which, Remus had
been informed, was the very latest in racing brooms, and thus, terribly
expensive.
Sirius could afford it, though, with the Black family fortune, which would have
come to him by default upon the deaths of both his parents and his younger
brother, Regulus.
But could he get access to the money? Remus wondered. And if so, how could he
get his hands on a broom without being recognised? He could hardly have gone
all the way to London and back unrecognised, and stolen one without it being
reported. And why? Surely he's clever enough think of a less complicated and
expensive way to eliminate Harry, if that's his goal.
Well, there was one mystery he could solve easily. Checking to make sure his
office door was shut and locked, he knelt beside the broom, put his long nose
to it, and sniffed all down the length of handle. Yes, definitely Sirius. So he
had not been the only one to get a Christmas Eve visit. He drew his wand,
wondering how Sirius had gotten the broom into Gryffindor Tower.
Remus spent an exhausting afternoon and evening performing every test he could
think of on the Firebolt. He checked it over, inch by inch, twig by twig.
Midnight came and went, and he neither ate nor slept. There had to be something
here. He just had to keep looking.
But in the end, he was baffled. The broom was clean. Either that, or his skills
and powers were failing him. Perhaps he had been wrong; perhaps he had not
really smelled Sirius on the broom. Maybe the scent had come from his own
robes, which were the same ones he had been wearing the night before when he
had gone down to the Shrieking Shack. Maybe it had come from the lock of hair
still in his pocket.
Why would Sirius send Harry, the person he apparently loathed most in all the
world and wanted dead, an expensive and untampered-with broomstick? It was yet
another piece of the puzzle which did not fit.
He was exhausted. Perhaps he could not trust his nose just now. But there was
another way.
Again, he drew his wand, tapped the broomstick and whispered, "Tactus amatori."
At once, softly-glowing blue spots and smudges appeared all along the handle of
the broom. Sirius's fingerprints were all over the damn thing!
But the blue glow was not confined to the Firebolt. The Lover's Touch spell lit
his wand where the dog had held it in its mouth. His hands glowed from being
buried in the dog's fur. The light from the tiny wooden dog and its precious
keepsake was visible through the threadbare material of his robe.
Slowly, he stood and drew off his robes, laying them over a chair. Then he
unbuttoned his shirt and removed his trousers, folding them neatly and laying
them on his desk.
At last, standing naked in the center of the room, he turned to face the
scrying glass on the wall. It was not large enough to see all of himself, but
he saw enough.
The entire front of his body glowed from his momentary, semiconscious contact
with the dog. But what made his eyes go wide were the lip-shaped marks on his
face, and the fact that his own mouth was glowing a bright, steady blue.
===============================================================================
Remus spent the better part of the last week of the Christmas holiday working
with Harry's mysterious new Firebolt. He tried every spell he could think of to
look for curses and jinxes, to discover the broom's secrets. And then he tried
them all again. The library, even the restricted section, yielded nothing
helpful, despite long hours of research. At last, baffled, he gave up. There
was no explanation for it.
Sirius had no wand; his had been destroyed when he was sent to Azkaban. He had
no way to perform curses and jinxes himself.
But, thought Remus, he's had plenty of chances to steal a wand. He could have
taken mine the other morning in the Shack.
At first he had thought that had been Sirius's intent, but he had later
realised that all Sirius wanted was for the wand to be far enough from Remus
that he could make a safe getaway.
Even without a wand, a man like Sirius with connections to -- those kinds of
people -- could find someone to perform curses for him.
But he hadn't. The Firebolt was clean.
Remus closed his eyes, and, for one moment, let years of prejudice and
suspicion fall away. His Sirius -- the Sirius he had known and loved -- would
certainly have given Harry fine, expensive gifts like this. The gesture was not
at all out of character for the man he had been -- or the man Remus thought he
had been.
Sirius had loved buying people gifts. Remus had always been too embarrassed by
his own lack of resources to let Sirius buy him things outright, but there had
been many expensive Christmas, birthday, anniversary, and "just because I love
you" gifts. The old gramophone had been one, and his second wand -- the one he
still used -- had been another.
After Harry had been born, Sirius had showered him with gifts as well. There
was no exciting new toy, no state-of-the-art baby equipment, that was too good
for his little godson. He would have bought Harry a broom for his first
birthday if Lily and Remus had not very firmly talked him out of it: Harry was
far too young, they had told him, and by the time he could use it, it would be
woefully outdated. Better to wait until he was old enough, and then get him the
best broom money could buy.
So instead, Sirius had taken to bringing Harry along for rides on his flying
motorbike.
"Once he's had a taste of flying," Sirius had said confidently shortly before
Harry's first birthday, "he'll never be content to live earthbound all his
days."
Harry had loved it. Remus had been there when they came back from Harry's first
ride, shrieking and grinning and clapping his fat little baby hands.
Sirius had been right; after that first time, Harry had been lost. "Bike"
quickly made his list of new words, and "fie" -- "fly" being too difficult for
him to pronounce -- and whenever Sirius came over to visit, Harry would reach
for him and say them over and over again until Sirius relented and took him for
a ride.
Remus smiled sadly to himself. The bike had been the only expensive present he
had ever been able to buy for Sirius. He had not finished making the payments
on it until three years after Sirius had gone to Azkaban, but he hadn't had the
heart to sell it after Hagrid had returned it. Sirius had loved it so much that
Remus could not bear the thought of giving it up.
Sentimental fool, he chided himself.
But neither could he bear to look at it, because every time he did, he
remembered Sirius in his leather Muggle clothing, smiling and holding a joyful
baby Harry, and the image was too much for him to bear. The bike had been left
in storage these many long years.
Maybe Harry would like it one day, Remus thought.
It would be good for the bike to go to someone Remus loved, and who would love
it, rather than just letting it rust away and fall apart.
Not yet, of course; he wouldn't understand such a gift from me right now, and
he's still far too young. Maybe once he's left school.
The sad smile returned. You were right, Sirius; the boy does love to fly. You
gave him a great gift in that.
There was nothing further he could do with the broom, and while part of him
kept thinking that the Firebolt could not possibly be safe, most of him had
already accepted that it was. The best thing to do, in that case, was to see
that Harry got it back sooner rather than later. He could only imagine how a
thirteen-year-old boy would feel to receive such a gift and then immediately
have it taken from him.
"Nox," he muttered, and the lights in the room went out.
He wanted to make absolutely sure that the Lover's Touch spell had worn off
completely before he went to give his report to Professor McGonagall.
===============================================================================
On the first day of the new term, Remus could tell from Harry's glum mood in
Defence Against the Dark Arts that he had not yet had his Firebolt returned to
him. After class, he arranged their first Anti-Dementor lesson with the boy for
the following Thursday, and that seemed to cheer Harry up a bit. He wished
there were something more enjoyable he could do for Harry than teach him how
not to faint from fear before those cold creatures, but it was what he needed
right now, and it was something useful Remus could do for him.
He still needed to figure out a reasonable substitute for a Dementor, since he
would rather not subject Harry to the real thing any more than strictly
necessary, and Dumbledore would not allow them inside the castle. Still, he had
a few days to work something out.
As he was gathering up his notes after class, he glanced toward the door and
saw that Harry and his friends were standing in the corridor just outside,
talking in low voices. Curious, he quietly went to stand near the door, just
out of sight. Harry and his friends were not the Marauders, but he felt a
sudden longing for those days -- to be thirteen again -- and to hear the sorts
of plans that were made when there were no adults to overhear.
It was Ron's voice he heard first. "I said I wonder what's wrong with Lupin,
and you --"
"Well, isn't it obvious?" replied Hermione, and Remus's heart sank.
She had figured it out. He had known she would.
Damn Severus and his bloody essay!
He could trust Dumbledore to keep his secret, and the other Professors to do so
out of respect for the headmaster, but once a student knew, it was only a
matter of time before --
"If you don't want to tell us, don't," Ron snapped.
"Fine!" declared Hermione, and her ringing footsteps moved quickly off down the
corridor.
Remus breathed a sigh of temporary relief.
"She doesn't know," he heard Ron confide to Harry. "She's just trying to get us
to talk to her again." Their footsteps headed off more slowly in the opposite
direction.
Remus's brows drew together. He had not known that the children were
quarreling. But now that he thought about it, he realised that today in class,
Harry had sat between his friends, whereas it was usually Ron who sat in the
middle.
He hoped it was nothing serious. Children had fights and made up all the time.
He supposed that it was his own oversensitivity on the subject, but he hated to
see normally close friends fighting. Especially Harry's friends. Harry needed
all the love and support his friends could provide and his family could not.
Thanks to Sirius, he thought bitterly.
But at least for the moment, his secret was still safe.
***** The Patronus Lesson *****
When he arrived at the History of Magic classroom the following Thursday just
after 8:00 PM, Remus found Harry already there, waiting for him nervously. He
looked relieved when Remus explained that they would be practicing on a Boggart
instead of a real, live Dementor. When Remus drew his wand, Harry hesitantly
following suit.
"The spell I am going to try to teach you is highly advanced magic, Harry," he
admonished. "Well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level. It is called the Patronus
Charm."
Harry nodded. "How does it work?" He eyed the packing case containing the
Boggart nervously.
"Well," he said slowly, trying to find the best words to explain something as
complicated as this spell to an impatient thirteen-year-old, "when it works
correctly, it conjures up a Patronus, which is a kind of Anti-Dementor -- a
guardian which acts as a shield between you and the Dementor."
He hesitated. That was, of course, the basic function of the Patronus. It was
much more complicated than that, and had many other uses than repelling
Dementors, but for now he wanted to explain the immediately useful aspects of
it to Harry in the simplest terms possible. The better the boy understood what
he was trying to achieve, the greater his chances of success.
"The Patronus is a kind of positive force," he continued. "A projection of the
very things that the Dementor feeds upon -- hope, happiness, the desire to
survive."
All the things which had been taken from Remus without a Dementor coming within
miles of him. Sometimes he thought he might as well have ended up in Azkaban
himself.
"But it cannot feel despair, as real humans can," he continued, wrapping the
cloak of his professorship tightly around him to ward off the pain of the
subject matter, "so the Dementors can't hurt it. But I must warn you, Harry,
that the Charm might be too advanced for you. Many qualified wizards have
difficulty with it."
A look of determination entered Harry's eyes. How like James he looks! James,
who had never let a spell defeat him, once he had put his mind to learning it.
From that look alone, Remus knew that it would only be a matter of time before
Harry was able to conjure a creditable Patronus.
"What does a Patronus look like?" Harry asked.
Harry had been unconscious on the train when Remus had conjured his own
Patronus, but even that would have told the boy little enough about them. Remus
had once been able to conjure a very impressive Patronus, which took the form
of a large and familiar-looking dog. But since that terrible Halloween night,
he had been unable to produce much more than an indistinct silvery cloud. To
conjure a Patronus, one needed a happy thought, and on that night all of
Remus's happiness had been ripped away from him, and what memories he still
carried had been tainted forever.
"Each one is unique to the wizard who conjures it," he told Harry.
He was curious to see what Harry's Patronus would look like. No doubt he would
find out before long. He wished he could instill the confidence he felt in
Harry himself.
"And how do you conjure it?" Harry asked.
"With an incantation," Remus told him, "which will work only if you are
concentrating, with all your might, on a single, very happy memory."
He hoped Harry would have a happy enough memory available to him. Parents dead,
raised by Muggles who disliked him and feared magic, he had not had much
opportunity for good to happen to him until his arrival at Hogwarts less than
three years ago. Remus desperately hoped that something extremely good had
happened to Harry at some point in his life; the love of his family, which
Remus himself had witnessed and been party to, was beyond the grasp of his
memory.
Harry looked as though he was thinking very hard. The longer he thought, the
sadder it made Remus to watch him.
Think of something, Harry, he begged silently, or I fear that what's left of my
heart will break for you. Lily and James's son deserves so much better.
At last, Harry nodded, a doubtful but once again determined expression on his
face.
"Right," he said, looking to Remus for further instruction.
"The incantation is this --" he cleared his throat, "Expecto patronum!"
"Expecto patronum," Harry muttered, memorising the words. "Expecto patronum."
"Concentrating hard on your happy memory?" Remus reminded him.
"Oh -- Yeah --" Harry replied, becoming suddenly flustered and garbling the
mumbled spell.
That was the trick to it, really. In theory, it was easy enough to point one's
wand and say some words, but a spell like this one required a high degree of
mental discipline. One had to remember the words, remember the happy thought,
believe in the Patronus, and all while facing at least one Dementor. No
surprise if it was a difficult spell to master.
Harry kept trying the words over and over, looking hopefully at his wand.
Suddenly, what looked like a tiny curl of silver smoke drifted from the end,
quickly vanishing into the air.
"Did you see that? Something happened!"
The look of surprised joy on Harry's face made Remus smile. He had not conjured
more than a wisp himself before he was sixteen.
"Very good," he told Harry. "Right then -- ready to try it on a Dementor?"
"Yes," Harry said, somewhat defiantly.
Looking very pale, he moved to the centre of the classroom and squarely faced
the packing case that contained the Boggart, feet planted, wand at the ready.
Remus looked at the boy for a moment. The expression on his face was
unreadable. Well, there was only one way to find out if he was really ready.
Standing behind the desk, opposite Harry, he put both hands on the lid of the
packing case and pulled.
The Dementor which rose from the box looked very real. Remus backed up until he
met the wall, holding the lid of the box to his chest like a shield. His eyes
rose with the Dementor facing Harry. Immediately, all the heat was gone from
the classroom. The lights guttered and extinguished themselves.
Remus tore his eyes from the cold thing to see Harry frantically waving his
wand and shouting "Expecto patronum!" over and over again. His eyes were
visibly losing focus, and each time he spoke the incantation, his voice sounded
a little weaker. He took a step back, and then another, looking more and more
frightened, more and more lost. His eyes rolled back in his head and he
dropped.
Remus vaulted over the desk, putting himself between the Boggart and Harry. The
Dementor turned its head toward him, and suddenly Sirius was grinning at him,
holding out his arms.
"Riddikulus! Get back in your sodding box!" he shouted. Please, God, don't let
Harry see this!
He forced the Boggart back into the packing case, then waved his wand vaguely
at the lamps to re-light them as he turned his attention to Harry.
The boy was sprawled on the floor, perfectly still and white as a sheet, sweat
standing out on his face.
"Harry! Harry!" Remus called, shaking him. He'll be all right. He'll be all
right, he kept telling himself. Arse! Why did I let him do this?!
Harry's eyes popped open, darting around the room until they fixed on Remus's
face leaning over him. Remus could almost see the boy's memory returning.
"Sorry," Harry muttered, sitting up much more quickly than Remus would have
liked and groping for the edge of a desk to pull himself to his feet.
"Are you all right?" Remus asked in a worried tone, fumbling through the
pockets of his robes for chocolate. His fingers brushed the little wooden dog,
and he drew his hand out of that pocket quickly to search another.
"Yes." Harry leaned heavily against the desk, still gripping it with both
hands. Remus really wished he would sit back down.
"Here," he said, handing the boy a chocolate frog. "Eat this before --"
He had been planning to send the boy back to Gryffindor tower, to the company
of his friends and the warmth of his bed, but when he met Harry's eyes, he saw
the look of determination back in place and the colour returning to his cheeks.
"-- before we try again," he finished. Then added, "I didn't expect you to do
it first time. In fact, I would have been astounded if you had."
That was true enough. He did not really expect Harry to get much of a result
while facing the Boggart tonight.
"It's getting worse," said Harry through a mouthful of chocolate. "I could hear
her louder that time -- and him -- Voldemort --"
Remus felt all the blood drain from his face, as if he himself could hear Lily
screaming. It would be too much for him to bear. How could he expect her son to
face it again?
I was wrong, he decided. I should have sent him to his bed after all.
"Harry," he began, "if you don't want to continue, I will more than understand
--"
"I do!" declared Harry, his cheeks burning, the fire back in his eyes. He
swallowed the rest of his chocolate frog quickly. "I've got to," he continued,
looking at his teacher with pleading eyes. "What if the Dementors turn up at
our match against Ravenclaw? I can't afford to fall off again. If we lose this
game, we've lost the Quidditch Cup!"
Of course that was what Harry cared about. Remus mentally kicked himself for
forgetting that Harry was only thirteen -- that his priorities were not those
of an adult. The terror of the Dementors, his parents' murder, the fact that
Sirius was after him -- all of these things were too abstract for Harry to
properly comprehend. What was real to him was the prestige of winning the
Quidditch Cup or the humiliation of losing it.
It wasn't Harry's fault. Remus remembered being thirteen, when full moons were
an annoyance that separated him from his friends, rather than a horror that
brought him face to face with the vicious monster living inside him. But that
did not make it any less important for Harry to be able to drive off the
Dementors.
"All right then," he said at last. "You might want to select another memory, a
happy memory, I mean," he said quickly, "to concentrate on -- that one doesn't
seem to have been strong enough."
He watched in sympathy again as Harry wracked his brains for another, happier
memory. At last, he smiled, and Remus sighed with relief. Harry was not without
happy events in his past. Knowing that made Remus feel slightly better. Not
everything good about the Marauders had died that night, and the proof stood
before him, looking to him with trust, if not with love.
Harry squared his shoulders and faced the packing case again.
"Ready?" Remus asked, hands on the box lid.
Harry nodded. "Ready," he said, aiming his wand and staring hard at the box.
"Go!" he heard himself say, and off came the lid.
Again, the room went cold and dark almost at once. Harry yelled the incantation
over and over, but the Dementor-Boggart kept on gliding toward him, and once
again Remus watched the boy's eyes lose focus and his knees buckle.
Once more Remus set himself between Harry and the Boggart, which now looked
like a wounded Sirius, begging for his help. He closed his eyes, picturing
something -- anything -- that was not Sirius Black, and shouted "Riddikulus!"
Opening his eyes, he saw the full moon with Sirius's face grinning down from
it.
Why not? he thought with a humourless smile. You both torment me.
He brought the lid down on the glowing Boggart.
Harry looked even worse this time; not just pale, but positively gray. Though
he was unconscious, there were tears flowing freely down his cheeks, mingling
with the sweat. Remus could only imagine what the boy had seen and heard, but
imagining was enough. His own eyes stung. He wished he could take Harry in his
arms and comfort him until all the horrible memories went away, but he knew
that it was hardly a gesture that a thirteen-year-old boy would appreciate,
especially from a stuffy professor. He settled for taking Harry's hand in his
own and patting it.
"Harry?" he inquired, tentatively at first. When there was no response, he said
a little louder, "Harry?" Still nothing.
The tears still flowing down his cheeks upset Remus. He wanted to get Harry
awake and get some chocolate into him as quickly as possible. He smoothed the
sweat-soaked hair from his forehead, gently tracing the lightning bolt scar
with a finger.
I suppose that night had to leave a mark somewhere, he thought, wondering anew
at the miracle of this boy's survival.
Harry still showed no sign of coming around. His eyelids twitched as if he were
dreaming, and from the set of his mouth, it was not a pleasant dream. Remus
shook him, calling his name again and still got no response.
"Come on, Harry," he muttered. "Don't do this to me."
At last, Remus sighed and drew his wand. It was not good to force the body's
natural state with wand magic. Healing was best done with potions and infusions
of herbs. He tapped Harry's forehead with his wand.
"Ennervate."
Harry's entire body twitched, and his eyelids began to flutter. Remus put his
wand away.
"Harry," he urged the boy gently, "Harry, wake up --"
Harry's eyes opened. He lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, making no
attempt to move, and clearly having no understanding of why he was there in the
first place.
I should have let him wake up on his own, Remus thought angrily to himself.
It's jarring to be woken by magic. But dammit, he scared me!
At last, Harry slowly turned his head to look up into the face of his very
worried teacher.
"I heard my dad," he said in a groggy voice. "That's the first time I've ever
heard him -- he tried to take on Voldemort himself, to give my mum time to run
for it --"
Harry sat up to wipe his face on his robes, but Remus barely noticed. He stared
over Harry's shoulder, through the window, out into the darkness of the January
night, not seeing it.
Isn't that just like James? he thought. Always so full of reckless bravado, and
nothing in this world more important to him than Lily and Harry. She always
said his overconfidence would be the death of him.
He looked at Harry, who appeared to be fiddling with an already-tied shoelace.
He really does remember, doesn't he? he thought with wonder. He's not just
imagining this stuff. He never knew James -- not like I did -- but he seems to
know exactly how he'd act.
With no witnesses to their deaths save Harry, all Remus had ever known was that
they had died. But now the horror of the scene was becoming clearer and clearer
in his mind. James barring the door, wand in his hand, shouting for Lily to go.
Lily reaching for Harry in his crib, looking to James in terror. Both of them
knowing that they had been betrayed, and by whom, and that they were going to
die.
But not without a fight. Not them. Never without a fight.
Their courage had somehow saved their son, and brought about the downfall of
Voldemort. And now their son sat at Remus's feet, pretending he was not
fighting back tears, because his only memory of his parents was at the moment
of their deaths, and because they had both died to save him.
Remus felt a deep kinship with this boy. Who else had lost so much on the night
which had caused the rest of the Wizarding world to rejoice? If he had been
alone, Remus would have wept as well, out of pity. But he couldn't let Harry
see that.
"You heard James?" he asked instead, knowing his voice sounded choked.
"Yeah .--" Harry finally looked up. His eyes were red. "Why -- you didn't know
my dad, did you?" he asked suddenly.
Remus was flustered by the unexpected directness of the question. "I -- I did,
as a matter of fact. We were friends at Hogwarts." He really did not feel like
he could handle discussing Lily and James just at the moment, so he changed the
subject. "Listen, Harry -- perhaps we should leave it here for tonight. This
charm is ridiculously advanced -- I shouldn't have suggested putting you
through this --" Or me, for that matter.
"No!" said Harry, struggling to his feet once more. "I'll have one more go! I'm
not thinking of happy enough things, that's what it is -- hang on --"
His brow furrowed and he pressed his lips together, tapping his fingers on the
desk. At last, he took a deep breath, let it out, and faced the packing crate
once more.
"Ready?" Remus asked from behind the desk, wishing very much that he had
followed his first impulse to send the boy to bed with a large supply of
chocolate. "Concentrating hard? All right -- go!"
Once again, the Dementor rose between them, and once again Harry raised his
wand, looking pale but determined. His hair was standing on end just like
James's always had when he was agitated.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM! EXPECTO PATRONUM! EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry bellowed over and
over again, shaking his wand as the lights flickered and died and all heat left
the room.
The Dementor advanced, but Harry stood his ground.
Concentrate, Remus thought hard at him. You can do this, Harry. I know it!
Harry's eyes got bigger and bigger as the Dementor approached, but he never
stopped shouting or waving his wand, and he never took a step backwards. The
Dementor stopped.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry shouted one last time, and a huge, silvery cloud
burst from the end of his wand. It hung in the air between Harry and the
Dementor, and the three of them -- Harry, Remus, and the Boggart -- stared
dumbly at it for a second.
Then Remus saw Harry begin to sway, and leapt forward, shouting, "Riddikulus!"
The Boggart once again turned into a tiny full moon emblazoned with Sirius's
face laughing cruelly at him, but he was fairly sure Harry was too far away to
see as he forced it back into the case.
When he turned to face Harry again, the cloudy Patronus had vanished.
"Excellent!" he said in heartfelt tones. He strode across the room and sat next
to the exhausted boy. "Excellent, Harry. That was definitely a start."
He suppressed a strong urge to give Harry a hug. Lily and James would have been
so proud! He was proud!
"Can we have another go?" begged Harry. "Just one more go?"
"Not now," he said with a smile, rummaging through the pockets of his robes
again. "You've had enough for one night. Here --" He gave Harry a bar of
Honeydukes' best chocolate which he had been saving for just this occasion,
though admittedly he had thought it would be weeks away. "Eat the lot," he
admonished, "or Madam Pomfrey will be after my blood."
Harry looked as though chocolate was a poor substitute for another chance to
conjure a Patronus, so Remus added, "Same time next week?"
"Okay," Harry replied, seeming satisfied with that
He unwrapped the chocolate and began to nibble at a corner of it as Remus moved
around the room extinguishing the lights.
"Professor Lupin?" he said after a moment. "If you knew my dad, you must have
known Sirius Black as well."
He stopped dead, facing the wall, very glad that Harry could not see the
expression on his face. He hoped that in the now-dim light, Harry had not seen
the stiffening of his shoulders at the mention of that name. He turned,
unconsciously glaring at the boy.
"What gives you that idea?" he asked rather more sharply than he intended.
Harry looked alarmed at his teacher's sudden change in demeanor. "Nothing -- I
mean, I just knew they were friends at Hogwarts, too --"
The tension left his body. Obviously Harry was not drawing any of the same
suspicions or conclusions as the adults at the school were. But it was still
difficult to talk about Sirius, especially with Harry.
"Yes I knew him. Or I thought I did." He suddenly felt very tired. "You'd
better get off, Harry. It's getting late."
Harry gave him a worried look before hurrying back to Gryffindor tower. He
listened until he could no longer hear the boy's footsteps in the corridor
before gathering up the Boggart's box and headed back to his rooms, hoping
vainly for dreamless sleep tonight.
***** Soulless *****
Five weeks later, a very pale Remus sat staring in shock at the morning edition
of the Daily Prophet, no longer seeing the words printed on the page.
"Black to Receive Dementors' Kiss," read the headline. The article went on to
say that the Ministry of Magic had given permission for the Dementors of
Azkaban to perform their "kiss" on the fugitive Sirius Black, when they found
him. It was a short article, tucked away at the bottom of the fourth page. It
did not even give an explanation of what the "kiss" entailed; only implying
that it was a nasty, distasteful thing, and that the Wizarding public really
did not want to know the unsavoury details.
But Remus knew.
In his sixth year at Hogwarts, there had been a two-weeks-long unit on
Dementors as part of his Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts studies. He had
been a good student, and could still remember much of the material covered by
the course. However Professor Seagram, who had taught Defence that year, had
glossed over the Dementors' "kiss".
It had only been later, after Sirius had been sent to Azkaban, that Remus had
developed a morbid fascination with the place and its fearful guards, and had
learnt what the "kiss" was. It was the complete removal of soul or mind or
memory or whatever one chose to call it. A loss of the self. The Dementors
sucked it out their victim's mouth. It was the most extreme form of punishment
used by the Wizarding legal system.
Remus had always disapproved of its use on principle. It seemed too close to
the "unforgivable" class of curses. True, it was only reserved for the most
unrepentant, irredeemable law breakers -- generally the sort of people who had
performed many Unforgivable Curses themselves -- but could anyone truly deserve
to lose his soul?
Does he deserve it?
He thought of all that Sirius had done -- to Lily and James, to Peter, to all
those unnamed Muggles, to Harry, and to Remus himself. Dreadful things. But
that terrible kiss would destroy not only the violent madman, but any vestige
left of the man he had been, and the boy. The troublemaker. The practical
joker. The rebel. The lover. That reserve of inner strength and that capacity
for vulnerability. His own dear, beloved Padfoot.
If the Ministry had their way, none of those aspects would exist within
Sirius's mind any longer.
Maybe some of them died long ago, thought Remus, but they're still there
somewhere -- their crypts and graves. Once the kiss is performed, everything he
was and is will be gone forever. He'll only exist in my memory.
Once the kiss was performed, there was no chance of redemption; no soul to be
redeemed.
He could not help imagining one of those cold creatures swathed in its black
robes bent over a helpless and terrified Sirius, its -- mouth? -- against the
lips Remus had kissed countless times in tenderness and in passion, that had
spoken words of love, laughter, hope, and the future -- that had given him his
first taste of carnal joy.
He imagined the light slowly dying in those bright, beautiful eyes, all memory
draining away. Memories of the Marauders' great friendship and small pranks,
memories of every spell and potion he had ever learnt, from his hangover cure
to his ability to become Padfoot, memories of Remus himself and the love they
had shared, from the first cautious words and tentative kisses to the nights of
earth-shattering passion that had left them both bruised and aching the next
day. All of it would be gone forever. Sirius would be dead, and all that would
be left of him was an empty shell that moved and breathed.
Once the kiss was performed, Remus wondered if they would release him to the
care of St Mungo's. With all thought, feeling, hope, and desire drained away,
there would be nothing left in him for the Dementors to feed upon. There would
be no point to keeping him in Azkaban any longer.
I'd go to him then, Remus knew all too well. I would go and collect him and
find a safe place for us, and I'd care for what was left of him the rest of his
days for the sake of what we once were. Hell, I'm already a pariah. What
difference would it make? It's not like I have other plans for my life.
He wondered if following that path and having some purpose to his life, however
empty, would make the immense loneliness better or worse, or only change its
nature.
Harry, he thought. Harry would never understand. He might even hate me, and
then I'd never see him again.
Now more than ever, Remus knew he could not be the one to hand Sirius over to
his fate. It seemed, however, that the man had given him every opportunity to
do so. Was Sirius taking advantage of his weakness? Using him in order to --
? To what?
Three times now, he had come to Remus -- an action more rash than mad -- and
done nothing which had proved him either insane or violent in Remus's presence.
He had made himself easy for Remus to find and follow. He had come to his rooms
twice, left an obvious trail in the secret passage only they knew about, and
come to find him in the Shrieking Shack.
He's hiding from everyone but me, he thought miserably. He knows I'm no
betrayer. I'm too sentimental. I'll risk all for the man he was, and he knows
it.
His eyes returned reluctantly to the article. There was a small photo of Sirius
next to it. Remus made himself really look at the picture for once. The long,
tangled, dirty hair; the gaunt, thin face; the dark circles under those once-
beautiful eyes. He knew what he was doing. He was looking for some trace of his
Sirius in this stranger. Some sign that the man he had loved -- the man he
loved even now -- was still in there, somewhere. As the head in the picture
turned, he caught glimpses: the line of the jaw, the shape of the nose, the
curve of an ear. But it was not physical recognition Remus sought.
Why, though, should he look for Sirius here, in this picture taken in Azkaban
Prison, where all men were madmen? He had more recent impressions and memories
of Sirius to draw upon.
There it was. A brief spark of memory: Sirius kneeling at his feet, looking up
at him with sad, sad eyes. He frowned, trying to place the image. When had
Sirius come to him a man, and not as Padfoot?
It must have been Christmas Eve, Remus thought. How bloody drunk was I?
The night was still coming back to him in bits and pieces, but even six weeks
later, there were definite large, mysterious gaps in his memory. He tried once
again to piece the evening together -- to fit this new image into context.
Sirius had come, and it had not been a full moon. He was not hiding, since no
one had reported seeing him in the castle that night; only later suspicion
based on Harry's gift. So why had Sirius come to his rooms? He replayed as much
of the scene as he could recall in his mind. Firewhiskey. Music. Old photos. A
wooden dog with a lock of hair and a hangover cure when he had awoken. And now
this image of Sirius kneeling at his feet, looking as sad and sorry as a person
had ever looked.
There had to be something more -- something else. Remus wracked his brains for
some detail he had forgotten. Something Sirius had said. And then the words
came floating back to him.
"I need your help," he had said. "I came to explain."
Explain. Had he said more than that? Remus thought through the evening again
and again, but if Sirius had said more, Remus's brain had not been able to hold
onto it. Sirius had come offering answers, the thing Remus hungered for above
all else, and he had been in no state to hear them.
But what could Sirius have told him? Protestations of innocence from a man who
had spent twelve years in prison for committing terrible crimes? Either Sirius
was innocent and had come to tell the truth to the only man left in the
Wizarding world who would not turn him over to the Dementors on the spot, or he
was guilty and had come to enlist the help of the only man left who might be
gullible enough to believe him.
A dozen years ago Remus had believed that Sirius would never lie to him, but
that had been before the terrible facts of betrayal and murder had cast doubt
over their affair so far back into the past. When had the lies begun? Had it
been easy for Sirius to tell them? Now, doubt was all he had. Without proof
that Sirius was guilty, he could not condemn him, and without certain knowledge
of his innocence, he could not help the man.
Painful as it had been at the time, he had found out everything he could. He
had gone to Godric's Hollow, to the location of Sirius's arrest, to the
Ministry of Magic. He had memorised every detail of the case the Ministry had
made public, and through a few bribes that had emptied his Gringotts account, a
few they had not. He had tried to remember everything Sirius, James, Lily, even
Peter had said in that last month. But the picture remained confused. Was it
his own denial of the possibility of such a betrayal that fueled his confusion,
or was there truly something missing from the picture?
Remus closed his eyes and prepared to enter that dangerous part of his mind
where the detailed account of those events was kept. A pity it was too early in
the morning for anything stronger than tea, but he needed a clear head for
this.
He and Sirius had gone to visit Lily, James, and Harry in Godric's Hollow in
late October. There had been none of the banter and laughter that usually
marked their gatherings. Peter had been there that last time -- a rare
occurrence by then. Poor Peter. His mother had been ill, and he had had to
spend a lot of his time caring for her that year. He barely saw his old friends
anymore.
If Remus had had to put his money on one of them in those days, he might have
chosen Peter, if only because Peter had all but been all but replaced by Lily
in their little circle in those last two years, and Remus could not bear to
think that one of the three dearest people in his life might be a traitor. But
then had come that terrible day. Peter had acquitted himself like a hero, and
died for love of his friends.
Everyone had been tense at that final gathering. They had all known that
Voldemort was looking for the Potters, though Lily and James had been vague
about the reason. James had looked grim. The only trace of his usual good
humour had been a few bitter jokes that had made no one laugh. Lily was never
more than an arm's reach from him, and they were constantly touching one
another for reassurance. Lily's eyes had been big with fear, and she kept
looking to James with a trust that had broken Remus's heart.
Harry had cried and fussed all through dinner, Remus remembered. He was usually
such a quiet, happy baby, but even he could detect the tension between the
adults around him, and he had wailed until Remus offered to take him outside
for a walk in the garden.
Remus had taken Harry out and tried humming soothingly to him and bouncing him
on his knee, to no avail. The baby had continued to cry and squirm. At last,
Remus had simply sat him on his knee and begun talking to him. He had poured
out his heart to the uncomprehending infant -- his fears, hopes, sorrows -
- tears running freely down his face, and gradually Harry had quieted, looking
up at Remus with round, trusting green eyes.
At last, Remus had taken Harry back into the house to his parents. James had
taken Harry from him.
"Thank you, Remus," he had said, an emotion Remus could not quite name in his
eyes. "Thank you for everything."
Lily given him a hug and kissed his cheek, and he had known. In that moment, he
knew that he was never going to see them again, and that this was goodbye. The
shock of that realisation had kept him from weeping at the time.
The Fidelius Charm had been performed the next day.
He had wept unashamedly that night, and Sirius had held him, white-faced and
murmuring into his hair that everything would be all right. He had known that
was a lie, but it had been such a comforting one. He had not known then that
the rest was a lie as well. Sirius had said they would go into hiding, that
Voldemort would come looking for them if he thought they knew where the Potters
were. He had made some arrangements with Dumbledore, he had said.
In the days that followed, they had spoken of Lily and James and Harry often.
Remus had been jealous, he admitted to himself now. Sirius was their Secret-
Keeper, and could go see them anytime he liked. But every time Remus mentioned
it, Sirius just shook his head and changed the subject. Remus was worried -
- had known that Voldemort would stop at nothing to find the secret of the
Potters' whereabouts -- but he was also so proud of Sirius's bravery.
They had tried to continue to live as normally as possible those last few days.
Sirius had said that he would not go into hiding unless he was sure they were
in danger, because he did not want to draw unwanted attention to himself and
Remus. So instead they had planned a small celebration for their anniversary on
Halloween.
Remus had decided to prepare the dinner without the use of magic. He had lit
candles and put on soft music, but the air had fairly crackled with tension and
Sirius had just sat on the sofa, gazing moodily out the window, thoughts
obviously far away. When Remus put a hand on his arm, Sirius had jumped and
then given him a weak smile, but had shaken his head in response to Remus's
queries about what was troubling him.
Remus was just putting the last touches on supper when he had heard Sirius come
into the kitchen. Turning, he saw Sirius gazing at him oddly. Remus opened his
mouth to tell him that dinner would be ready in a few minutes, but the words
died on his lips as Sirius strode across the kitchen, took Remus in his arms
and kissed him hard enough to taste blood. He had pulled away and looked
searchingly into Remus's eyes. Remus had thought he was about to say something,
but then he had let go and hurried to the door, grabbing his leather jacket as
he passed.
"Padfoot, where --?" he had started to say.
"I'm just going to get the wine," he had said. "I'll be back in a bit."
The door had slammed shut behind him, and a moment later the motorbike had
roared to life. The sound faded away into the distance as he stood in the
middle of the kitchen, tasting blood, staring at the unopened bottle of
Goblin's Reserve on the table.
He had waited. At first, he had told himself that it was just the tension
getting to Sirius, and he had needed some air. But as it grew dark and the
candles burned down an inch and then another, he began to let himself worry.
What if something had happened to Sirius? He was so reckless, and his mind
would obviously not be on his flying tonight. Anything might have happened. He
could have had an accident. Voldemort's followers could have found him -- could
even now be prying the secret of Lily and James's whereabouts from him. But
that thought had been too horrible to contemplate.
He had sat until nearly midnight, watching dinner grow cold untouched and
trying to think of nothing at all.
He must have dozed off, for he had been awakened between 2:00 and 3:00 A.M. by
voices in the street outside the flat. The candles had guttered out, and the
room was dark, so he could see the scene outside clearly by the Muggle street
lamps.
There were five people standing in the pool of orange light, and all were
wearing wizards' robes. They were talking excitedly, but Remus could not hear
what they said through the glass, so he got up and went to the door.
They all turned and looked at him when they heard the door open, and he
instinctively reached for his wand. He had an absurd urge to call out "friend
or foe?" but instead he said only, "Lumos," so that they would see he was a
wizard too, despite his Muggle clothing.
The smallest of the group, an auburn-haired witch in a purple top hat, broke
away from the rest and hurried toward him. He could see she was smiling, but
when she got close enough to recognise him, her face fell.
"Remus Lupin?" she asked tentatively. She reached out as if to shake his hand,
but instead she simply held it and did not let go. Her eyes were troubled.
"Maggie Lewis?" he said, shocked.
She gave a tiny nod. She had been in Ravenclaw, two years below himself and his
friends at Hogwarts. At one time, she had tried to slip a love potion into his
food. He looked over at the others, but saw no one else he recognised. They
were all looking at him curiously.
"Remus," Maggie began, and then faltered.
A feeling of dread had welled up inside him. Something had happened. Something
big if wizards were wandering Muggle streets in packs, undisguised in the
middle of the night. Given the state of the Wizarding world at the time, he had
known better than to hope it was anything good.
"What's happened?" he had asked quietly. He could not read the look in her
eyes.
"Vol -- You Know Who -- he's gone!" her tone of voice said that she did not
quite believe what she was saying, and was a little shocked to hear it out
loud. "His power has broken and he's fled. There's people who were under the
Imperius Curse waking up all over the country. Some of his followers have even
killed themselves!"
He could not believe his ears. This should be wonderful news. But she was still
looking at him with eyes that said not everyone was celebrating tonight.
"What else?" he had asked a little more sharply than he intended. The knot of
dread within him was quickly transforming into a lump of ice-cold fear.
"I -- they -- he --" She tried to let go of his hand, but he held her fast.
"Tell me, Maggie."
She took a deep breath, speaking quickly, but no longer meeting his eyes. "You
Know Who -- he went to Godric's Hollow. He was looking for the Potters. He -
- they were -- They're dead, Remus," she finally managed. "I'm so sorry." She
squeezed his suddenly numb fingers, then pulled her hand from his, backing
away.
No, his brain had said. No, it can't be true. If Voldemort is gone, then Lily
and James are okay. We're all okay. If he's gone, we're all going to be fine!
But if it were true -- There was only one way Voldemort could have got to Lily
and James, and that was through Sirius. He had a sudden vision of Sirius
surrounded by Death Eaters, in the agonising throes of the Cruciatus Curse,
being forced to reveal the Potters' whereabouts.
The group of wizards was walking away from him, every now and then casting a
worried glance over a shoulder at him. He ran after them and grabbed Maggie,
spinning her around. He took her by the shoulders and shook her.
"Sirius Black!" he shouted. "Where is he? What's happened to him?" Please don't
let him be dead, too.
But Maggie was shaking her head. "I don't know! I don't know! I haven't heard
anyone say anything about him! Please, let me go!"
She had looked utterly terrified, and he realised dully that he was behaving
like a madman. He had released her at once. The other witches and wizards were
staring at him again. He raised his hands and backed away from them to show he
meant no harm. Then he broke and ran back to the flat.
He had to get to Godric's Hollow. Maybe it was all a mistake -- some silly
rumour blown out of proportion. He would go there and see for himself that Lily
and James were all right. Or at least that their house was nowhere to be seen,
still under the protection of the Fidelius Charm. He had wanted to Apparate and
get there at once, but he was too agitated to do so safely. It would have to be
by broom, then.
It was two hours' flight from London to Godric's Hollow, and by the time he got
there, he could see the first signs of gray dawn on the horizon. The starlight
was dim, but the darkness could not hide the truth from his eyes as much as he
longed to deny it.
Where Lily and James's house should have been -- or not been, as the case may
be -- was little more than smoking wreckage.
As he drew nearer, he could see Ministry officials already crawling all over
the scene. He touched down in the street and was immediately approached by a
grim-looking witch.
"I'm sorry, Sir, but you'll have to clear the scene. We're very busy here."
"Please," he said, "the Potters are friends of mine. Tell me --"
But the words had died in his throat as he looked over the witch's shoulder to
see two still forms decently covered in black cloaks next to the smoldering
remains of the house.
"I'm sorry, Sir," the witch was saying in a softer tone. "Lily and James Potter
are dead."
"I know," Remus replied. His voice sounded very small. It's true. They're
really gone.
He sat down suddenly on the pavement, unable to tear his eyes away from those
silent, cloaked shapes.
The Ministry witch was patting his shoulder awkwardly. "Can I get you anything,
Sir? A drink of water?"
He shook his head, and with a last glance of concern, she had turned and gone
back to work.
After a moment, Remus had made himself get to his feet. Shaky and feeling the
cold sweat standing out on his face, he made as if to take a step toward the
place where the bodies of his friends lay, but he could not do it. Instead, he
wandered through the garden in the other direction, not wanting to leave, but
not really wanting to see whatever other horrors the place might have to offer.
The entire scene hummed with the power of the curse that had been cast. The
garden was strewn with bits of household items, broken furniture, a splintered
thing that might have been a wand, and Harry's toys.
Harry. Harry's not here, Remus had suddenly realised. "Lily and James Potter
are dead," the witch had said. He risked a glance to confirm there were only
two still forms on the grass. Where is he?
And then, at his feet, he saw something that made his heart skip a beat: a
single tire rut on the grass, running twenty feet or so and stopping abruptly
at either end.
Sirius. Sirius must have come here to check on them, seen they were in danger,
and taken Harry away with him.
But that was not right. The Potters could not have been in any danger unless
Sirius gave the Death Eaters their location, so why would they have had him
take the baby away?
In that moment, a thought like a poisoned dart entered his mind, though he
wanted with all his heart to deny it: that Sirius had given up his information
voluntarily -- that he was the traitor in their midst -- that he had come here
with Voldemort and taken Harry away with him. But why? And where did
Voldemort's downfall come into it?
I have to find them, he thought. I have to know.
Remus had gotten shakily back on his broomstick. Once in the air, he had drawn
his wand.
"Amatori invenio," he said, his voice cracking. He took his hands off the broom
handle and let the locator spell lead him.
He knew it was risky; wherever Sirius was, he was either a traitor or in grave
danger. If he was in danger, Remus had to go to him and do what he could. If he
was a traitor, Remus needed to know it, and try to do what he could to save
Harry.
Dawn was breaking, and below him he could make out houses and farms. Gradually,
the farmland gave way to suburbs, and after an hour and a half's flight, he was
over narrow city streets, crowded from the early Muggle commute. Still the
broom led him onwards. He did not care if Muggles saw him; things were too dire
to worry about that now.
The broom had begun to descend on a busy market street. He saw Sirius standing
no more than fifty paces away, his back to Remus. Harry was not with him. What
Remus had seen instead was Peter Pettigrew. Then he had seen Sirius pointing
his wand at Peter. Then he had seen a crater, a plume of black smoke, Muggles
screaming, blood everywhere, Sirius laughing -- laughing.
Remus had fallen to his knees on the pavement.
No! he had screamed silently. Sirius, no! Not you! Anyone but you!
His body rebelled, physically denying and rejecting what he had just seen, but
he had not eaten since lunch the previous day, and the spasms that wracked his
body brought up very little.
He had looked up again in time to see members of the Magical Law Enforcement
Squad tackle Sirius. They had grabbed the wand from his hand and still the man
was laughing.
And then suddenly he had caught sight of Remus, kneeling on the pavement,
horror and anguish in his eyes. He had stopped laughing then. His face had
become blank and unreadable, and his gray eyes had not left Remus's until he
had been hustled into a Ministry van and the doors had shut and locked behind
him.
Then dizziness had overcome Remus, and his world had gone black.
***** The Werewolf in Question *****
"Here's another one," said a voice somewhere nearby, and then someone had put a
hand on his neck. "No, this one's alive. Get one of the Obliviators over here.
We're going to need another memory charm in a minute when he comes around."
"Shouldn't he be questioned first? After all, he's a witness."
"No, I think we've got enough witnesses. Not much point; they're all saying the
same thing, anyway."
"Hang on a second. He's got a wand. We've got a wizard witness!" There was a
laugh with little humour in it. "Imagine if we Obliviated a wizard! Crouch'd
wring our necks!"
The owner of the voice began shaking Remus's shoulder. "Sir? Sir, can you hear
me?"
No. Go away, thought Remus fiercely. Just leave me the fuck alone.
If what he thought had happened had really happened, he did not want to be
conscious. He just wanted to lie here, not remembering, not thinking, until he
died.
As soon as he showed signs of consciousness, there would be questions. They
would expect him to talk about what he had seen. They might give him an hour or
so if he was in shock, which he undoubtedly was, but before long, they would
want him to talk.
Wizard witness, they had said. And once they found out he knew Sirius --
Sirius!
Just thinking his name sent white-hot needles of agony into Remus's heart. Lily
and James being dead -- that was tragic, but everyone died, sooner or later.
What Sirius had done went so far beyond that there was no comparison.
I'm broken, Remus had thought. I'm broken and I'll never be whole again. Half
of me is torn away. A single tear slipped down his cheek.
His anguish must have showed on his face, because one of the voices had said,
"Look, I think he's coming around. Here, Sir. You're all right now. Can you sit
up?"
Reluctantly, Remus had opened his eyes. A kindly-looking, middle-aged wizard in
Ministry robes had helped him into a sitting position and asked his partner to
bring Remus a cup of water which he pressed into Remus's hands.
Remus drank deeply. His throat felt as though he had been screaming, but he was
fairly certain that had only been inside his head. But he felt as if he might
start if he had to think too hard about what had happened.
"There you are, Sir. Feel any better?" The man's voice was filled with kindness
and sympathy.
Remus shook his head, not trusting his voice. The man looked at him, eyes full
of understanding.
You think you know, but you don't, Remus had thought angrily.
"My name's Johnson," said the man. "I'm with the Ministry. Did you see what
happened here?"
Remus opened his mouth to reply but no sound emerged. He closed his mouth and
then opened it again with no better result.
"Poor bloke's in shock," said his partner. "And no bloody wonder if he is!
Terrible thing to see." He shook his head sadly.
"Well," said Johnson slowly, "if he saw what happened over yonder we'll have to
take him in anyway for questioning, being as he's a wizard."
I don't want to go to the Ministry, Remus thought desperately. They'll have
hard questions. They'll want me to talk about Sirius. And when they find out I
knew them, they're going to want me to talk about Lily and James and Peter as
well.
But he could not make even the smallest sound of protest. Instead, he looked at
Johnson pleadingly and shook his head.
"Sorry, mate," said Johnson sympathetically. "Rules are rules. We gotta take
you in."
They had helped him to a Ministry van, and within fifteen minutes he was
walking -- or more accurately, being guided -- through the doors of the
Ministry of Magic. He had been in the Ministry a number of times before, but in
his shocked state, nothing looked familiar. His eyes slid over people, objects,
walls, floors, recognising nothing.
They had gone up one corridor and down another, past doors with important-
looking signs on them that all looked the same, until at last they came to
something that looked like a waiting room filled. His guide had sat Remus down
in one of the uncomfortable chairs and left him, saying that someone would see
him shortly. About half the chairs in the room were filled with white-faced,
tired-looking witches and wizards.
Remus was not sure if he sat there for five minutes or five hours, willing his
mind to think of nothing at all. One by one, the other people in the room were
called through a door into an office of some kind.
At last, a thin, balding man in his mid-thirties beckoned Remus through the
door. According to the sign on the door, he was MLE Detective A. Murdoch. Remus
got to his feet with difficulty, amazed that he could stand at all, and
wondered if he should use this surprising ability to make a run for it.
Instead, he went into the office. His legs felt weak and shaky and he was
grateful to be able to collapse immediately into another chair once inside the
small room.
Detective Murdoch sat down across the desk from him and peered nearsightedly at
a piece of parchment.
"Hmmm," he said. "You were present for the -- unpleasantness in the Muggle
marketplace this morning?"
Remus nodded.
"Name?" said the man, not looking at him.
Remus had tried to reply, but still no sound emerged from his throat. After a
moment, Detective Murdoch looked up at him. Remus tried to say he was sorry but
he could not speak. The detective looked annoyed.
"Can you write it down for me?" he asked impatiently.
He pushed a quill and parchment across the desk toward Remus, who tried to
write his name, but he suddenly could not remember how to hold a quill. His
hands felt clumsy and he kept dropping it.
The detective's expression of annoyance deepened. After a few moments of
watching Remus fumble the long plume, he got up abruptly and left the office by
a side door. Remus could hear him talking to someone in the next room.
"No, can't speak a word," he was saying. "Can't write it down either. How much
of my time am I supposed to waste on this one? I've still got half a dozen
others to see this afternoon."
"The poor man's in shock, Artemis," replied a woman's voice. "You have to be
gentle in these cases. Employ a little kindness. I know that's not your strong
suit."
"You're welcome to try, Cassandra," Murdoch replied in long-suffering tones.
"Just -- get him talking, will you?"
The door had swung open again, and a witch had strode into the room ahead of
Detective Murdoch. She stopped short when she caught sight of Remus.
"Merlin's beard!" she exclaimed. "It's you!"
Remus looked at her without curiosity or recognition.
The witch had pulled the other chair around the desk to sit beside him and
covered one of his hands with her own. "We met this morning, Sir," she said in
a gentle voice. "In Godric's Hollow? I'm Detective Cassandra Clarke. I am
helping with the investigation of the -- incident that occurred in Godric's
Hollow last night. You said you were a friend of the Potters?"
Remus nodded dully at her.
"And you were in the marketplace this morning? No wonder you're in shock!"
She clucked at him like a mother hen, then turned to Detective Murdoch, who was
hovering impatiently nearby, having no other chairs in his office.
"He's not going to be able to answer any questions in this state," she
admonished him. "He needs rest. Find him a place he can sleep for a bit, and
bring him a sleeping draught."
Murdoch looked nonplussed. "The longer we leave this, the more likely he is to
forget the details of what he saw."
Not bloody likely, thought Remus bitterly. I doubt there's a chance in hell
that I'll be lucky enough to ever forget anything about today.
"Really, Artemis!" Detective Clarke was saying, patting Remus's hand absently.
"You're not going to get anything out of him until he rests, no matter how many
questions you badger him with. What do you suggest?"
"All right," Murdoch snapped. "There's a sofa in Jacobsen's office. He's out
sick today. You can stick him in there for a couple of hours. Now, will you get
him out of here so I can back to work?"
Detective Clarke tutted at Murdoch as she rose and ushered Remus from the room,
leading him to an empty office a few doors down.
"Now, Sir, you just make yourself comfortable and I'll be back soon with that
sleeping draught."
Remus had lain numbly on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, thinking that he was
unlikely ever to sleep again. He was cold. He had not felt warm since Sirius
had left the flat the night before.
I mustn't think of Sirius, he told himself. Not until they make me. It's just
too -- But he could not think of a word to express how it felt to think of
Sirius just then. It went so far beyond pain that to call it "painful" was
almost laughable.
Thankfully, it was only moments before Detective Clarke returned with not only
a steaming mug, but a frayed woolen blanket.
"Here now, Sir," she said kindly. "Drink up, and then have a bit of a rest."
She drew the blanket over him as he forced himself to swallow the potion. It
did not taste of anything, but he could hardly remember how to swallow.
"Now," the witch was saying, "someone will look in from time to time to check
on you, and once you're awake, maybe you'll feel a bit more like talking?"
He had nodded slightly, and she had patted his hand again with a look of
maternal sympathy before leaving the room. Even as the door clicked shut, Remus
could feel his eyelids drooping. The horrors of the day, on top of the fact
that he had hardly slept in twenty-four hours, were enough to wear anyone out,
and as soon as the sleeping potion was added to the mix, he was gone.
He had dreamed of Padfoot. Of the loyal, black dog who had helped him through
his transformations -- had fought to be with him -- for six years. Padfoot, who
had run with him as pack and been his mate, had been there after every hard,
moonlit night, and lain beside to him in the dawn to lend warmth to his cold,
aching and torn body. Padfoot, who had existed only to be helpmate to the wolf
inside, and to protect him from himself.
He woke, clutching the rough, woolen blanket, his tearstained face buried in
its scratchy folds. Padfoot was gone.
He had lain for several moments, trying to get his trembling under control,
willing the tears to stop falling.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Lupin, he had told himself fiercely. They're
going to want to talk to you in a minute. You can mourn for them all later.
There will be plenty of time for that.
He had managed to get himself under some semblance of control before a Ministry
page had stuck his head in and seen he was awake. He was then led back to
Detective Murdoch's office, where Murdoch, Clarke, and another Ministry
official were waiting for him. They all looked at him grimly as he entered the
office.
"Is your name Remus John Lupin?" asked the unknown wizard without preamble. He
wore a narrow toothbrush mustache and a stern expression.
They knew who he was now. And probably plenty else besides. He cleared his
throat. "Yes," he said hoarsely.
"Have a seat, please, Mr Lupin," he said, eyes never leaving Remus. "I am
Bartemius Crouch, head of Magical Law Enforcement."
Murdoch and Crouch took turns asking him questions, while Clarke cast troubled
looks in his direction and took notes on a long sheet of parchment.
"You had some association with the Potters?"
"Yes."
"What was the nature of this association?"
"We were friends."
"I see. How long had you known the Potters at the time of their deaths?"
"About ten years. We attended Hogwarts together."
"And you attended Hogwarts with Sirius Black as well?"
"Yes." His voice was barely audible.
"What was that, Mr Lupin?"
He cleared his throat. "Yes."
"And would you say you were friends with Sirius Black as well?"
The question startled a mirthless laugh from him. "Friends? Oh, yes. I would
say that we were. We -- lived together," he clarified without, he hoped, being
too clear.
Clarke's eyebrows snapped together and she looked up at him sharply.
Looks like she just jumped to the right conclusion, he thought.
"And Peter Pettigrew? Was he a friend also?"
"Yes." Again his voice was quiet.
"Were you aware of Black's involvement with the people who call themselves the
Death Eaters?"
"No."
"No? You say you lived with him. You were friends. Are you saying you had no
idea he was involved with -- Him?"
Remus thought it strangely funny that even Ministry officials at their most
professional could not bring themselves to speak Voldemort's name.
"No," he said. "I had no idea he had fallen in with Voldemort."
He was slightly gratified to see them all flinch at the name.
"But you knew that the Potters were going into hiding. That -- the person you
mentioned was looking for them?"
"Yes, I knew. We all knew."
"Who 'all' knew?"
"Me, James, Lily, Peter. Sirius."
"And were you aware that it must have been someone close to the Potters passing
information to the so-called Death Eaters?"
"Yes. We knew it had to have been one of us."
"Were you aware of the precautions the Potters had taken to prevent themselves
being found by You Know Who?"
"Yes. They performed a Fidelius Charm about a week ago."
"And do you believe Sirius Black to have been their Secret-Keeper?"
"Yes. He must have been. James trusted him above anyone."
"Did Sirius Black at any time tell you that he had been made the Potters'
Secret-Keeper?"
"I -- no. No, I don't believe he did." The memory surprised him. But then,
Sirius had avoided talking about many things in those last few weeks.
"Is it your opinion that he was?"
"Yes."
"Where were you between 8:00 P.M. and 10:00 P.M. last night, the thirty-first
of October?"
"I was at home. My flat in London."
"Is there anyone who can confirm your whereabouts?"
"No, I was alone."
"Can you tell us at what time you last saw Sirius Black?"
"He left the house at --er -- about 7:30 P.M."
"I see. And did you know at the time where he was going?"
"No. He said he was going to go get a bottle of wine."
They changed tack then.
"Have you at any time been approached for recruitment by the so-called Death
Eaters, or worked for You Know Who or any of his followers in any capacity?"
"What? No!"
"You seem very sure of yourself, Mr Lupin. Please explain your answer."
"Well, it's well known that they usually only recruit pure-bloods. My mother is
a Muggle."
"I see."
The office door had opened then, and the Ministry page who had brought Remus
came in. He apologised for interrupting and hurriedly dropped a note onto the
desk in front of the detectives, departing hastily.
"We've been running a background check on you," said Crouch, opening the note.
"Your close association with the -- suspect, you understand."
He glanced at what was written on the parchment and his eyes snapped back to
Remus at once.
"Werewolf?!" he exclaimed incredulously. "Is this true, Mr Lupin?"
"Yes. I was bitten when I was six."
"You understand that it is a very serious offence to withhold information from
Ministry officials during questioning?" said Crouch angrily.
"I didn't withhold. You didn't ask. And I didn't think it was relevant."
"Not relevant? Of all the --! Not relevant! Tell me, Mr Lupin, how is it not
relevant to be a Dark Creature associated with a Death Eater and mass-
murderer?"
"I didn't know!" Remus's voice had rapidly turned from dull to desperate. They
could not think he had anything to do with what had happened! But people had
certain ideas about the habits and personal associations of werewolves.
"Please, check your records," he begged. "I've never bitten anyone. I've never
knowingly associated myself with a Death Eater. I would never had done anything
to hurt Lily and James!"
He realised he was dangerously close to tears. He did not want to cry in front
of these people. He wanted to be somewhere safe. He wanted someone to hold him
while the sobs wracked his body. But there was nowhere he could go for comfort
any longer, and there was no one to whom he might turn. A tear spilled down his
cheek.
The detectives were talking amongst themselves. "I say we lock him up now -
- Too big a risk -- Known werewolf associating with Sirius Black -- If we let
him go, there will be a public outcry."
"Please," he croaked in a small voice.
They did not hear him, but continued debating his fate.
"Please," he tried again a little louder. "Where's Harry?"
They looked at him blankly.
"Harry. The Potters' son. Where is he? Is he safe?"
"Oh!" exclaimed Detective Clarke. "Yes. Of course. Harry Potter. Umm -- we're
not at liberty to disclose his whereabouts, but we can confirm that yes, he's
safe." They went back to their discussion.
Remus sagged back into his chair. Harry was safe, and as long as that was true,
it did not really matter what happened to him. Three of his best friends were
dead, and the fourth was no longer a friend. As far as Remus was concerned,
there was not much left worth living for. He wondered vaguely if they would put
him down as a dangerous beast.
I wish they had Obliviated me, he thought. Maybe they could obliterate all my
memories back to the day when I first laid eyes on Sirius.
It had sounded as though they were just coming to the conclusion that they
really should lock him up, just in case, when the door opened and into the room
swept the comforting and authoritative presence of Albus Dumbledore.
He looked around the room, from Remus, gray-faced, hollow-eyed, damp of cheek,
and trembling, to the three detectives crowded around the bit of parchment with
the incriminating word "werewolf" printed upon it.
"I demand an end to the questioning of Remus Lupin," he said coolly.
"May I ask why?" said Crouch, staring at Dumbledore narrowly.
"The boy is in shock. Can you not see that? Three of his friends have been
killed in the last twenty-four hours. I know Remus. He is an honest boy, and if
he knew anything worth telling, he would have told you by now."
"He withheld the fact that he's a werewolf."
Dumbledore looked down his long nose at Crouch. "And have there been any
werewolf attacks central or peripheral to this investigation?"
"Well -- no."
"Has this man been accused of anything?"
"No, but --"
"Then I submit to you that if you have any further questions for him, they can
be asked at a later date, and he should now be allowed to go home and rest."
Crouch rose and cleared his throat. "Very well," he said. "But understand we
shall be keeping Mr Lupin's file open. If we have any questions for him, we
shall be in touch."
He shifted his gaze from Dumbledore to Remus. "Don't," he said in tones that
implied terrible things if disobeyed, "think about leaving the city without the
express permission of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
Remus had nodded, then rose to follow Dumbledore numbly from the room. Once in
the now-empty waiting room, he had let the elderly wizard guide their
Apparition back to his flat.
They had arrived in the middle of the sitting room, and when Remus had seen
dinner still sitting on the table, the bottle of wine still unopened, he had
sagged and would have collapsed if Dumbledore had not caught his arm. The old
wizard guided him to the couch and sat him down, carefully facing him away from
the table.
Remus looked out the window instead. It was dark again. It had been a whole day
since the door slamming behind Sirius had heralded the crumbling of his world.
This time, he let the tears come, and they came hot and fast. He felt a hand
come to rest between his shoulders as he buried he face in his arms against the
back of the sofa. The man next to him -- the man who had made it possible for
him to have a normal childhood, to go to school, to make friends -- radiated
calm, tranquility, and understanding.
"They're dead, Professor," he sobbed. "Lily. James. Peter. Me and Sirius, too."
"You loved them well, Remus. You have one of the greatest hearts I have ever
known. Such a capacity for love."
He was silent for a moment as Remus continued to shake, then he added, "You
should know as well as I, dear boy, that death can never truly take those we
love from us. Lily, James, and Peter will always be with you, so long as you
remember them. And Sirius too."
Remus rocked back and forth, shaking his head, though he did not know what he
was denying. "Why, Professor? Why did he do it? How could he? Was I so blind
that I just didn't see?"
"Love can make us blind, Remus. It would not be your fault if that were the
case. I think this came as a shock to all of us. As to why and how Sirius could
do such a thing, I do not know." He hesitated, as if unsure whether he should
add the next words. "I spoke with him today."
Remus raised his head from his hands and looked at Dumbledore with bloodshot
eyes.
"You saw him?" he asked in a small voice.
"Yes. They're holding him at the Ministry for the moment, but I fear they will
be taking him to Azkaban very soon. There is no trial scheduled."
"Then he -- he's confessed?"
"No," Dumbledore looked pityingly at him. "No, he's denied everything, up to
and including the fact that he was Lily and James's Secret-Keeper. But I told
them I'd do it for them, and James said he'd ask me if he had any doubts about
Sirius."
"How can he deny it?" asked Remus despairingly. "I saw him do it -- kill Peter
and all those Muggles. Professor, I was there!"
"I don't know, Remus. He seemed very wild when I saw him -- as if there were
some madness in him." He hesitated again before adding, "He asked me to tell
you -- he wants to see you. He wants you to come to the Ministry and hear what
he has to say. Will you see him? Perhaps he will tell you something."
Remus had stared at him for a moment, speechless.
"No!" he said at last. "I won't! I can't! I can't see him. I can't talk to him.
I can't look at him after what he did. How could he ask that? Does he mean to
kill me, too?" Then he added, with a conviction he did not feel, "I never want
to hear the name of Sirius Black spoken again."
"Of course you don't have to see him," said Dumbledore in reassuring tones.
"It's entirely understandable that you would want to stay away. No one would
blame you. In fact," he continued, "it might be better for you to avoid contact
with him. The Ministry will most assuredly have you under surveillance for some
time, and the less you do to arouse their suspicions, the better."
Remus nodded. "Professor?" he asked after a moment of silence. "Is there -- is
there a spell you could do? Something to make me forget, or -- or hurt less?"
Dumbledore laid both hands on Remus's shoulders with a look of absolute
sympathy. "There are spells and spells. But memory charms would have to root
out every trace of Sirius, James, Lily, and Peter in your mind in order to be
effective. Otherwise the memories would only come back in time. You would lose
half your life. And your nights under the full moon should have taught you by
now that the pain is part of the healing. It would be a grave disservice to
those you love to forget them, or to feel their deaths any less deeply."
Remus closed his eyes. He knew Dumbledore was right. He could never forget. And
in time, the pain would lessen.
"I wished I would die today, Professor," he admitted.
"I understand the feeling, lad," he sighed. "But you won't. Because one day,
Harry will have questions. He'll need you. And you are the last one left who
knew his parents well."
Dumbledore took an hourglass from his pocket then. It had purple sand which
flowed up rather than down.
"Speaking of which," he continued, "I fear I must go now. I have to see Harry
safely to his new home."
"Can't --" Remus cleared his throat. "Can't he come live with me?" he asked.
"I'm sorry, Remus, but no," Dumbledore said sadly. "I know you love him, but
you'd be raising him by yourself. The Ministry would never allow a child to be
placed with no other guardian but a werewolf. No, I'm sorry, but Harry is
better off with his aunt and uncle. I have my own reasons for that, as well.
Don't go looking for him. When he's old enough, he'll come to you."
Remus had nodded and Dumbledore went to stand in the centre of the room.
"Thank you, Professor. If there's ever anything I can do for Harry -- or for
you -- please, let me know."
Dumbledore had given him a last sad smile before a tiny pop signaled his exit.
Sirius had gone to Azkaban. Remus had not been to see him.
The Ministry had called him in, time and again, with more questions. Sometimes
exciting, new ones, but usually just the same ones over and over, searching for
inconsistencies in his story. At last they had given up, disappointed that they
could not seem to find anything incriminating on "Black's pet werewolf".
Once given permission to leave the city, he had sold the London flat and moved
to a small, shabby house on the edge of a small, shabby city; the first of many
such moves. It was difficult to find work as a known werewolf.
He stared down thoughtfully at his copy of the Daily Prophet again.
How a dozen years can change a man, he mused, and he did not mean only Sirius.
Back then, I was hurt and angry enough that I would have set the Dementors on
him myself. Why should I hate him less now? Why have I never been sure?
Emerging within him now was a new feeling overwhelming his doubt: curiosity.
After a dozen years, Remus wanted to hear what Sirius had to say.
***** Prongs on the Pitch *****
That evening was Harry's fourth Patronus lesson with Remus. Preoccupied though
he was with thoughts of Sirius and the Dementors' kiss, he could see that Harry
was frustrated by the fact that so many weeks on, he was still only managing to
produce an indistinct, silvery cloud, rather than a true Patronus. Remus, on
the other hand, was by no means disappointed.
"You're expecting too much of yourself," he told Harry over some chocolate
following his third attempt of the evening, during which the Boggart-Dementor
had again simply hung between them, neither advancing nor retreating in the
face of the Patronus. "For a thirteen-year-old wizard, even an indistinct
Patronus is a huge achievement. You aren't passing out anymore, are you?" he
added reasonably.
Harry scowled. "I thought a Patronus would -- charge the Dementors down or
something," he said, flopping into a chair. "Make them disappear --"
"The true Patronus does that," Remus admitted, sitting down on the desk next to
him. "But you've achieved a great deal in a very short space of time." He tried
to think of something to say that might cheer Harry up. "If the Dementors put
in an appearance at your next Quidditch match, you will be able to keep them at
bay long enough to get back to the ground."
"You said it's harder when there are loads of them," Harry pointed out
sullenly.
"I have complete confidence in you," Remus said, giving Harry a smile which he
hoped reflected that confidence.
He felt fairly certain the boy could hold his own against as many as three real
Dementors, so long as help was near at hand and quick in coming. He did not
anticipate any further Dementor-induced near-fatal accidents on the Quidditch
pitch; Dumbledore's wrath should keep them at bay. But instead of giving voice
to doubts and halfhearted reassurances that might damage Harry's confidence, he
decided a distraction was in order.
"Here -- you've earned a drink. Something from the Three Broomsticks, you won't
have tried it before --" He reached over and pulled two bottles of Butterbeer
from his briefcase. He had loved the stuff as a boy, and hoped Harry would as
well.
"Butterbeer!" exclaimed Harry, his eyes lighting up. "Yeah, I like that stuff!"
Remus gave Harry a look. He had suspected that Harry might be sneaking into
Hogsmeade with his friends since the day he had been unable to find him in the
castle, but Hogwarts was such a sprawling place; Harry could have been
anywhere. Remus had not liked to assume based on so little evidence.
"Oh --" Harry said, quickly and badly covering for his slip. "Ron and Hermione
brought me some back from Hogsmeade."
Not half the liar James and Sirius were when they were caught, Remus thought,
raising his eyebrows and trying hard not to smile. "I see. Well -- let's drink
to a Gryffindor victory against Ravenclaw! Not that I'm supposed to take sides,
as a teacher --" Though if I didn't, I'd be one of the few. Doesn't everyone
favour their own old house?
Harry clinked his bottle against Remus's and drank, looking thoughtful.
I should really say something to him about sneaking off to Hogsmeade. After
all, it could be dangerous for him.
He was fairly sure Harry has James's old Invisibility Cloak, but if Remus knew
about that, so did Sirius. He drank his Butterbeer, still gazing thoughtfully
at Harry, who seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.
Still, if I confront him about that, it might make him nervous. I want him to
trust me. It was a weakness he acknowledged freely.
"What's under a Dementor's hood?" Harry asked suddenly, interrupting Remus's
thoughts.
Remus himself had been thinking about exactly that earlier in the day, and the
truth was, he did not honestly know the answer.
"Hmmm -- well," he began carefully, "the only people who really know are in no
condition to tell us. You see, the Dementor only lowers its hood to use its
last and worst weapon."
God, I've gone into "Professor mode", thought Remus. All technical, emotionless
answers. I sound almost as bad as old Professor Seagram.
"What's that?" asked Harry.
"They call it the Dementors' Kiss," he continued, pursing his lips and
suppressing a shudder. "It's what Dementors do to those they wish to destroy
utterly. I suppose there must be some kind of mouth under there, because they
clamp their jaws upon the mouth of the victim and -- and suck out his soul."
His voice trembled and cracked at the end, and he pressed his lips together,
hoping Harry had not noticed. His mind was once again filled with the image of
Sirius helpless, terrified, at the mercy of one of those cold things, the light
dying in his eyes.
But Harry was too busy trying to wipe sprayed Butterbeer off himself to notice
the lapse in his professor's usually-calm demeanor. "What -- they kill --?" he
was sputtering.
"Oh, no," Remus said, forcing iron control back into his voice. Did part of him
want to talk to Harry about this? "Much worse than that. You can exist without
your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But
you'll have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no --" he grasped for a word.
"Anything. There's no chance at all of recovery. You'll just -- exist. As an
empty shell. And your soul is gone for ever -- lost."
He took a swallow of Butterbeer to gain a moment to collect himself.
Does Sirius still have a soul to lose? he wondered.
"It's the fate that awaits Sirius Black," he continued his self-flagellation.
"It was in the Daily Prophet this morning. The Ministry have given the
Dementors permission to perform it if they find him."
Harry looked stunned.
Why did I tell him that? Remus chided himself. Do I need someone to talk to
about Sirius so badly that I'm ready to pour my heart out to a thirteen-year-
old boy? One who will never understand? Or is it only that I want to hear his
reaction?
"He deserves it." Harry's voice was heavy with emotion.
"You think so?" Remus asked, consciously trying to keep emotion out of his own
voice. "Do you really think anyone deserves that?"
"Yes." Harry's tone was defiant. "For -- for some things --"
What was I hoping he'd say? Remus thought, staring at the boy who was blushing
and looking at his shoes. He obviously knows enough of it to hate Sirius. And
he'd hate me, too, for anything I could tell him to try and change his mind.
After all, Sirius is the reason he has no parents.
He could not think of anything further to say to Harry at all, in fact, and
when Harry swallowed the last of his Butterbeer and got to his feet, Remus was
so deep in his own thoughts that he barely had the presence of mind to wish the
boy good evening as he left.
===============================================================================
A few days later, at a quarter to eleven in the morning, Remus joined the crowd
of students and staff heading down to the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch. He had seen
Harry practicing with the rest of the Gryffindor team the previous evening, the
spitting image of James in his Quidditch robes, and was pleased to see that the
young Seeker was back in possession of his new broom. He wondered what would
happen if he told Harry where the broom had come from, but since he could not
explain why or even how he knew, he refrained. Besides, he doubted Harry would
react well to the news.
He was glad to finally get a chance to see Harry play. He hoped that for the
remainder of the year, the Gryffindor Quidditch schedule and the dates of the
full moon would work in his favour.
He could almost imagine at this distance that it was James out there. Imagining
that, he could as easily imagine that he himself was a teenager again and that
if he reached out his hand, he would find Sirius's fingers not far from his own
-- he might turn his head and see Sirius leaning forward, eyes intent on the
pitch, cheeks flushed, lips parted in anticipation. But instead, he found
himself seated in the professors' box next to Severus Snape. He somehow doubted
they were going to hold hands.
Remus turned his eyes forward just in time to see the teams entering the pitch.
There was Harry, crimson robes flowing, broom in hand, striding confidently to
the centre of the pitch. Even his walk reminded Remus of James.
Harry was looking at the Ravenclaw Seeker, a petite and pretty girl named Cho
Chang. Remus knew her from his lessons. Her performance in Defence Against the
Dark Arts was decent. The look Harry was giving her nearly made him laugh. The
boy was eyeing his Ravenclaw counterpart with frank interest, and when she
smiled at him, he unconsciously reached up a hand and ran it through his hair,
making it stick out in all directions.
Remus felt a stab of recognition at the gesture. So like James, he thought for
the millionth time, amazed that Harry had managed to inherit that mannerism
from the father he had barely known.
The teams mounted their broomsticks and took off at the sound of Madam Hooch's
whistle. He watched with pleasure as Harry soared around the pitch, eyes
questing for that elusive flash of gold.
What became of the toy Snitch we gave you for your first Christmas, Harry?
Remus was deeply amused by the commentary provided by one of the Gryffindor
boys. Instead of commentating on the match, he kept going off on tangents about
the qualities of Harry's new broom -- and being repeatedly told off by
Professor McGonagall for doing so. Remus had to admit that, if Harry's
performance was any indication, the broom was impressive. Of course, plenty of
that was Harry's own talent, but the speed and the cornering could only be down
to the quality of manufacture.
After a few moments of watching Harry, Remus found himself getting caught up in
the match, forgetting himself and cheering when Gryffindor scored their first
goal. He blushed and sat down quickly as Snape gave him an acid look, but he
noted that both Dumbledore and McGonagall were sporting the red and gold.
So much for not playing favourites, he thought with a smile. He felt no further
compunction about cheering over the team's next seven goals.
There was a gasp from the crowd as Harry went into a dive, closely followed by
Cho Chang. Remus thought he saw a glint of gold near the ground before a
bludger heading directly for Harry distracted him.
Duck, Harry!
Remus half stood up, intent on the action. Harry swerved at the last second,
and Remus let out the breath he had been holding, sitting back down. But the
Snitch had vanished.
Ravenclaw had gained thirty points by the time Harry sighted the Snitch again.
The Ravenclaw Seeker appeared out of nowhere, directly between Harry and his
objective. Instead of barreling right through her, he swerved to his left.
Remus could see the Gryffindor captain yelling and waving his arms at Harry. He
grinned.
I guess Harry knows which game is more important.
The girl was now following Harry closely around the pitch.
The mark of a lesser Seeker, thought Remus, but also an excuse to keep an eye
on Harry. He's inherited some of James's charm, all right. I wonder if he has
the confidence to back it up?
Harry was leading Cho on a merry chase, circling, swooping and diving, perhaps
trying to fake her out, but to Remus, it looked suspiciously like flirting.
The Seekers were just hurtling towards the Ravenclaw end of the pitch when
something on the ground below caught Remus's eye: three tall, black, hooded
shapes. At first glance, Remus thought they were Dementors, but then he caught
sight of the flicker of a badly-cast illusion spell.
Someone has a nasty sense of humour, he thought grimly. He hoped Harry would
not panic. Don't look down, boy. Just get that Snitch!
The Ravenclaw Seeker saw them first and gave a squeak of surprise as she
pointed, distracting Harry, who could see her out of the corner of his eye. He
glanced down.
Don't panic, Harry! Remus thought at him urgently. You don't feel any cold, you
don't hear any voices. Please, realise they're not real.
But rather than turn tail or try to land safely, Remus saw Harry reach into his
robes and whip out his wand. With only half an eye to his spell and the rest of
his attention still focussed on the hovering Snitch, Harry roared out the words
of the Patronus Charm. There was a sudden, dazzling, silver-white light which
half-blinded the spectators.
And then Remus saw something that made his breath catch in his throat.
Galloping away unheeded from the end of the Harry's wand, through the air and
down to the earth, was a huge, shining silver stag.
"Prongs," Remus breathed in disbelief.
Dumbledore and Snape both gave him curious looks, but everyone's attention was
still on the magnificent Patronus charging down a group of terrified students
in Dementor costumes. They fell over one another trying to get away from it,
and landed in a tangled heap of black robes before it dissipated. Remus
recognised the Malfoy boy and a couple of his Slytherin friends.
There was about a second and a half of stunned silence from the crowd before
someone in the Gryffindor section raised a cheer that was quickly taken up by
the rest of the red and gold supporters. Looking up, Remus saw that the
Gryffindor team had completely surrounded Harry, who was triumphantly holding
the Snitch aloft. As they dragged him down to the ground, many members of
Gryffindor house left their seats and began hurrying down to the pitch. Rising
from his seat Remus went to join them.
"Glad to see you in such good spirits, dear boy!" Dumbledore called merrily as
he hurried past. "Going to congratulate young Harry on his -- remarkable
achievement?" The old man raised his eyebrows inquiringly.
"Indeed, Professor," he called back, grinning. "All of Hogwarts should be proud
to have such a talented Seeker among them."
I don't know why I should be surprised at the form his Patronus took, thought
Remus as he pressed through the crush of students. After all, who in this world
or beyond it would be the first to protect Harry, if not his father?
Still, the appearance of the stag had been unsettling. I've come back to
Hogwarts. Sirius is here, or somewhere nearby. Now Prongs has put in an
appearance. It's like a Marauders reunion. Next thing you know, Peter will be
showing up!
It took some work to get through the crowd to Harry, but being a professor had
some advantages, such as students being disinclined to jostle one. Within
moments, he was standing behind Harry.
Leaning over and speaking quietly into his ear so as not to be overheard, he
murmured, "That was quite some Patronus."
Had Harry seen the shape it had taken?
The boy turned around and grinned at him, cheeks nearly the colour of his
Quidditch robes. "The Dementors didn't affect me at all!" he exclaimed. "I
didn't feel a thing!"
Remus smiled. "That would be because they -- er -- weren't Dementors," he told
Harry, hoping the revelation wouldn't damage Harry's confidence. "Come and see
--"
Harry struggled free of his admirers and followed Remus out into the clear.
"You gave Mr Malfoy quite a fright," he said with a barely-suppressed laugh.
He knew he should be angry at the Slytherins for pulling such a malicious
prank, but the sight of the half-stunned boys still trying to disentangle
themselves was really rather funny.
They got what they deserved, he wanted to tell Harry. They won't try that
again.
Harry looked momentarily stunned as he suddenly realised exactly what had
happened. As Professor McGonagall, livid with fury, hurried over to the
prostrate Slytherins, Harry began to laugh. Ron appeared at his side also
hooting with laughter. Before long, tears were streaming down both boys' faces.
Not that I don't think they're entirely justified in this case, thought Remus.
That was a really dirty trick to pull.
***** The Wrong Boy *****
It was dark. Remus lay in his bed, trying to remember what had awakened him. He
had been having a lovely dream. He and James and Peter and Sirius had been
teenagers, playing every-man-for-himself Quidditch, zooming about on their old
brooms, laughing, casting careless hexes, and wrestling the quaffle away from
one another.
James had always won when they had played in real life. He was the superior
athlete among them, though Sirius usually gave him a run for his money. Remus
and Peter had been poor Quidditch players, but had always enjoyed playing just
for a laugh.
In his dream, Sirius had been trying to wrestle the quaffle away from him. They
were both laughing. Somehow, they managed to lose hold of the leather ball, but
still Sirius was trying to wrestle him from his broom, tickling him and
grabbing at his wrists.
At last, they had tumbled off, and Remus had lain sprawled on the grass with
Sirius half-lying across him, pinning his arms to the ground. James and Peter
were swooping overhead, teasing and whistling and making catcalls, but Sirius
just grinned.
"Ignore them," he said. "They're just jealous 'cause you're mine."
And then he had bent his head and pressed his lips against Remus's mouth, the
kiss reinforcing his claim as clearly as his words -- words that were still
echoing in Remus's mind when he woke, though they had not been what had
awakened him.
There were voices in the corridor and hurried footsteps. Remus fumbled in the
dark for his wand, then used it to light the candle on his nightstand. He got
out of bed and hurriedly pulled on his robes before heading out into the dim
and drafty corridor.
In the darkness, he nearly ran headlong into Severus Snape.
"Lupin," he said, a sneer twisting his mouth. "You've saved me the trouble of
waking you. Or perhaps someone else did." He raised his eyebrows inquiringly
and made a motion toward the door to Remus's rooms. "Had a late-night visitor?
Or are you just out for a stroll?"
Remus was glad of the darkness that hid his guilty blush. He surreptitiously
sniffed the air before answering. No, Sirius was not nearby, nor had he been
anytime that night, he decided.
Nothing to feel guilty about. This time.
"I heard a commotion and merely came out to see if anything was wrong,
Severus," he said evenly. "Has something happened?"
"Oh, no," the Potions master replied, still sneering. "Only half the castle
felt like having a 2:30 A.M. stroll, is all. Thought perhaps the -- moonlight
might do us some good."
Remus sighed. "Look, Severus; I don't feel like playing schoolboy games with
you tonight. If something's happened, just tell me, will you?"
"As it happens," Snape replied, half-suppressing a nasty smile, "Black has been
in the castle tonight. Again. Attacked a student in his bed."
He watched Remus's face intently as he delivered this news, as if looking for
some hint, some clue, some hidden emotion. Remus tried very hard to give him
none.
"Has he?" he asked as casually as he could, cold dread taking up residence in
the pit of his stomach. "Is Harry hurt? Has Black been captured?"
"The castle is currently being searched. I'm confident Black's hiding place
will be discovered before long," said Snape, clearly enjoying Remus's fear.
Finally he added, "And Weasley is quite well. It seems that when Black
discovered he had the wrong boy, he made a run for it." The Potions master
looked disdainful. "Odd, isn't it, that a man capable of murdering a dozen
Muggles, as well as his supposed friends, should balk at sticking a knife in a
helpless boy, simply because he wasn't the one he was looking for?"
Odd indeed, thought Remus, though that was not a conversation he felt like
pursuing with Severus Snape now or ever. It was definitely food for thought,
though.
"Well?" said Snape sharply. "Are you going back to bed, or are you going to us
help search the castle for your boyfriend?" The nasty smile was back. "I have
orders to search every room in this wing of the castle." Snape made as if to
move toward the door to Remus's rooms again.
And you came to mine first, of course, Remus thought with an inward sigh. What
if Siriushadcome here this time?
"You're welcome to search my rooms, Severus. I have nothing to hide," he lied.
"I'm just going to see if I can't have a word with Professor Dumbledore."
He started down the corridor, then turned back to Snape, whose hand was on the
door handle.
"Just don't -- touch anything," he said.
===============================================================================
He did not manage to find Dumbledore, but he met Professor McGonagall, still in
her tartan dressing gown, outside the entrance to Gryffindor tower. She was
applying the sharp side of her tongue to the painting which guarded the way
into the tower. Remus noted that the Fat Lady was still not at her post. In her
place was a rather chubby and foolish-looking knight who seemed quite taken
aback at Professor McGonagall's outrage.
"Professor McGonagall?" Remus addressed her, gallantly ignoring her unscholarly
nightwear. "Professor Snape tells me there's been some excitement, but he was
reluctant to part with the details. Can you please tell me what's happened? Is
everyone all right?"
McGonagall's lips were pressed together in as thin a line as he had ever seen
them. "One of the students was slack-witted enough to -- to leave a list of the
Gryffindor passwords lying about!" she exclaimed. "Black sneaked into the
castle and got hold of the list somehow, which of course got him free entry to
the tower because this -- this numbskull didn't have enough sense not to admit
unwashed madmen with knives in the middle of the night!" She flashed a steely
look at the knight in the painting.
"Dear Lady, I assure you it was not my intent --"
"Silencio!" cried McGonagall, pointing her wand at the painting.
The knight continued to gesticulate and move his mouth, but no sound emerged.
"I'm having him removed from this post as soon it as can be arranged. We really
must step up security before -- No, it's too terrible even to think about." Her
shoulders sagged and she suddenly looked very old and very tired.
"But the students," Remus urged. "They're all right?"
"Oh, yes," McGonagall answered tiredly. "It's a miracle no one was hurt.
Weasley -- Ronald Weasley, that is -- says he woke to see Black standing over
his bed with a knife in his hand! Well, naturally the boy cried out and woke
the rest of his roommates, and the commotion caused Black to take flight
without harming anyone. I've tried to get the students to go back to bed, but I
fear they won't sleep much tonight."
"I daresay. Do you know which student it was that wrote down the passwords?"
Remus asked.
"Yes, it was Longbottom. Foolish boy." McGonagall shook her head in
disappointment.
"Longbottom? Frank and Alice's son?"
Remus felt he should be surprised by this, but he was not. Neville, poor boy,
was terribly bumbling and forgetful. It was entirely believable that he might
do such a thing.
"Indeed." McGonagall pursed her lips.
"Er -- Professor, would it be quite all right if I question the painting? I'd
like to know a bit more about --" he trailed off, unsure what he could say that
would not sound like, "I want to hear more about my old lover."
But McGonagall waved her hand at him tiredly. "Ask him whatever you like. I was
only out here because I didn't want the entrance left unguarded," she said
through clenched teeth, casting another poisonous glance at the knight. He was
now sitting on the grass, arms folded, obviously sulking, and did not notice
the look. "I'm going to go try to find Mr Filch, and see about getting this
painting replaced before morning. Would you mind staying until I can manage a
replacement guard?" she asked hopefully.
"Not at all, Professor," he replied. He was tired, but he was used to that, and
he had too much on his mind at the moment to sleep, in any case.
McGonagall gave him a small but grateful smile, and turned down the stairs.
Once she had gone, Remus lifted the silencing charm from the painting.
"Sir Knight, would you mind if I asked you a few questions?"
"They've already asked me all manner of questions," sulked the knight, not
looking at him. "And they've all yelled at me. If you're going to yell at me,
too, I don't think I care to answer anymore questions."
"I promise not to raise my voice, Sir," said Remus. "Will you tell me your
name?"
The knight got reluctantly to his feet. "Sir Cadogan, at your service." He
bowed.
Remus gave him a slight nod in reply. "Sir Cadogan, is it not your duty to
guard the students of Gryffindor tower, and to keep out those who have no
business there?"
"It is indeed, Good Sir. But my instructions were to grant entry to the tower
to those who knew the day's password, and the gentleman in question did indeed
have the day's word."
"Did you not wonder why a man not dressed as a professor, and carrying a knife,
no less, might want access to the students' rooms in the middle of the night?"
Remus asked, careful to keep any of the anger he felt out of his voice. This
foolish painting had nearly been the death of Harry.
"Good Sir," the knight protested, putting up his gauntleted hands, "I was
charged only with admitting those who possessed the password, and no more. I
own that perhaps I should have inquired as to the intent of one who was a
stranger to me, but it was not my duty to ask."
"Indeed," said Remus dubiously. "Be that as it may --" But there was nothing
more to be gained from that line of questioning. Remus shook his head. "Tell me
-- tell me, what did Si -- what did Black say to you exactly?"
"Oh," the knight suddenly became more talkative. "He was most genteel. He
addressed me with all due respect and courtesy. He read the week's passwords
off his list until he found the right one, and then he asked me in which room
he might find the boy with the rat."
"The boy with the rat?" said Remus blankly.
"Aye, the tall, redheaded lad. Well, one of them." The knight nodded. "But I
told him the boy didn't have the rat anymore. And anyway, I don't know who is
in which room, never having been inside the tower. He thanked me, nice as you
please, and went through to the other side. Came back out again in quite a
hurry about five minutes later. Didn't so much as bid me goodnight."
"The boy with the rat," Remus repeated thoughtfully.
Ron, not Harry, he thought. But why? And when Ron woke up, why run rather than
kill him? Remus sighed. Yet another piece of the puzzle that did not fit.
"Thank you, Sir Cadogan," he said at last, spotting McGonagall and Filch
rounding the corner at the end of the corridor. "Good night to you."
"Good night, kind Sir," said the knight. "Thank you for not shouting."
Remus was already heading toward McGonagall, but he gave the painting a wave of
acknowledgment.
"Professor," he nodded, "Mr Filch. Any news of Black?"
Filch eyed him suspiciously -- the same look he had always given him as a boy -
- but Professor McGonagall merely replied, "No, Professor Lupin. No word at
all. I fear he has eluded us yet again." She shook her head in bafflement.
"Though I can't imagine how he's managing it. Every painting -- well, nearly
every --" She shot Sir Cadogan another dirty look "-- in the castle knows what
Black looks like. The Dementors are patrolling the grounds day and night.
Everyone is on the lookout, and yet he does something like this --" Again she
gestured at the painting "-- under our very noses. I just don't understand it."
I know, thought Remus. I could tell them how it was done. I could give them the
crucial bit of information that would see him captured before the sun set
again. But I can't. I can't be the one. Not even when he does something like
this.
Instead of answering, he simply shook his head. "Shall I join in the search?"
he asked, hoping that the answer would be "no".
He was not disappointed. "Thank you, Professor Lupin, but no. I fear we will
find nothing tonight. If he hasn't been found by now, chances are, he is no
longer in the castle. No, go back to your bed, Professor. Try to get some
sleep. I shall do the same, once I am sure of the guard on this tower."
Remus thanked her and headed back to his rooms, still thoughtful and very, very
confused.
***** The Marauder's Map *****
A week later, Remus was pacing his office, still confused. The students were on
another Hogsmeade trip, and yet again he had been unable to locate Harry. He
had even gone up to Gryffindor tower and asked a rather sullen-looking Neville
Longbottom if he knew where Harry was.
"He went to the library. Said he'd left his vampire essay there," Neville had
said. "But that was ages ago."
He had been short with Neville, partly because he was still upset with the boy
for his part in Sirius's abortive attack on Ron, but also because being in the
Gryffindor common room was difficult for Remus. Much of the furniture was still
the same as it had been in his school days, and it was unsettling for him to
think that on that very sofa, he and Sirius had once or twice -- But there was
nothing to be gained by such thoughts, and he left the tower quickly.
He had gone to the library next, vainly hoping that Harry actually had gone
there, but when he asked Madam Pince if she had seen the boy, she merely pursed
her lips and shook her head. Since nothing happened in Madam Pince's library -
- at least during the day -- that she did not take notice of, Remus knew that
Harry could not have been there. And if Harry had lied to Neville about where
he was going, then he must be somewhere that he was not supposed to be.
I should tell Dumbledore, he thought as he made his way back to his rooms.
He had a residual schoolboy dislike of being thought a telltale, and he did not
want to get Harry into trouble, but the danger to the boy being what it was --
Is he in danger? a small part of his mind asked sharply. Sirius has been in the
castle three? four? times this year. He's got himself into Gryffindor tower
with a knife. And yet Harry has not suffered any harm. So far as Remus knew,
Sirius had not even tried to lay hands on a wand.
Remus knew himself to be no fool. He had been a bright and dedicated student -
- occasionally brilliant -- and had never found his wits to be lacking. They
had stood him in good stead for more than thirty years. And yet he was baffled
by this. He could not make it add up, even with the knowledge of Sirius's
Animagus ability, which no one else shared.
Or perhaps because of it, he thought. Everyone else is so certain he's guilty,
and that he'll stop at nothing to kill Harry. I'm the only one who's not sure.
But I'm the one who knew him best, and the only one left who knows he's an
Animagus.
He shook his head. What he needed was a drink. It was only early afternoon, but
he poured himself a tot of firewhiskey.
Draining the glass, he thought, I'll just have to keep my eyes open for clues.
Somehow, this all has to make sense, and I'm just not seeing it.
He wondered if he should take his doubts to Dumbledore, but quickly decided
that that would still mean revealing what he knew, and he was not prepared to
do that just yet.
He was just about to pour himself a second drink when a sudden burst of green
flame from the fireplace made him leap backwards in surprise. Then the voice of
Severus Snape boomed into his room.
"Lupin! I want a word!"
Remus sighed. Snape sounded as though he was in a rare fury, but if he was
actually demanding the presence of the one person in the castle he despised
more than Harry, it must be important. He grabbed a pinch of Floo Powder from
the mantle and threw it into the fire.
"Professor Snape's office," he intoned clearly as he stepped into the green
flames.
The spin of Floo travel in conjunction with the firewhiskey that was just
hitting his system made him dizzy, and he stepped out of the Potions master's
fireplace a trifle unsteadily. He brushed the ash from his robes, noting with
some surprise that Harry was also present, looking both confused and distinctly
worried.
Could it be that he didn't go to Hogsmeade after all?
"You called, Severus?"
Snape was clearly in the grip of a cold fury. "I certainly did. I have just
asked Potter to empty his pockets. He was carrying this." He gestured at
something on the desk with his wand.
Remus blinked with a shock which he quickly suppressed, trying desperately to
hang on to his mask of calm unconcern. Lying on the Potions master's desk was
the Marauder's Map. He had not seen it in almost twenty years, but there could
be no mistaking it. His name -- all their names -- was right there, staring him
in the face. And Snape knew it. Even if he did not know the meanings behind the
names, he knew to whom they referred. Remus experienced an unpleasant sinking
sensation.
How did Harry get his hands on that? He wondered.
Snape was waiting less than patiently, tapping his wand against the desk, but
Remus barely noticed.
"Well?" Snape said at last.
This isn't going to be good, he thought. Severus is likely to say anything at
this point, secrets and loyalty to Dumbledore be damned. The best thing to do
is try to get myself and Harry out of here as quickly as possible.
"Well?" Snape repeated. "This parchment is plainly full of Dark Magic. This is
supposed to be your area of expertise, Lupin. Where do you imagine Potter got
such a thing?"
So that's your game, he thought. You're going to try to get me to incriminate
myself in front of Harry. You bastard. You know he won't believe
anythingyoumight tell him, so you want me to do it for you. Well, damn you, I'm
not going to give you the satisfaction.
He half-glanced at Harry, hoping vainly that the boy would not ask any awkward
questions, or volunteer any unfortunate information. This was a delicate
situation.
"Full of Dark Magic?" he inquired as mildly as he could manage. "Do you really
think so, Severus? It looks to me as though it is merely a piece of parchment
that insults anybody who tries to read it. Childish, but surely not dangerous?
I imagine Harry got if from a joke-shop --"
"Indeed?" Snape cut him off.
Remus knew it was a dangerous game he was playing. Both he and Snape knew
exactly where this particular Aid to Magical Mischief Makers had originated,
and Snape had nothing to lose by letting something slip "accidentally".
"You think a joke-shop could supply him with such a thing? You don't think it
more likely that he got it directly from the manufacturers?"
Two of whom have been dead since Harry was a year old, one of whom supposedly
wants to kill him, and one of whom is standing in this room. Does he think I
gave Harry the map?
Remus tried very hard to look puzzled. A trickle of sweat ran down the back of
his neck. "You mean, from Mr Wormtail or one of these people?" he turned to
Harry. "Harry, do you know any of these men?"
"No," said Harry, looking confused.
"You see, Severus?" he managed a slightly smug smile. "It looks like a Zonko
product to me --"
There was a sudden sound of feet pounding down the corridor outside. A second
later, Ron burst into the office, red-faced and panting.
Clutching at his side, he managed to get out, "I -- gave -- Harry -- that -
- stuff. Bought -- it -- in -- Zonko's -- ages -- ago --"
The lie would not have convinced the most gullible first year, but Remus was
impressed nonetheless.
That's Gryffindor bravery.
It was clear these boys did not like Snape any more than the Potions master
liked them, or any more than he had liked the Marauders. Remus decided it was
time to make an exit.
"Well!" he exclaimed with as genuine a smile as he could manage. "That seems to
clear that up! Severus, I'll take this back, shall I?"
He swiped the map from the desk and tucked it into a pocket, mentally cursing
himself for using the word "back". He hoped the boys had not noticed.
"Harry, Ron, come with me," he said. "I need a word about my vampire essay.
Excuse us, Severus." He nodded to the still-furious Potions master, and ushered
the boys out of the office.
There was no reason to take Ron and Harry back to his own office, which was a
long walk from where they were, so he turned left, heading for the Entrance
Hall, which was likely to be deserted at this time on a Hogsmeade day. As they
walked in silence he thought about the map, burning a hole in his pocket.
Harry should know better, he decided. I can understand a bit of recklessness or
high spirits from a boy of his age, but an item like this could so easily fall
into the wrong hands. It's ten times worse than Neville leaving that list of
passwords lying about.
"Professor, I --" Harry began, as they reached the Entrance Hall.
"I don't want to hear explanations," Remus told the boy rather more sharply
than he had intended, glancing around to be sure they were not overheard. "I
happen to know that this map was confiscated by Mr Filch many years ago. Yes, I
know it's a map," he said when the boys registered twin looks of surprise. "I
don't want to know how it fell into your possession," he went on. Not yet,
anyway; that would be asking Harry to incriminate himself. "I am, however,
astounded that you didn't hand it in." James and Sirius wouldn't have either,
admonished a tiny voice in the back of his mind. And neither would you, at that
age. "Particularly after what happened the last time a student left information
about the castle lying around," he went on, ignoring the voice. "And I can't
let you have it back, Harry." But, God help me, I can't destroy it either. I
only hope I can keep it safe for the time being.
He was more fearful for Harry's safety than he was angry, but he knew how it
must sound to the boys.
Harry nodded reluctantly, obviously disappointed to be losing such a treasure,
but he still had the courage to ask, "Why did Snape think I'd got it from the
manufacturers?"
"Because --" Remus knew he was treading on very thin ice here. Go carefully,
Lupin, old man. "Because these mapmakers would have wanted to lure you out of
school. They'd think it extremely entertaining." That's no lie, he told
himself. Harry would easily have been one of the gang.
"Do you know them?" Harry asked, wide-eyed with awe.
And that's my cue to exit, Remus thought to himself. Harry knows all he needs
to know about the matter for now. Maybe someday I'll be able to tell him more.
"We've met," was all he said.
He drew his eyebrows together as he continued to look at Harry, who was
obviously keen for further explanation. How to make the boy see the gravity of
the situation they were all in?
"Don't expect me to cover up for you again, Harry," he finally said. I only did
it this time because the map was involved. His hand went to his pocket, and he
fingered the worn parchment gently. "I cannot make you take Sirius Black
seriously. But I would have thought that what you have heard when the Dementors
draw near you would have had more of an effect on you." Who am I kidding? He's
thirteen. Weren't we all forgetful, resilient, and convinced of our own
immortality at that age? "Your parents gave their lives to keep you alive,
Harry. A poor way to repay them -- gambling their sacrifice for a bag of magic
tricks."
It was harsher than he had intended, but he could think of nothing else that
might make an impression on Harry.
Ron looked exceedingly uncomfortable, and Harry hung his head, blushing
furiously. Remus did not know what else to say to them. He had made his point,
and anything he could say now would only soften the sting of it. He wanted them
both to learn from this experience, so he simply turned and walked away.
Arriving back in his rooms, he collapsed into the armchair next to the window.
He looked thoughtfully at the drink he had poured himself before Snape had
called him away.
Maybe later.
Instead, he reached into his pocket and drew out the map, unfolding it across
his knees. Now that the tense circumstances had passed, he allowed himself a
chuckle at the words still scrawled across the parchment.
"Mr Moony presents his compliments to Professor Snape, and begs him to keep his
abnormally large nose out of other people's business," he read, shaking his
head.
Well, it was the sort of thing he would have said back then, and the sort of
thing that, even now, he tended to think without saying.
He took out his wand to wipe the parchment with a quick "mischief managed", but
he hesitated. When they had made the map -- James and Sirius's idea, originally
-- instead of filling it with stock phrases to insult the uninitiated, they had
invested it with a little of each of their teenage personalities.
Remus gave in to temptation. Rather than clearing the page, he tapped it
lightly with his wand and said softly, "Mr Moony greets his old compatriots,
and hopes they enjoyed their little joke on Professor Snape."
The words before him faded away, and were replaced by the legend, "Mr Wormtail
greets Mr Moony, and hopes that he also enjoyed the joke on that slimy git. He
wonders if Snivellus is still as much a drama queen as ever?"
Then slowly underneath, "Mr Prongs tips his hat to Mr Moony -- excuse us --
ProfessorMoony, and wonders how Hogwarts is getting on without the rest of us?"
"Not what is was, Prongs, old man," Remus whispered sadly. "Not for me. You and
Peter gone; Sirius beyond redemption --"
"Mr Moony greets his aged self, and wonders if Headmaster Dumbledore has really
gone batty enough to hire me on as a Professor?"
Remus smiled slightly at that, but the next words would not allow him to
maintain the expression.
"Mr Padfoot warmly embraces Professor Moony, and requests to know if he is
still the same handsome devil he always was?"
Remus shook his head. He should never have given in; the parchment was only
able to interact with the reader so far -- far enough to bring on a massive
bout of nostalgia, but not far enough to bring him any joy. Perhaps he would
have that drink, after all.
"Goodbye, boys," he whispered, and tapped the parchment. "Mischief managed."
===============================================================================
Harry's Patronus lessons continued through the early spring. Remus could see
Harry's increasing frustration, however, that he was never able during these
lessons to replicate his achievement on the Quidditch pitch.
"Don't worry about it," Remus told him shortly before the start of Easter
break. "Harry, at least you know you can do it if you need to."
"I know, Professor," Harry said glumly. "I just don't understand why I can't do
it whenever I want."
"Well," Remus said carefully, "the true Patronus is not there to come when
called, but when it is needed. You can't just summon something as powerful as
that any time you feel like it."
"But," Harry protested, "I didn't need it the day we played Ravenclaw. Those
weren't real Dementors."
"You didn't know that, Harry," he reminded the boy. "You believed that they
were, and it was your belief in the need for your Patronus that summoned it.
Now that you know you can do it in times of need, isn't that enough?"
"Yeah, I guess so," said Harry in a tone that said he did not think it was
nearly enough.
"Harry, you have made such progress this year. I have to say I am really
impressed with the quality of your work and your dedication to it." Remus
smiled. "Your parents would both be very proud of you."
"You think so?" Harry asked, looking a little more cheerful.
"I know so. I knew them both very well, Harry. They had such high hopes for
you, but I think you have managed to exceed even their expectations."
"Thanks, Professor!" he definitely looked as though he felt better now.
"In light of your progress, Harry," Remus continued, "I think perhaps this will
be our last Patronus session. There really isn't any more I can teach you about
the Patronus, and I shall be very busy after the Easter break writing exams."
"Oh." Harry looked disappointed.
Remus gave him a tired smile. "Come now, Harry. Haven't you got enough on your
mind these days? The Quidditch final is just around the corner. It's no wonder
if you're having trouble focussing on something as discipline-intensive as the
Patronus Charm."
Mention of the Quidditch final was sufficient to distract Harry from his other
concerns, and the two spent a pleasant half hour discussing Gryffindor's
chances at the Quidditch Cup, which had only been won by Gryffindor three times
since Remus's own school days.
Remus was slightly taken aback at the depth of Harry's anti-Slytherin feelings,
but he understood them, given the appearance of the fake Dementors at the last
match, and a couple of Malfoy's other stunts Harry mentioned to him. He knew
from firsthand experience how rude and obnoxious Malfoy could be, and he had
developed a well-suppressed dislike for the boy. Unlike Snape, he tried very
hard not to play favourites in the classroom. Such behaviour was
unprofessional.
The tension between Slytherin and Gryffindor was palpable throughout the
school, heating up noticeably in the last two weeks before the match. The
tension did not just focus on Harry, either. All the students from both houses
were infected with it. The air fairly crackled between them, and there was more
than one less-than-amusing hex cast as the big day approached.
Remus felt the tension in the air like a storm about to break, and he thought
perhaps it ran deeper than a mere inter-house rivalry.
Something is going to happen soon, he decided. Something big, and not
necessarily good.
Indeed, the Quidditch final -- fortunately not coinciding with the full moon -
- came and went without incident, the Cup going to Gryffindor after another
impressive Snitch capture by Harry, yet the tension in the air did not seem to
lessen at all. Not for Remus, anyway. He found himself becoming increasingly
nervous and edgy and barely able to focus on the end-of-year exams he was meant
to be writing.
In the end, he decided a practical exam was what his students needed. Their two
previous Defence Against the Dark Arts masters had been incompetent, and many
of the students were well behind where they should have been for their year.
This turned out well for Remus, since it meant he could give more or less the
same exam, with only a few small adjustments, to all of his classes who were
not engaging in OWLs and NEWTs. He also thought the students might appreciate
being able to do their exam outdoors in the early June sunlight, rather than
locked away in a stuffy classroom.
Harry took the exam on the morning of the last day of the exam period. With
Quidditch over for the year and confidence in his ability to hold the Dementors
at bay, it was clear that he had been able to concentrate on his studies once
more. Remus was impressed with Harry's performance, and would have been pleased
to award him full marks even if he had not been his favourite student.
Harry even managed to outdo Hermione when it came time to face the Boggart one
last time. Remus wondered if Harry still saw a Dementor when he looked at the
Boggart, but he did not ask when the boy emerged from the trunk trying to look
cool, but barely suppressing a triumphant grin.
After Harry's class was through, there were only the second years left to take
the exam that afternoon, and then the academic year was officially over. Remus
was amazed how quickly it had gone by.
Faster than any year since -- well --
He would miss Harry and his friends, would miss the castle and the grounds,
would even miss teaching. He marveled at how good it felt for his life to have
some purpose again.
I can survive a summer, he thought. It will be September again before I know
it.
He wondered if Sirius would be captured by then, but tried very hard not to
think about it. Alone and friendless, it was astounding that he had not yet
been caught. It was only a matter of time.
If only he would leave off his obsession with Harry -- just disappear, thought
Remus desperately.
Surely that would be the best thing for everyone. Maybe he had disappeared;
there had been no sign of him in months, even though Remus had taken to
spending full moons in the Shrieking Shack again.
Seeing the students leaving their last exams, racing through the corridors of
the school, and demonstrating bouts of high spirits, reminded him of that last-
day-of-term feeling of his boyhood; the excitement that he and his friends had
successfully made it through another year, the sadness that they were parting
for the summer, the nostalgia of remembering all that had happened over the
last nine months.
He was still smiling when he reached his rooms. His eye fell upon the
Marauder's Map, lying blank and neatly folded on the nightstand.
What the hell, he thought recklessly. Might be fun to have a look. See what the
kids are getting up to.
He spread the map out on the bed, tapped it gently with his wand, and in ironic
tones declared, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
===============================================================================
He became so engrossed in the map -- in watching the students and teachers and
trying to guess what their various movements meant, and marveling anew that he
and his friends had managed to create such a complex artifact -- that he nearly
missed the feast. Instead of putting the map away, however, he gently folded it
and put it into the pocket of his robes. As he did so, his fingers brushed the
tiny wooden dog he still carried there.
Sirius, he lamented. How often have I thought of you this year?
And yet, for all his thinking, he had managed to come to no conclusions that
made any sense; only implausible theory upon implausible theory.
Perhaps human nature can't be so easily explained, and I'm looking for sense
where there is none. IwantSirius to be innocent -- for there to have been some
mistake, he reminded himself. Wanting a thing does not make it any more likely.
The Great Hall was lit with late-afternoon sunlight pouring in through the
enchanted ceiling. It gave the feast the relaxed atmosphere of a summer picnic.
Once seated, Remus noted that the place at the teachers' table usually filled
by Hagrid's bulk was instead occupied by the Minister for Magic, Cornelius
Fudge, and an elderly gentleman in Ministry robes whom Remus did not recognise.
When he greeted them the unknown gentleman smiled cordially enough, but Fudge
only gave him a brief and unconvincing half smile before leaning to whisper in
the other man's ear. The Ministry official nodded, then gazed speculatively at
Remus, and he realised who the man must be and why he was there.
He had heard, of course, about the trouble that year involving a Hippogriff of
Hagrid's and that little shite, Malfoy. He had forgotten, though, that the
beast's appeal was scheduled for today. He shuddered at the thought. As an
occasional beast himself, he was not unaware of the Committee for the Disposal
of Dangerous Creatures, nor was he unaware of their reputation for "disposing"
first and asking questions later -- or not at all. That explained Hagrid's
absence; the gentle giant would want to spend a last evening with the unlucky
Hippogriff.
He nodded to the Committee Member, who was still looking at him.
Yes, I'm Dumbledore's werewolf, he thought grimly, but said nothing.
After a moment, the man turned his attention to his meal. Remus tried to eat as
well, but the Ministry presence turned the excellent fare tasteless in his
mouth.
After the feast, Dumbledore took him aside. "Remus, I'd like to speak with you
if you have a moment?"
He was mildly surprised. "Certainly, Professor." They left the Great Hall and
headed for Remus's office.
"I'm afraid I can't tarry long, dear boy," said Dumbledore as they walked.
"That unpleasant business with the Ministry, you know."
Remus merely nodded.
"I do feel sorry for poor Rubeus. He has something of a blind spot where his
creatures are concerned, I know, but I really do think that, in this case, the
Hippogriff is blameless." The Headmaster sighed. "Not that there is much I can
do to change their minds. It would seem that poor Buckbeak has run out of
time."
Remus looked at Dumbledore, wondering if he was supposed to understand some
hidden meaning in his words, then decided that the Headmaster's inflection was
merely a part of his oddness -- perhaps a joke that only he himself was in on.
"Well, Professor," Remus said instead, "I'm sure you know my feelings on such
matters."
"I do indeed, Remus," the Headmaster nodded gravely. "You are not a supporter
of the more extreme measures of the law, are you?"
"No, Sir," Remus shook his head. "It is my firm opinion that some forms of
'punishment' are never justified."
They had reached the door to Remus's office, which he held open as the older
man entered, closing it firmly behind them.
"Even in the matter of Sirius Black?" Dumbledore asked shrewdly, taking the
seat before the desk.
"Even in the matter of Sirius Black," he replied firmly. Especially in the
matter of Sirius Black, he did not say. "The loss of soul -- how can we even
know what that does to a man? Only those who have experienced it can truly
know, and they are in no state to say. Can such a thing ever be justified?"
"Remus, your heart is as soft as Hagrid's," said Dumbledore with a smile. "But
I do not think you are wrong. I myself have had words with the Ministry on that
policy, as you may know, but to no avail."
Remus sat behind the desk, and Dumbledore removed a long-stemmed pipe from his
robes, which he lit with a wave of his hand. Remus watched him puff away on it
for a moment before asking, "Do you think Black will be caught?"
Dumbledore looked down his long nose at the younger man, eyes thoughtful. "You
don't have to pretend with me, Remus," he said at last, not unsympathetically.
"This business of calling him 'Black', as if the two of you had never met -
- you must realise how foolish it sounds. Of course I understand how it might
help you to distance yourself from the matter. But I suspect you've learned
that, in some cases, distance is an illusion?"
Remus looked down, shamefaced, at his desk. "It is, Professor," he whispered.
"Poor Remus," Dumbledore said affectionately. "Even as a boy, you felt
everything so deeply. It is not surprising that one such as yourself should
have known great love, and it is a terrible thing that you have known great
betrayal and great sorrow as well," he sighed. "There are those who would
condemn you for loving Sirius still. But I am not one of them. I know how it is
to love someone who has done terrible things. We know, you and I, that love is
too important to let go of, no matter what it costs us."
"Thank you, Professor," he replied humbly, still looking at his desk.
He had heard the rumours, of course, but he found himself sorry to hear them
confirmed, since it meant that Dumbledore -- great, kind man that he was -- had
been unfortunate enough to experience a sorrow equal to his own, and had been
forced to live with it these many years.
"Harry is lucky to have you in his life," Dumbledore continued, "though he may
not know it yet. One day, he will."
"Thank you," Remus said again, raising his eyes at last. "Thank you for giving
me this opportunity to know Harry. To teach. To have some purpose."
"I am pleased to have been of help," replied the headmaster. "It has not been
an easy year, though, has it? Sirius's proximity has no doubt had an impact on
you."
"It has, Professor," Remus sighed. "But in a way, I'm glad of it. I've had a
chance to think about things, and had the opportunity to bring myself face to
face with memories I once thought too painful to bear."
"And have you found some measure of peace?" By Dumbledore's tone, he might have
been inquiring about the weather.
Remus thought for a moment. "No," he said at last. "Only more questions."
Dumbledore smiled. "As long as a man can ask questions, he is still alive. Are
you still alive, Remus?"
"You know, I think I am, Professor." He suddenly felt a little bit lighter.
"Well, I hope for your sake that you find some answers to those questions of
yours," the old man said as he rose. "If ever there was a man who deserved a
little peace, it is you, Remus."
"I think I agree with you, Professor," he said, extending his hand. "It has
been a pleasure to be back at Hogwarts. I suppose you must go now?"
"I'm afraid so, my boy," said Dumbledore regretfully. "I promised Hagrid I
would be there, and I have a suspicion young Harry and his friends may try some
daring stunt to spring the Hippogriff. I wouldn't want to miss that." He shook
Remus's hand warmly, the old twinkle back in his eye. "It's been a pleasure
having you on the staff. I'm sure most of us will be glad to have you back in
September," he said, and departed, closing the door behind him.
Remus sat down behind the desk again and put his head in his hands.
Answers, he thought. Where do I find answers? All I have are questions. I want
toknow. I have to know, before they catch Sirius. That's the only way I'll ever
find peace.
But he did not know any more about where to find those answers than he had
before supper.
At a loss as to what do next, he took the Marauder's Map from his pocket again
and unfolded it on the desk. As Dumbledore had predicted, three dots labeled
"Harry Potter", "Hermione Granger", and "Ronald Weasley" were moving in the
direction of Hagrid's hut.
***** Revelation *****
Once Harry, Ron, and Hermione were inside Hagrid's hut, they were too closely
clustered to make much sense of what might be happening there. Remus wished
that he could see where the Hippogriff Buckbeak was, but animals did not show
up on the Marauder's Map like Animagi did. He cast his eye about the map,
knowing that he was looking for Sirius, but the grounds were so vast, the
details so intricate, and the people so many that it was difficult to find one
name among them without some idea of his location.
Maybe he's gone, Remus thought hopefully. No one has so much as glimpsed him
since February. Perhaps he's given up and gone into hiding.
After a few moments, he saw Dumbledore and his Ministry entourage exit the
castle and head down toward Hagrid's hut.
The kids had better be gone by the time they get there, or there will be
trouble, he thought.
He continued to watch, silently urging the trio to leave before they were
discovered. Just as the Ministry officials arrived at the front door of the
hut, Remus saw the children emerge from the back. He closed his eyes and
breathed a sigh of relief, silently chiding himself for being silly enough to
get caught up in the small moment of drama.
When he opened his eyes and looked at the map again, his mind went numb with
shock. At first, he could not make any sense of what he was seeing. Harry, Ron,
and Hermione were still clustered together, but now that they were out in the
open, he was able to read their names clearly, moving away from the hut and up
the slope toward the castle. He was also able to read a fourth name, labeling a
dot almost on top of the other three: Peter Pettigrew.
It can't be, he told himself. There must be something wrong with the map. But
it was too curious a malfunction to dismiss. Maybe it has something to do with
the bit of Peter's personality that was bound up in the map when it was
created, he tried to reason.
Suddenly, the dot labeled "Peter Pettigrew" broke away from the others. That
could just maybe still have been a malfunction of the map. But when Ron's dot
gave chase, Remus knew it must be something more; the children were interacting
with the Pettigrew dot.
Out of nowhere, a thought drifted across Remus's mind. The boy with the rat.
His brain simply froze.
Rat, it said again. Rat, rat, rat.
He knew it meant something, but he could not make himself think what.
On the map, Harry and Hermione had lit out after Ron, who was still following
the mysterious dot. Ron's dot eclipsed the one labeled "Peter Pettigrew", and
Harry's and Hermione's were soon on top of them again. Still Remus sat, frozen.
A movement near the children caught his eye, and his entire body twitched as he
saw a fifth dot, labeled "Sirius Black", emerge from the Whomping Willow. It
was heading toward the other dots at an alarming rate.
As suddenly as it had frozen, Remus's mind became utterly clear. He did not
understand what the map was showing him, but he knew it was showing him
something important. Something he had been missing.
This means something, he knew. Answers.
On the map, the dots representing Sirius, Ron, and Peter were moving into the
Whomping Willow passageway.
Without another thought, Remus was on his feet, out of the office, and hurtling
through the twisting corridors of Hogwarts castle. Staff and students alike
stared openmouthed after him, but he barely noticed them. He half-registered a
startled Dumbledore and shocked Cornelius Fudge as he passed them, flying
around a corner, but was not about to stop. When it felt as though he had been
running forever and would never emerge from the castle at all, he suddenly
found himself bursting through the main doors of the Entrance Hall.
As he pelted down the castle steps and down the slope toward the Whomping
Willow in the gathering darkness, he thought his heart might burst.
If I live just an hour more, that will be enough, he told himself. I'll know
something more than I did. And then, God, I hope I don't break my neck!
He pulled up short at the Whomping Willow, forced to stop and think about how
to get past the lethal, flailing branches. Casting about frantically, it was
only seconds before he found a stick long enough to prod the knot that would
still the tree's movements, but to Remus's racing mind, it seemed to take
years.
Harry -- Sirius -- Peter -- Answers! his brain was screaming at him.
He was lucky. His shaking hands managed to hit the knot on the first try,
before the tree could break the branch he held. As soon as the Whomping
Willow's motion subsided, he practically dove into the hidden opening between
the roots.
Come on, come on! he urged himself, trying to run at a crouch in the meagre
space allowed by the passage.
The thought that there was something happening in the Shrieking Shack -
- something important -- and that he was missing it, was maddening. He felt he
had aged ten years in the time it took him to reach the shabby floorboards of
his destination.
He pulled himself up through the hole in the downstairs room and followed the
imprints in the dust through the door and to the foot of the stairs.
"WE'RE UP HERE!" called a girl's shrill voice, desperate with panic. "WE'RE UP
HERE -- SIRIUS BLACK -- QUICK!"
Remus pounded up the stairs and threw himself at the door across the landing,
shouting "Ianuam apertio!" His wand showered red sparks with the force of the
spell as he burst through the door.
Time seemed to stop as he halted, taking in the tableau played out before him.
Ron, white-lipped with pain from an obviously broken leg, sitting by the bed.
Hermione crouched near the door, holding two wands. Harry standing, staring at
him, wand pointed at a crumpled and bleeding shape on the floor -- a shape
dressed in filthy rags, with tangled black hair, Hermione's cat on its chest,
and long-lashed gray eyes staring into his own.
In that moment, Remus learned that years of suspicion, mistrust, and doubt are
no match for instinct. All he knew was that, guilty or not, Sirius was hurt,
Sirius was in danger, and needed his help. That being so, there was only one
thing Remus could possibly do.
"Expelliarmus!" he shouted, slashing his wand at Harry and Hermione.
The wands they were holding leapt from their hands, and he snatched them out of
the air. His eyes never left Sirius's.
The eyes are the windows to the soul, his mind whispered, and he still has
mine. But I need to know. About Peter. Peter is the missing piece in all this.
In a voice that shook, though it was as calm as he could make it, he spoke for
the first time in thirteen years, not in a dream or drunken stupor, to the man
who had been his lover.
"Where is he, Sirius?"
Sirius did not speak. His eyes still held Remus's, but after a moment, he
slowly, almost painfully, lifted a hand and pointed at Ron.
"But then --" Remus began, only half hearing what he was saying, "-- why hasn't
he shown himself before now? Unless --"
Suddenly the pieces began to fall into place. He remembered vividly the scene
in the Muggle marketplace so long ago -- the moment his world had crumbled. He
heard again the echo of Peter's words. But if Peter was alive -- alive, and in
hiding -- it could mean only one thing. Not Sirius; Peter. The enormity of it
was making Remus lightheaded, making his heart beat faster.
"-- Unless he was the one -- unless you switched -- without telling me?"
Sirius nodded, eyes bright with tentative hope.
Harry was speaking, but Remus did not register what he said. Only one thing
mattered now. Without a word, he walked across the room, took Sirius's hand in
his own, and pulled him into a warm embrace.
"Sirius! Oh, God! Sirius --" he whispered, arms tight around the bedraggled,
shockingly-thin body.
I'll never let go again, he swore to himself.
"Forgive me, Moony," Sirius murmured in his ear. "I tried to tell you."
"I'm so sorry, Padfoot." Another moment and he would be weeping. "I should have
listened to you. I never gave you a chance to tell me."
"Not your fault, Moony," Sirius was saying into his shoulder. "Oh, Moony,
Moony, I lo-"
"I DON'T BELIEVE IT!" Hermione's shrill voice went through them both like an
electric shock.
Remus spun around, moving instinctively to put himself between the girl and
Sirius -- to defend his mate.
Hermione sat near the door, wild-eyed with anger and fear. "You -- you --"
"Hermione --" he began, putting a hand out to her.
We have to explain, and quickly, before someone else gets hurt.
He noted abstractly that he was the only one present without blood on him. He
could smell them all; blood and sweat and fear.
"-- you and him!" Hermione was stuttering.
Oh, God! She's not going to --? I don't think I'm up to explaining us tonight
on top of everything else. "Hermione, calm down --"
"I didn't tell anyone!" Hermione shrieked. "I've been covering up for you --"
"Hermione, listen to me, please!" Harry should hear it from me -- from us. "I
can explain --"
But now Hermione's anger had infected Harry as well. "I trusted you," he
shouted, eyes blazing, "and all this time you've been his friend!"
"You're wrong," Remus tried to tell Harry. Whatever I have been to Sirius all
these years, there was no friendship in it. "I haven't been Sirius' friend for
twelve years, but I am now -- let me explain --"
"NO!" Hermione's voice was still shrill. "Harry, don't trust him," she begged.
"He's been helping Black get into the castle, he wants you dead too -- he's a
werewolf!"
To Remus this dramatic announcement felt anticlimactic. The fact of his
lycanthropy seemed the most insignificant part of the present situation. After
all, he had had almost thirty years to get used to the idea.
Still shocking for the children, though, I suppose.
Everyone was looking at him. Sirius had not looked away since he had entered
the room, but now the three children all stared at him as well. Ron's look was
confused, Harry's eyes asked him to deny it, Hermione's dared him to do
anything but confess. It was in Sirius's eyes that he found peace.
It doesn't matter, he thought calmly. Sirius is innocent. Nothing else matters.
It made him feel lightheaded and giddy, and just a wee bit reckless.
"Not at all up to your usual standard, Hermione," he said at last. He was
slightly worried that he might start giggling hysterically at any moment. "Only
one out of three, I'm afraid. I have not been helping Sirius get into the
castle," unless you count by not mentioning to Dumbledore that he's an
Animagus. "And I certainly don't want Harry dead --" the hysterical giggles
nearly got away from him. He took a breath to recompose his features. "But I
won't deny that I am a werewolf."
It was unbelievably hard to say. He was so used to keeping his secret, and he
had not spoken so openly about it with anyone in a dozen years. But now that it
was out, he remembered how liberating it felt to be able to just say it. He saw
the ghost of a smile twitch at the corner of Sirius's mouth.
He still knows exactly what I'm thinking, he realised. His throat felt tight.
Apparently the effect of his revelation on the children was anything but
liberating. Ron was struggling to stand, despite the obvious pain of his leg.
When he collapsed, Remus put out a hand to help him, but the boy cried, "Get
away from me, werewolf!"
He froze, hand still extended. He hoped desperately that the vehemence of Ron's
rejection was due to the pain he was in, rather than the usual Wizarding
prejudice against werewolves.
"How long have you known?" he asked, turning to Hermione.
"Ages," Hermione whispered, not meeting his eyes, tongue flicking out
experimentally to taste the blood on her split lip.
She was frightened of him and he could smell it on her. She would have realised
by now that a werewolf trying to hide his nature is far safer company than a
werewolf with his cover blown.
"Since I did Professor Snape's essay --"
Bastard. Got just exactly what he wanted. You'd never get him to admit out loud
that she's a clever one -- clever as Lily ever was! -- but he knew she'd figure
it out.
Remus pursed his lips. "He'll be delighted. He set that essay hoping someone
would realise what my symptoms meant. Did you check the lunar chart and realise
I was always ill at the full moon? Or did you realise that my Boggart changed
into the moon when it saw me?"
"Both," Hermione said softly, still looking down.
Not entirely Severus's fault, I suppose. The clues are there for anyone who
cares to see them.
He laughed humourlessly. "You're the cleverest witch of your age I've ever met,
Hermione."
"I'm not," she whispered, finally turning terrified brown eyes upon him. "If
I'd been a bit cleverer, I'd have told everyone what you are."
Of course you should have. Whatever might have happened then, at least now you
wouldn't be stuck in a room with a werewolf, a convicted mass-murderer, and no
wand in your hand, eh?
He allowed himself a slightly smug smile. "But they already know. At least the
staff do." Bitterly as it may gall some of them.
Ron gasped. "Dumbledore hired you when he knew you were a werewolf?" he asked
incredulously. "Is he mad?"
Now, there's a question. "Some of the staff thought so," he admitted. "He had
to work very hard to convince certain teachers that I'm trustworthy --" Or at
least that I wouldn't bite Severus in his sleep. Too greasy.
"AND HE WAS WRONG!" Harry had finally regained his ability to speak for the
first time since Remus's revelation, and was using it to capacity. "YOU'VE BEEN
HELPING HIM ALL THE TIME!"
He was pointing at Sirius, who was now sitting on the edge of the four-poster,
face in one shaking hand. Remus got the distinct impression that, had Harry
still had possession of his wand, there would have been nothing left of the
other man but a scorch mark.
Remus gazed at his former lover a moment, and thought he saw droplets of
moisture running between his fingers, dripping from his knuckles. But Sirius
almost never cried. He longed to go to the man -- to put his arms around the
bedraggled figure and offer what comfort his presence could provide. But he
could not. Not just now.
Instead, Crookshanks jumped into Sirius's lap, purring and butting his head
against the thin chest. Slowly, Sirius's other hand descended onto the cat's
head, and he patted it gently. Ron, still seated on the bed as well, looked
askance at the pair of them and edged farther away.
"I have not been helping Sirius," Remus said again, turning his eyes back to
Harry. "If you'll give me a chance, I'll explain. Look --" One by one, he
tossed each of the wands he held back to its owner. Harry looked as startled,
as if the wand in his hand had sprouted leaves, unbidden. "There," Remus said,
looking down to tuck his own wand into his belt. "You're armed, we're not. Now
will you listen?"
He was becoming impatient to hear what Sirius had to say. For nearly thirteen
years, he had been waiting for answers, and now, if only these kids would be
quiet for ten minutes --
"If you haven't been helping him --" Harry flashed a poisonous glance at
Sirius, "-- how did you know he was here?" His tone suggested the possibility
seemed remote to him.
"The map," Remus replied. "The Marauder's Map."
At this, Sirius slowly raised his head and looked incredulously at him. Remus
gave him a quick eyebrow raise. Yes, the tiny expression said. Harry had it.
Imagine that! The corner of Sirius's mouth twitched again.
"I was in my office examining it --"
"You know how to work it?" Harry interrupted.
"Of course I know how to work it; I helped write it," Remus replied with an
impatient wave. Harry's eyes widened. "I'm Moony -- that was my friends'
nickname for me at school."
"You wrote --?"
Remus cut Harry off, the infinite patience of Professor Lupin finally wearing
thin. "The important thing is, I was watching it carefully this evening,
because I had an idea that you, Ron, and Hermione might try and sneak out of
the castle to visit Hagrid before his Hippogriff was executed. And I was right,
wasn't I?"
Well, Dumbledore was, he amended silently. He was now pacing from impatience.
He stopped and looked directly at the green-eyed boy who looked so like his old
friend. "You might have been wearing your father's old Cloak, Harry --"
"How d'you know about the Cloak?" Harry asked, startled.
Same way Ron and Hermione know about it. We were bloody friends! I've said it
often enough, haven't I?
"The number of times I saw James disappear under it --" he gestured impatiently
again and resumed his pacing. "The point is, even if you're wearing an
invisibility cloak you show up on the Marauder's Map. I watched you cross the
grounds and enter Hagrid's hut. Twenty minutes later, you left Hagrid, and set
off back towards the castle. But you were now accompanied by somebody else," he
finished, rounding on Harry once again.
"What?" Harry was looking at him as if he were mad. "No, we weren't!"
Remus was getting tired of being interrupted by thirteen-year-old wizards who
knew even less of what was going on here than he did. He ignored Harry's
interruption and continued pacing.
"I couldn't believe my eyes," he went on. "I thought the map must be
malfunctioning. How could he be with you?"
"No one was with us!"
"And then I saw another dot, moving fast towards you, labeled Sirius Black --
" he went on, eyes faraway as he tried to recall exactly the details of what he
had seen.
I don't want to miss anything this time. I want to understand exactly what is
happening.
"I saw him collide with you, I watched as he pulled two of you into the
Whomping Willow --"
"One of us!" This time the interruption came from Ron.
Remus finally stopped pacing and turned to look at the red-haired boy, pale and
sweating with pain and sitting as far as he could from the other person on the
bed.
"No, Ron," he said quietly. "Two of you." And there are six of us here in this
room. Where is he? He looked Ron up and down. "Do you think I could have a look
at your rat?" he asked finally, surprising himself with the coolness of his
tone.
"What?" Ron looked startled. "What's Scabbers got to so with it?"
"Everything," Remus replied with conviction. "Could I see him, please?" he
asked in his Professor voice; the one which did not anticipate a "no".
Ron knew the tone well and, given that his mother was Molly Weasley, his
instinctive reaction to it was unsurprising. With barely a second's hesitation
he reached into the front of his robes and drew out a large, bedraggled, and
violently-thrashing rodent.
Remus moved toward Ron, holding his breath. Now that he had seen "Scabbers",
there could be no doubt. To most men, one rat looks much like another, but
Remus had no trouble recognising the face and markings of his old friend.
What a shame I didn't catch a glimpse of him on the train last September, he
thought ironically. It might have saved us all a lot of trouble.
"What?" said Ron again, rather sharply, and Remus realised he had been staring
at the squirming creature for nearly half a minute. "What's my rat got to do
with anything?"
"That's not a rat," Sirius's voice sounded odd, partly from lack of use, and
partly because it was shaking with some strong emotion. He, too, was staring at
the animal in Ron's hands.
"What d'you mean -- of course he's a rat --" Ron might have been quelled by the
intensity of the twin gazes from the alleged mass-murderer and werewolf, but he
was too busy clutching at his pet, trying at once to make him hold still and
shield him from the two men who were looking at him almost hungrily.
"No, he's not," Remus said softly. "He's a wizard."
"An Animagus," said the ragged voice close beside him, "by the name of Peter
Pettigrew."
***** Moonlight and Animagi *****
"You're both mental," Ron declared, finally looking up at the two men whose
eyes were fixed on his hands.
"Peter Pettigrew's dead! He killed him twelve years ago!" Harry said, pointing
at Sirius, who flinched at being so addressed by the ghost of James.
"I meant to," he growled, eyes still fixed on the struggling rat, "but little
Peter got the better of me -- not this time, though!"
Crookshanks leapt from Sirius's lap as the man dove across the bed, trying to
make a grab for Ron's pet. He missed and fell across Ron's leg, forcing a yelp
from Ron which made Remus wince in sympathy.
"Sirius, NO!" he shouted, grabbing the other man and wrapping his arms around
him, dragging him back. "WAIT!" he insisted. "You can't do it just like that -
- they need to understand -- we've got to explain --"
"We can explain afterwards," snarled Sirius, trying ineffectually to break
Remus's hold on him and get to the squeaking, struggling rat.
Sirius was no match for him, especially in his wasted, weakened state. Remus
held on tight, resting his cheek between Sirius's shoulder blades as he held
him. Never let go again --
"They've -- got -- a -- right -- to -- know -- everything!" he panted as Sirius
continued to fight him.
It was as if seeing the rat had flipped a switch in Sirius, and all his reason
had left him.
"Ron's kept him as a pet!" Remus pleaded. "There are parts of it even I don't
understand! And Harry --" he grasped at the one thing that might make Sirius
see reason. "You owe Harry the truth, Sirius!"
At last, Sirius stopped struggling. Though his eyes never left the rat, he
sagged against Remus, who was shocked by how little weight there was to him.
Remus held him a moment longer, whispering soothing nonsense until he felt that
Sirius could support his own weight, then reluctantly let him go.
Sirius swayed slightly. "All right, then. Tell them whatever you like," he said
in uncharacteristically harsh tones, but a pleading note entered his voice as
he added, "but make it quick, Remus. I want to commit the murder I was
imprisoned for --" His eyes never left "Scabbers" as he said this, and Remus's
throat closed again at the bitterness of Sirius's words.
"You're nutters, both of you," said Ron, struggling to rise from the bed and
pocket his rat at the same time. "I've had enough of this. I'm off."
"You're going to hear me out Ron," Remus said softly, removing his wand from
his belt and pointing it at the rat. So much for "you're armed and I'm not."
He and Sirius had business to attend to here, and it was essential that Harry
know the truth about what had happened to his parents, that Ron understand
about his pet, and that Hermione be there to hear, too, because she would be
the quickest to understand, and once she understood, the boys would surely
follow.
"Just keep a tight hold on Peter while you listen."
"HE'S NOT PETER, HE'S SCABBERS!" Ron yelled, still trying to shove the rat into
his pocket. Ron lost his balance, but Harry was suddenly there at his arm, and
caught him, helping him sit back down on the bed.
Then Harry rounded on Remus. "There were witnesses who saw Pettigrew die," he
declared defiantly. "A whole street full of them --"
"They didn't see what they thought they saw," Sirius growled, baring his teeth.
Remus nodded. I was there, and if that's Peter in Ron's hands, then I certainly
didn't see what I thought I saw.
"Everyone thought Sirius killed Peter. I believed it myself -- until I saw the
map tonight. Because the Marauder's Map never lies -- Peter's alive. Ron's
holding him, Harry."
Believe, he begged the boys silently. But he could tell from the look Ron and
Harry exchanged that they were a long way from convinced.
Hermione, as well. "But Professor Lupin --" her voice trembled, and it was
obvious that she was still frightened. She was standing near the door, and was
quick enough to escape, but Remus was pleased to see that she had no intention
of leaving without Ron and Harry.
This lot were well Sorted.
"Scabbers can't be Pettigrew -- it just can't be true, you know it can't --"
"Why can't it be true?" he asked in as reasonable a tone as he could muster.
"Because -- because people would know if Peter Pettigrew had been an Animagus."
Remus nodded as Hermione babbled everything she had learnt about Animagi from
her studies.
I had forgotten how rare a talent it is. Sirius and James and Peter spoiled me,
I guess. Seven official Animagi this century -- how could she believe that
three reckless, foolish teenage boys managed something so obviously unlikely?
He laughed, cutting off Hermione's recitation of Animagi facts and figures.
"Right again, Hermione!" he said, favouring her with a smile. "But the Ministry
never knew that there used to be three unregistered Animagi running around
Hogwarts."
You know now that Sirius is an Animagus, and that he's not registered. Believe
the rest of it as well.
"If you're going to tell them the story, get a move on, Remus," Sirius
interrupted him. From where he was sitting, Remus could hear the soft,
continuous growl coming from deep in his throat. "I've waited twelve years. I'm
not going to wait much longer."
Twelve years. It broke Remus's heart all over again -- imagining Sirius alone
and friendless in Azkaban for twelve years, knowing what he knew, and believed
by none.
I didn't visit him, Remus thought guiltily. I could have. He asked for me. I
didn't even try. I abandoned him.
"All right --" his voice was soft and nearly cracked with emotion. He almost
reached out to cover Sirius's hand with his own, but thought better of it in
the present company. "But you'll need to help me, Sirius," he appealed softly,
and at last Sirius dragged his eyes away from the rat to look at him. Beautiful
eyes, even now. "I only know how it began --" How we began.
He could see in Sirius's eyes the acknowledgment of times long past. Sirius
opened his mouth as if to say something. He raised his hand, and might have
been about to reach for Remus, when suddenly a loud creak from the direction of
the door caused them all to freeze.
Remus rose from his place near Sirius and went to investigate the open door,
peering out onto the dim landing. "No one there --" but his wolf senses denied
the evidence of his eyes, and he felt the back of his neck prickle.
"This place is haunted!" Ron declared, looking even paler than before, if such
a thing were possible.
"It's not," said Remus shortly, still peering into the darkness, feeling the
wrongness of it. "The Shrieking Shack was never haunted --" He said it slightly
louder than was natural, as if he were suddenly unsure of the fact, and must
convince himself. "The screams and howls the villagers used to hear were made
by me."
He pushed his hair up off his forehead. His head felt hot. His ears were
pounding. The room felt cramped and crowded.
The excitement of the night must be getting to me.
He sought calm in reminiscence. "That's where all of this starts -- with my
becoming a werewolf. None of this could have happened if I hadn't been bitten -
- and if I hadn't been so foolhardy --"
The children were listening now. None of them looked prepared to make a break
for it or to attack himself or Sirius any longer, which was a relief. He let
himself relax a little. It had all started so long ago that he felt a million
years old.
They sat, rapt and wide-eyed, as he recounted the events of his youth. From the
bite at the tender age of six -- It's a wonder Greyback didn't tear me to
pieces. If my father hadn't been there -- to his family's concerns that he
would not be able to have a normal education, and the kindly and timely
intervention of Headmaster Dumbledore. He told them about learning to keep
secrets and trust no one, and then about the wonder of finding friendship and
learning to trust again.
He glanced around the room at each pair of eyes fixed on his. The children's
looks of suspicion, wonder, fear, curiosity. And then he looked at Sirius. Even
someone who knew the person and mannerisms of Sirius Black less well than Remus
would have been able to see how highly-strung the man was. He sat perfectly
still, eyes on Remus, but there was a tenseness in his posture, and the fingers
of his right hand were twitching as if they longed to grasp a wand once more.
Help me tell them the story, Sirius, he begged silently. The vengeance is
Harry's as much as it is yours and mine. He needs to understand first.
He knew he had to get Sirius's attention on the story. He told about the pain
of the full moons, and Sirius's nervous movements stilled.
"But apart from my transformations," he went on, "I was happier than I had ever
been in my life." As he said these words, he looked directly into Sirius's gray
eyes. "For the first time ever, I had friends, three great friends. Sirius
Black --" he shifted his eyes to Ron's hands, "Peter Pettigrew --" his eyes
moved at last to meet Harry's, "and, of course, your father, Harry -- James
Potter."
At first, he had tried to hide his secret from his friends, but they had seen
through his prevarications and guessed the truth. Rather than abandoning him,
as he had expected, they had instead given him two great gifts: they had
accepted him for who he was, beast and all, and they had become part-beast
themselves. He could think of no greater gesture a friend could make, bar
giving up life itself. He would have done so in a moment for such friends, and
happily.
"They became Animagi," he said, and he could not keep a note of pride from his
voice.
Harry's eyes were round as saucers. "My dad, too?"
"Yes, indeed," Remus smiled at Harry, remembering the first time he had seen
the magnificent young stag take the place of his tousle-haired friend. Proud,
antlered head, delicate hooves, and a graceful arrogance of movement.
He had learnt over the course of this year just how much Harry admired his
father, and it occurred to him that Harry himself might now wish to become an
Animagus.
Not something to be entered into lightly, my boy, he thought, as he explained
to the children just how difficult the spell was to learn, and how it could go
wrong. Like poor old Mrs Norris -- for she must be an Animagus to show up on
the Marauder's Map -- now she's stuck as a cat forever.
When he saw Hermione nodding slowly, he knew that, should the boys ever think
about becoming Animagi, she would be there to talk them out of it.
She might be able to manage it herself, though, he thought speculatively.
Clever girl like that. It's a wonder she's not a Ravenclaw.
"Finally, in our fifth year, they managed it," he continued. "They could each
turn into a different animal at will."
"But how did that help you?" asked Hermione.
He explained to them the influence the large, sapient animals had had on his
own wolfish nature, curbing his animal instincts enough to significantly reduce
the danger he posed to humans -- a werewolf's only prey. How grateful he had
been to them! And how foolhardy they had been together.
Sirius interrupted his thought. "Hurry up, Remus," he growled. He was staring
at Ron's hands again. Clearly the story he knew all too well was only going to
keep him distracted for so long.
"I'm getting there, Sirius, I'm getting there --" he soothed.
He told about leaving the Shrieking Shack on moonlit nights, of discovering the
secrets of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, of the creation of the Marauder's Map. He
tried to keep the facts as bare and simple as possible, but Remus loved telling
stories and he could not help throwing in details here and there, just to see
the look of wonder on Harry's face as bits and pieces of his father's youth and
personality unfolded before him.
"Sirius is Padfoot. Peter is Wormtail. James was Prongs."
Harry's eyes were wide. "What sort of animal --?" he began, but Hermione cut
him off.
"That was still really dangerous! Running around in the dark with a werewolf!"
she scolded. Out of the corner of his eye, Remus caught Ron rolling his eyes.
"What if you'd given the others the slip, and bitten somebody?"
"A thought that still haunts me," Remus admitted with an internal shudder. "And
there were near misses. Many of them."
He remembered the guilt of those mornings, unable to recall the events of the
previous night, but waking to find his friends scratched, bitten, and bleeding,
knowing what must have happened; that they had nearly lost control of him
again.
"We laughed about them afterwards. We were young, thoughtless -- carried away
with our own cleverness."
There had also been the guilt of knowingly betraying Dumbledore's trust. "And I
haven't changed," he said savagely. "All this year, I have been battling with
myself, wondering whether I should tell Dumbledore that Sirius was an Animagus.
But I didn't do it. Why? Because I was too cowardly. It would have meant
admitting that I'd betrayed his trust while I was at school, admitting that I'd
lead others along with me --"
Of course, that was not the only reason; he had to admit to himself that the
reason he had kept his silence was that he had not wanted to be the one
responsible for the capture of Sirius. And now that silence was justified. If
he had spoken, Sirius, his own dear, innocent, loyal Sirius, would now be worse
than dead.
So instead, he told the children of his loyalty to Dumbledore, which they would
understand, even if they could not comprehend the rest of it, but his eyes were
on the man still staring at the rat, and he hoped that Sirius would know the
words he did not say.
"And so I convinced myself that Sirius was getting into the school using Dark
Arts he learnt from Voldemort," he concluded. "That being an Animagus had
nothing to do with it -- so, in a way, Snape's been right about me all along."
"Snape?" said Sirius, looking up at him in surprise and confusion. "What's
Snape got to do with it?"
"He's here, Sirius," he replied tiredly, knowing that, when it came to Snape,
even the adult Sirius he had known twelve years ago had been as petty as a
teenager with a grudge. Still, if it distracted him for a few minutes longer
from his murderous intentions -- "He's teaching here as well."
He turned back to Harry, Ron, and Hermione then, explaining that Snape had been
at Hogwarts with the lot of them, and that there had been bad blood between
them from the start. He was glad that he was the one telling this story, since
although he had had no liking for Snape, he alone among his friends had been
tolerant, and the least likely to bear a grudge. Only he was able to tell the
story of the Infamous Whomping Willow Prank in a neutral tone of voice, devoid
of any strong feeling. He saw Sirius hunching his shoulders and balling his
hands into fists of guilt as he recounted that particular event, but Remus had
forgiven him long ago.
"He was forbidden to tell anybody by Dumbledore," he finished. "But from that
time, he knew what I was --"
"So that's why Snape doesn't like you," Harry said, a look of dawning
comprehension lighting his face, "because he thought you were in on the joke?"
"That's right," said an all-too-familiar, all-too-unwelcome voice from not five
paces behind Remus.
He jumped and spun around, the back of his neck prickling, and a soft growl
escaping his throat. There, leaning casually against the wall, wand in hand and
an insufferable smirk on his face, was Severus Snape.
***** The Rat *****
Everyone in the room nearly jumped out of their shoes. Hermione screamed. For
several seconds, chaos reigned in the Shrieking Shack. The expression on
Snape's face did not change at all. He kept his wand carefully trained on
Remus's chest.
He wouldn't. Not in front of the children, surely? But he knew that
vindictiveness ran deep with Snape, and that a chance to rid himself of someone
he despised in the name of self-defence was not something he was likely to pass
up.
"I found this at the base of the Whomping Willow," he said when all was
reasonably quiet once more, and he had their full attention. He tossed James's
old Invisibility Cloak aside like so much dirty laundry. "Very useful, Potter,
I thank you --"
Harry, how could you be so thick? thought Remus. Leaving it lying about for
anyone to come along and take? He was fairly certain that James would never
have been so careless, but he would not have wanted to lay money on it.
"You're wondering, perhaps, how I knew you were here?" Snape looked exceedingly
smug. "I've just been to your office, Lupin --"
The map! Remus realised. Arse! Harry's not the only one to do something stupid
tonight. I should have brought it with me. I could have used it to prove that
rat is Peter.
"Severus --"
"I've told the headmaster again and again that you've been helping your old
friend Black into the castle, Lupin, and here's the proof." The corner of his
mouth twitched as he said the word "friend".
If he outs us to the kids -- He flashed Snape a warning look, but Harry and his
friends did not seem to notice the subtle slur.
"Not even I dreamed you would have the nerve to use this old place as your
hideout," Snape continued.
"Severus, you're making a mistake," Remus interrupted him.
The euphoria of discovering Sirius's innocence made him reckless in the face of
danger. However, it occurred to him that Snape might do something to hurt
Sirius. The truth had to be told, and quickly. Until it was, Remus had to keep
Snape's attention on himself.
"You haven't heard everything -- I can explain -- Sirius is not here to kill
Harry --"
But Snape was not listening to a word he said. "Two more for Azkaban tonight,"
he declared almost gleefully, and Remus got the feeling that if he had not been
holding his wand, the Potions master would have been rubbing his hands together
in anticipation. "I shall be interested to see how Dumbledore takes this -- he
was quite convinced you were harmless, you know, Lupin -- a tame werewolf --"
This was too much for Remus to bear. He could understand Snape's feelings about
himself and Sirius, but to wish ill on Albus Dumbledore, the man to whom Snape
owed his job, his good name, his freedom,, and possibly his life as much as did
Remus himself, was beyond the pale.
"You fool," Remus hissed, all pleading and reasoning leaving his voice. "Is a
schoolboy grudge worth putting an innocent man back inside Azkaban?" He was
remarkably unconcerned about his own fate.
But Snape was apparently done talking. With a bang, binding cords shot from the
end of his wand and twined themselves around Remus's body, gagging him and
rendering him instantly immobile. He fell to the floor, barely able to breathe.
In the blinking of an eye, Sirius leapt toward Remus's attacker with a vicious
growl which the canine part of Remus's mind translated as, "How dare you touch
my mate?!" It was wonderful to see Sirius leap to his defence like that.
Snape got his wand up just in time, and Sirius stopped dead, starring cross-
eyed at the point of it, just beyond the tip of his nose. Remus saw Snape's
mouth move, but the binding cords were twining around his ears, ever
tightening, and the pain of the constricting bonds made it difficult to
concentrate on anything apart from trying to breathe. All he could do was watch
the scene unfold before him.
Sirius was flashing Snape the infamous Black look.
Poor Sirius, thought Remus. He hates feeling helpless. I bet Severus can sense
that. He never could resist toying with any of us when he got the chance.
Harry and Ron stood just as frozen as Sirius, with confused expressions on
their faces.
They hate Severus, he realised. Now they have to decide whether they're going
to side with him or us.
He saw Hermione step toward the Potions master, her hands out in a gesture of
supplication. She was obviously trying to reason with him, but by the look on
his face, he was having none of it.
Good girl, Hermione! he thought at her. If she was saying something Snape
disliked that much, she must finally be coming around to Sirius's version of
events.
Snape's face had gone from pale to livid white. He looked like he was shouting.
Sparks shot from the end of his wand into Sirius's face. Instinctively, Remus
tried to struggle to his feet to come to Sirius's aide, but even the slightest
movement caused the cords to cut into his body and restrict his meagre air
supply.
Snape was speaking to Sirius now. Sirius looked resolute, then Snape said
something with a nasty smile that made his eyes go wide and his face go blank
with shock. Sirius kept talking, though a look of terror was dawning in his
eyes.
Always the brave one, my Padfoot, thought Remus. Just get me out of this, and
I'll take care of that greasy git for you.
Snape jerked his head towards the door, looking at the children now. He snapped
his fingers, and the ends of the cords binding Remus's body were in his hands.
He tugged viciously at them, and Remus gasped. Or tried to. He could not
breathe. He was suffocating. Harry was standing between Snape and the door,
wand in hand. There was some kind of standoff. Dimly, he saw all three young
wizards raise their wands. As his vision went black around the edges, Snape
dropped the bonds he held, flew back against the wall, and lay motionless on
the floor.
He had to breathe -- had to get air soon -- or he would die. He fought his
bonds, ignoring the pain, knowing he could never free himself alone. And then
Sirius was there, kneeling beside him, tearing the black cords away from his
body, and he could breathe again. He gulped in precious oxygen and sat up,
giving Sirius a look of gratitude.
Rubbing his tender arms, he thanked Harry. He knew it must have taken courage
for the boy to stand up to a teacher who obviously despised him.
"I'm still not saying I believe you," Harry replied, but there was less
conviction in his voice now.
Remus sighed with relief and winced as his lungs pressed against his aching
ribs.
"Then it's time we offered you some proof," said Sirius. He gave Remus's
shoulder a squeeze before turning back to the children. "You, boy -- give me
Peter. Now."
Ron still looked undecided -- unready to relinquish his pet to someone he
considered supremely untrustworthy. "Come off it," he tried to reason. "Are you
trying to say you broke out of Azkaban just to get your hands on Scabbers? I
mean -- okay, say Pettigrew could turn into a rat -- there are millions of rats
-- how's he supposed to know which one he's after if he was locked up in
Azkaban?"
The boy's got a point, Remus realised. Peter did his best to make himself hard
to find, and Sirius did it from in there?
"You know, Sirius, that's a fair question. How did you find out where he was?"
Sirius met his eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched. You're going to love
this, his expression said. From the folds of his filthy robes, he drew out -- a
newspaper clipping; a photo from the Daily Prophet of the Weasley family. And
there was Peter, plain as day, sitting on Ron's shoulder.
Remus's jaw dropped. "How did you get this?"
Sirius's expression was almost smug. Cornelius Fudge had apparently visited
Azkaban the previous summer, and by chance, Sirius had got a newspaper from the
Minister. He had seen the picture and realised that, with Peter at Hogwarts,
Harry would be in danger.
Remus shook his head in disbelief. "My God." He looked at the picture, then at
the rat, then the picture again. There it was; the truth staring him right in
the face. "His front paw --"
"What about it?" Ron's tone was defensive.
"He's got a toe missing," said Sirius. Definitely smug.
"Of course." The pieces were all falling into place in Remus's mind. He had to
admit a grudging admiration for Peter's daring plan. "So simple -- so brilliant
-- He cut it off himself?"
Sirius nodded. "Just before he transformed."
Their eyes met. I should have seen, Remus berated himself. I was too busy
looking at Sirius. As always.
The corner of his own mouth twitched as Sirius continued, telling them all what
Remus now knew himself to have witnessed: Peter's crime; not Sirius's. Peter's
cowardly descent into the sewers of London. Sirius, left behind to take the
blame. An explanation that finally made sense.
"Didn't you ever hear, Ron?" he turned to the only one of the trio who had been
raised in the Wizarding world -- the one who would have heard this story
repeated from his cradle -- the one whose father would have been there in the
marketplace on that awful day, and who had somehow taken home with him a pet
for his son. "The biggest bit of Peter they found was his finger."
There are three Unforgivable curses, he thought with grim satisfaction, and not
one of them will obliterate a man like that.
Harry and Hermione were by now staring at "Scabbers" with looks of dawning
comprehension and horror, but Ron was still in denial.
"Look, Scabbers probably had a fight with another rat or something! He's been
in my family for ages, right --"
"Twelve years, in fact." Remus quirked an eyebrow at the redheaded boy. "Didn't
you ever wonder why he was living so long?"
"We -- we've been taking good care of him!" But a note of doubt was beginning
to creep into Ron's voice.
"Not looking too good at the moment, though, is he?" Remus pressed. "I'd guess
he's been losing weight ever since he heard Sirius was on the loose again --"
"He's been scared of that mad cat!" Ron glared at the entirely sane-looking
ginger cat purring on the bed.
"This cat isn't mad." Sirius reached out a hand to pat the ugly beast fondly.
Crookshanks, Sirius told them, had in fact been Sirius's eyes and ears inside
the castle all year. The cat had apparently aided Sirius not only in hunting
down Peter, but in supplying Sirius with Neville's missing list of passwords.
But then Peter had vanished, faking his own death yet again, and this time
pinning the blame on Hermione's pet.
A shame Severus isn't awake to hear all this, Remus thought with a glance
toward the unconscious figure in the corner.
"And why did he fake his death?" Harry interrupted sharply. "Because he knew
you were about to kill him like you killed my parents!"
"No. Harry --" Remus put out a hand towards the boy, but Harry ignored him.
"And now you've come to finish him off!"
"Yes, I have." Sirius was looking not at Harry, but at the rat again, with
murderous intent in his eyes.
"Then I should have let Snape take you!" Harry declared.
Remus tried to reason with him. "Harry, don't you see? All this time, we've
thought Sirius betrayed your parents, and Peter tracked him down -- but it was
the other way around, don't you see? Peter betrayed your mother and father -
- Sirius tracked Peter down --"
But Harry -- who had seemed so close to believing only moments before -- who
had attacked one of his own teachers in order to hear this story -- was clearly
beyond reason.
"THAT'S NOT TRUE!" yelled Harry. "HE WAS THEIR SECRET-KEEPER! HE SAID SO BEFORE
YOU TURNED UP, HE SAID HE KILLED THEM!"
Remus looked to Sirius who had sunk down on the bed once more, staring into his
hands with tear-filled eyes as he shook his head remorsefully.
"Harry -- I as good as killed them."
The guilt hung on him thick as cobwebs as he told them about talking Harry's
parents into switching Secret-Keepers at the last moment, so that no one knew -
- providing Peter with just the opportunity he had needed to get away with his
betrayal cleanly.
His voice broke as he spoke of seeing their friends' bodies, and the discovery
of betrayal, and Remus remembered his own feelings on that night, seeing those
still forms, pursuing answers through the skies and the streets of Muggle
London. Only he had had Dumbledore to comfort him at the end of that terrible
night, and Sirius had had only the Dementors.
They had both lost everything that night; friends murdered, lovers betrayed.
He never betrayed me, but I betrayed him, thought Remus remorsefully. I didn't
go to see him. I didn't try to find out why. In one stroke, Peter broke the
circle of our friendship and threw away our love. And I let him do it.
Sirius's voice echoed the guilt Remus himself was feeling. He felt
responsibility for Lily and James's deaths as Remus felt responsibility for the
murder of their love.
It's not our fault, though. Remus looked at "Scabbers" again. Why should we
suffer any longer for what he's done? Let him reap what he's sown.
"Enough of this." Remus's slow temper had reached its boiling point. It was
time to deal with the true culprit. His voice held none of his usual gentle
tone as he said, "There's one certain way to prove what really happened. Ron,
give me that rat."
Remus's voice brooked no opposition, yet still Ron hesitated. "What are you
going to do with him if I give him to you?"
"Force him to show himself." Remus gritted his teeth, making himself stay
rational, forcing down the beast within, howling for blood vengeance. "If he
really is a rat, it won't hurt him."
At long last, the redheaded boy held out his pet to the man he had trusted all
year to teach him to defend himself. Remus smelled blood and animal fear and
Sirius. He looked up at the other man, holding the terrified rat out to him.
"Ready, Sirius?" he asked, softly.
Sirius was clutching Snape's wand clumsily, as if he had forgotten how to hold
one, but he pointed it determinedly at the rat, taking a step closer, eyes
intent.
"Together?" he whispered hopefully, gray eyes into gold.
Are we? Remus wondered. We pledged "forever" once. I guess the term of that
agreement isn't up yet.
"I think so." The corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
There is so much that needs to be said, he thought regretfully. But no bloody
time for it right now.
He turned his eyes reluctantly from those beautiful, gray pools to fix them
once more upon the bedraggled rat.
This is for Sirius. This is for twelve years of his life wasted in Azkaban.
This is for twelve years of my life spent mourning you and hating myself for
not hating him.
"On the count of three," he nodded. "One -- two -- THREE!"
The blue-white light of the Reveal spell hit the rat from both directions at
once, pinning him briefly in the air before letting him drop to the floor. A
second flash enveloped the squirming creature, and he began to grow, sprouting
limbs and shooting upwards, grotesque shapes resolving themselves into a human
form for the first time in a dozen years.
***** An Eye for an Eye *****
If they had not known he was Peter, they might not have recognised him.
He doesn't need to be a rat anymore to live in disguise, Remus thought.
The man before them looked lumpy and unwell. He was balding in an unattractive
and undignified way, and his features struck Remus as being much more rat-like
than he remembered -- perhaps the result of living as a rodent for so long. And
had Peter ever cringed so?
"Well, hello, Peter," Remus said, surprised by how calm his voice sounded. He
felt oddly lightheaded. "Long time, no see."
"S-Sirius -- R-Remus --" his voice was higher and squeakier than Remus
recalled. His eyes darted about the room, most frequently to the door. "My
friends --" he tried nervously. "My old friends --"
Sirius, fury burning in his eyes, would have blasted Peter on the spot, but
Remus stepped close to him and grabbed his skeletal wrist, forcing the wand
down. Not yet. He shook his head slightly. Sirius lowered his hand and Remus
let go reluctantly, with a tiny squeeze.
He turned back to Peter, voice still calm. "We've been having a little chat,
Peter," he said, "about what happened the night Lily and James died. You might
have missed the finer points while you were squeaking around down there on the
bed --" The dignity of adult phrasing seemed to have deserted him as he
reverted to modes of speech he had not used since his school days.
"Remus," Peter squeaked pathetically, latching onto the only apparently
rational adult presence in the room, "you don't believe him, do you --?" his
eyes flicked to Sirius and he visibly cringed again. "He tried to kill me,
Remus --"
"So we've heard," Remus replied, voice chilly. "I'd like to clear up one or two
little matters with you, Peter, if you'd be so --"
"He's come to try to kill me again!" Peter broke in shrilly, obviously
mistaking Remus's courtesy for active sympathy. He pointed a self-incriminating
middle finger at Sirius. It spoke volumes, and Remus saw the children's widened
eyes. "He killed Lily and James and now he's going to kill me, too -- you've
got to help me, Remus --"
Help me, Remus. How many times had Peter appealed to him in those words, the
victim of James and Sirius's latest prank? And Remus had always gamely rallied
to his defence, imploring the other two to be nicer to Peter, though it had
resulted in much mocking of his own person and character.
I was his champion, Remus thought, still calm, and he tried to repay me by
leaving me out of his betrayal. Lily and James dead. Sirius imprisoned. Myself
the only one untouched -- physically, at least. But I am done "helping" you,
Rat.
"No one's going to try and kill you until we've sorted a few things out," he
said, voice still cold.
He was gratified by the dawning horror in Peter's eyes as he realised that he
would get no sympathy from that quarter.
"Sorted things out?" he squeaked, eyes darting to the door again. "I knew he'd
come after me! I knew he'd be back for me! I've been waiting for this for
twelve years!"
Peter had to know he was trapped now. He had always been a terrible liar,
relying instead on his innocent appearance and charm to get him out of jams. It
had been his weak testimony which had incriminated the Marauders in many a
prank. His charm had deserted him over the intervening years, and he was no
match for his much cleverer and very angry classmates.
"You knew Sirius was going to break out of Azkaban?" Remus said skeptically.
"When nobody has ever done it before?"
Peter's marks in History of Magic had always been poor, but that fact was well
known to all wizards.
"He's got dark powers the rest of us can only dream of!" Peter was attempting
to make up for his lack of credibility with volume, shouting to make himself
heard in the quiet confines of the dusty house. "How else did he get out of
there? I suppose He Who Must Not Be Named taught him a few tricks!"
Sirius was laughing, but hollowly and without humour. Peter looked scared.
"Voldemort, teach me tricks? What, scared to hear your old master's name?" he
taunted as Peter flinched. "I don't blame you, Peter. His lot aren't very happy
with you, are they?"
"Don't know -- what you mean, Sirius," Peter mumbled, earning himself twin
looks of contempt.
"You haven't been hiding from me for twelve years," Sirius spat at him
accusatorially.
Peter paled as Sirius told him exactly what Voldemort's supporters in Azkaban
thought of the rat who had brought down their master.
"If they ever got wind that you were still alive, Peter --"
"Don't know -- what you're talking about --" Peter insisted again, weakly.
Desperate eyes turned to appeal to Remus once more. "You don't believe this -
- this madness, Remus --"
Remus pursed his lips as if considering Peter's words. "I must admit, Peter, I
have difficulty understanding why an innocent man would want to spend twelve
years as a rat."
"Innocent, but scared!" Peter's voice was shrill and insistent. "If Voldemort's
supporters were after me, it was because I put one of their best men in Azkaban
-- the spy, Sirius Black!"
Remus could feel his face go white with anger, his jaw clench. Vermin! He
nearly lost control then, and would have leapt on Peter himself, had Sirius not
spoken.
"How dare you," he growled between clenched teeth, and Remus wondered if the
line between man and dog was as clear as it had once been. "I, a spy for
Voldemort? When did I ever sneak around people who were stronger and more
powerful than myself? But you, Peter -- I'll never understand why I didn't see
you were the spy from the start. You always liked big friends who'd look after
you, didn't you? It used to be us -- me and Remus --" the gray eyes filled with
sorrow again for a moment, "and James."
He's right, thought Remus. Why did we never see it? Too wrapped up in the fear
of it being each other, I suppose. But someone should have seen. James should
have seen.
Peter was still determinedly protesting his own innocence. "Me, a spy -- must
be out of your mind -- never -- don't know how you can say such a --"
"James and Lily only made you Secret-Keeper because I suggested it," Sirius
spat. "I thought it was the perfect plan -- a bluff --"
Remus wondered how Sirius had talked them into it. James would certainly have
found it a wonderful joke, but Lily had always been more cautious. Would she
have agreed to something so risky, purely at Sirius's suggestion?
It all happened so quickly, he recalled. That doesn't sound like Lily at all.
While Sirius was speaking, Remus noted that since the rat had become Peter, the
three children had been staring at him with increasing suspicion, not one of
them remotely convinced by his lame denials.
It was Hermione who spoke first. "Professor Lupin?" He was gratified to hear a
respectful tone back in her voice. "Can -- can I say something?"
"Certainly, Hermione." He tried to smile but the atmosphere in the room was too
highly charged.
"Well -- Scabbers -- I mean, this -- this man -- he's been sleeping in Harry's
dormitory for three years. If he's working for You Know Who, how come he never
tried to hurt Harry before now?"
"There!" Peter cried shrilly. "Thank you! You see, Remus? I have never hurt a
hair of Harry's head! Why should I?"
Peter, you should be ashamed of yourself, thought Remus. A fourteen-year-old
girl putting up a better argument for your defence than you can manage after
twelve years of working on your alibi?
But Sirius had had plenty of time to consider Peter's motives for himself, and
it was he who answered, "I'll tell you why. Because you never did anything for
anyone unless you could see what was in it for you."
He's right, Remus realised. Peter would never stick his neck out for anyone,
unless he was sure that person could give him a safe place to hide, after. Why
risk anything when he already had safety?
Peter did not appear to have an answer for this.
Hermione spoke again, this time addressing Sirius. "Er -- Mr Black -- Sirius?"
Sirius jumped, and Remus wondered how many times in his life Sirius had ever
been referred to as "Mr Black". The urge to laugh left him as he wondered when
the last time was that someone had spoken to Sirius with any level of respect
or kindness.
"If you don't mind me asking," Hermione continued, "how -- how did you get out
of Azkaban, if you didn't use Dark Magic?"
"Thank you!" Peter began praising Hermione's defence again, but Remus gave him
his best Professor look, and he closed his mouth.
"I don't know how I did it," Sirius began, frowning slightly, as if trying to
find the best words to explain.
It was not quite as Remus had expected. He had thought that it might have been
Sirius's ability to become Padfoot that had saved his mind from the ravages of
the Dementors, but that was not all of it. The knowledge of his own innocence
had protected him. Truth is not the same as happiness. The Dementors could not
feed on it. And Sirius had held onto that truth -- his rock in the raging river
of fear, despair, and self-loathing that would otherwise have swept him away.
But even if the usual madness induced by Azkaban had not been his lot, Sirius's
experience of the place sounded horrible enough. Remus was once again
overwhelmed by guilt.
I did nothing. I should have been that rock. I didn't even try to see him.
He wanted to reach out, not only to comfort the man he loved, but also to
reassure himself that the terrible loneliness of the past twelve years was
really over.
Not now, he thought. There will be time for that later.
"But then I saw Peter in that picture --" Sirius continued, explaining how the
realisation that Harry was in danger had lit a fire under him, forcing him to
action.
Sirius caught Remus's eyes briefly, and Remus read the look loud and clear. As
long as Harry was safe, I knew no one on the outside needed me, it said. Remus
looked away first, ashamed.
"I've been living in the Forest ever since -- except when I came to watch the
Quidditch, of course -- you fly as well as your father did, Harry --"
Remus blinked. Quidditch? He came out of the Forest to watchQuidditch?!
Actually, that sounds just like Sirius. He smiled slightly at the other man,
but Sirius was looking intently at Harry.
"Believe me," he implored. "Believe me. I never betrayed Lily and James. I
would have died before I betrayed them."
Remus felt a lump in his throat, as he watched man and boy staring at one
another. He saw the mistrust draining from wide, green eyes -- eyes that were
the only clue that this was not Sirius's best friend staring back at him.
I should have known. I should have, he berated himself yet again. How could I,
of all people, ever have thought him a traitor?
Remus thought for a second that Sirius was going to reach out and touch the
boy, but before he could move, Peter broke in, wailing, "No!" He fell to his
knees and moved towards Sirius, pleading, "Sirius -- it's me -- it's Peter -
- your friend -- you wouldn't --"
Sirius kicked at him, and he slunk back. "There's enough filth on my robes
without you touching them," he said coldly.
Desperately, Peter searched the room for a sympathetic ear. "Remus!" he cried,
prostrating himself in front of him. "You don't believe this -- Wouldn't Sirius
have told you they'd changed the plan?"
I only wish he had, thought Remus. Things might have gone differently.
"Not if he thought I was the spy, Peter." His eyes met Sirius's over Peter's
prostrated form. "I assume that's why you didn't tell me, Sirius?" he inquired,
trying to keep his voice as neutral and free of emotion as possible.
"Forgive me, Remus," was all Sirius said, but Remus saw the regret in his eyes.
"Not at all, Padfoot, old friend," he reassured him. Remus pushed the sleeves
of his robes up over his elbows. "And will you, in turn, forgive me for
believing you were the spy?"
"Of course." A faint smile and a look of relief washed over Sirius's face as he
followed suit, rolling up his dirty, torn, and bedraggled sleeves. "Shall we
kill him together?" he asked.
"Yes, I think so," said mild-mannered Remus Lupin, usually so quick to forgive
and eager to be liked.
Peter deserves this, he thought savagely as the rat-man squealed and begged
pathetically. As long as he lives, he is a danger to Harry and to all of us. If
we show him mercy, he will only sell us to them again to save his own miserable
skin.
Peter could see his former friends were lost to him. He tried to appeal to the
children instead.
"Ron -- haven't I been a good friend -- a good pet? You won't let them kill me,
Ron, will you -- you're on my side, aren't you?"
But Ron's lip curled in a look of disgust. "I let you sleep in my bed!" he
cried, outraged.
Oh, that's not very promising, thought Remus as Peter continued to crawl and
plead and generally humiliate himself.
"If you made a better rat than human," cut in Sirius, "it's not much to boast
about, Peter."
Seeing he would get no help there, Peter switched to Hermione. "Sweet girl -
- clever girl -- you -- you won't let them -- help me --" But Hermione backed
away, looking only slightly less disgusted than Ron.
At last, Peter turned his now hopeless eyes to Harry, his last chance for
survival. "Harry -- Harry -- you look just like your father -- just like him --
"
Sirius was beside himself. "HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO HARRY?" he shouted, voice
cracking. Remus wondered how long it had been since he had last dared to speak
so loudly. "HOW DARE YOU FACE HIM? HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT JAMES IN FRONT OF
HIM?"
"Harry," begged Peter in despairing tones, hands outstretched in a gesture of
supplication, "Harry, James wouldn't have wanted me killed -- James would have
understood, Harry -- he would have shown me mercy --"
It was too much for either of them to see this man, responsible for the deaths
of two of their best friends, begging for his life from their young son. As
one, they moved forward, grabbed him by his shoulders and threw him onto his
back, away from Harry. He lay, blinking in terror, hands before his face, an
ineffectual shield.
"You sold James and Lily to Voldemort," Sirius said in a voice which shook with
cold fury. "Do you deny it?"
A sob welled up in Peter's throat, and he lay on the floor blubbering, wailing
and contemptible. "Sirius, Sirius, what could I have done? The Dark Lord -- you
have no idea -- he has weapons you can't imagine -- I was scared, Sirius, I was
never brave like you and Remus and James. I never meant it to happen -- He Who
Must Not Be Named forced me --"
"DON'T LIE!" Sirius shouted, rage turning his eyes a dangerous silver which
sent a chill down Remus's spine. "YOU'D BEEN PASSING INFORMATION TO HIM FOR A
YEAR BEFORE JAMES AND LILY DIED! YOU WERE HIS SPY!"
"He -- he was taking over everywhere!" said Peter, his weak defences running
out. "Wh-what was there to be gained by refusing him?"
"What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who ever
existed?" Sirius's quiet fury was even more terrible than his raging. "Only
innocent lives, Peter!"
"You don't understand!" squealed Peter. "He would have killed me, Sirius!"
"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!" Sirius was shouting again. "DIED RATHER THAN
BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!"
Peter's eyes flicked fearfully to Remus, but found no quarter there as Remus
stepped in to present a united front with Sirius, shoulder to shoulder, their
arms lightly touching. Remus thought for a second that he saw a spark arc
between their raised wands.
Love and war, thought Remus. That's what it all comes down to.
"You should have realised," Remus spoke in quiet agreement with Sirius's words,
"if Voldemort didn't kill you, we would. Goodbye, Peter."
Their wands were pointing at the cowering form, the Unforgivable Curse rising
in their throats. In this one act they would be reunited, and put right so much
that had gone wrong.
But suddenly, there was Harry -- James's face, Lily's eyes -- standing between
them and their revenge, and saying "NO! You can't kill him! You can't."
Remus was so startled that he nearly lost his balance. Next to him, Sirius
looked as though he were about to collapse from shock.
"Harry," said Sirius sharply, "this piece of vermin is the reason you have no
parents."
Peter always hated when James and Sirius used to call him that, Remus
remembered as Sirius spoke. And I used to defend him. But they were right.
"I know. We'll take him up to the castle," Harry implored. "We'll hand him over
to the Dementors. He can go to Azkaban -- just don't kill him."
"Harry!" Peter clutched at Harry's legs, groveling. "You -- thank you -- it's
more than I deserve -- thank you --"
It's exactly what you deserve, Remus thought. Death is too easy an end for you.
Better to give you to the Dementors and let you suffer for what you did. Only
you're too thick to realise that.
"Get off me." Harry kicked Peter away from him scornfully. "I'm not doing this
for you. I'm doing it because I don't reckon my dad would've wanted his two
best friends to become killers -- just for you."
Harry had finally understood that Remus and Sirius were his only real link to
his parents.
If we kill Peter, we'll be sent to Azkaban for murder. Even if the truth comes
out, there's no war on now to justify killing him. He looked at Sirius, who was
looking back at him, questioningly. It's Harry's revenge as much as ours. Do we
have more right to choose than he?
As if he heard the thought, Sirius lowered his wand. Remus brought his wand
down as well. Sirius turned to Harry.
"You're the only person who has the right to decide, Harry. But think -- think
what he did --" he said gently.
His words surprised Remus. To give up his revenge -- their revenge -- because
he thought Harry deserved it more, well, Remus was the only other person in the
world who could truly appreciate what that meant.
"He can go to Azkaban," Harry said again. "If anyone deserves that place, he
does --"
Remus held his breath until he saw Sirius nod ever so slightly. The decision
was made.
"Very well," Remus said at last. "Stand aside, Harry." When Harry did not move,
he added, "I'm going to tie him up. That's all, I swear."
Harry stood aside and Remus stepped forward. He knew the spell as well as Snape
did. The bonds he placed on Peter were nearly as tight and just as inescapable.
Unless one happened to be a shapeshifter.
Sirius saw that risk as well. "But if you transform, Peter, we will kill you,"
he said, Snape's wand still pointed at the man's chest. "You agree, Harry?"
Harry looked at Peter and nodded.
We'll have to warn the Ministry and the guards at Azkaban about Peter's little
talent, thought Remus. Special allowances must be made. Maybe there's a way to
stop him from changing?
The sooner they got out of here and got this whole mess straightened out, the
sooner he would have a chance to talk with Sirius privately. And that was
something he wanted very badly to do.
"Right," he said, turning to Ron. "Ron, I can't mend bones nearly as well as
Madam Pomfrey, so I think it's best if we just strap your leg up until we can
get you to the hospital wing."
He placed a quick ferula spell on the damaged limb before helping the boy to
his feet.
"That's better, thanks," said Ron, and Remus was once again flooded with
giddiness.
Sirius was innocent, and they had Peter as proof. Harry and his friends
believed them. Life was never again going to be as lonely as it had been.
Things could now begin Getting Back to Normal.
"What about Professor Snape?" Hermione's voice interrupted his thoughts.
Suppressing an expression of distaste, Remus bent over to lay two fingers on
the Potions master's limp wrist. "There's nothing seriously wrong with him," he
said, feeling the strong, slow pulse. Who knew? He has a heart after all.
It suddenly occurred to him that this was the first time he could recall ever
voluntarily touching Severus Snape, and he quickly drew his hand back, wiping
his fingers inconspicuously on the sleeve of his robes.
He looked up at Hermione and smiled. "You were just a little -
- overenthusiastic. Still out cold. Er -- perhaps it will be best if we don't
revive him until we're safely back in the castle. We can take him like this."
He pointed his wand at the prone figure. "Mobilicorpus."
Slowly, the unconscious man rose into an upright position. The invisible force
supporting his weight made Remus think unpleasantly of the posture of a hanged
man. He hoped the children would not find the sight unnerving. To cover his
unease, he bent down to pick up the Invisibility Cloak, stowing it safely in
the inner pocket of his robes.
"Two of us should be chained to this, just to make sure." Sirius was poking
Peter with the worn toe of his shoe, voice still scratchy with disuse.
"I'll do it," Remus said quickly, catching and holding Sirius's eyes.
It was not that he didn't trust Sirius not to harm Peter on the way back to the
castle, so much as -- well, I wouldn't blame him if he did, but best not to
take chances.
Sirius nodded slowly, just as Ron piped up, "And me." He was still looking at
Peter with disgust as he limped gingerly forward on his bandaged leg.
Sirius waved Snape's wand, and heavy manacles appeared out of nowhere. Remus
blinked in surprise. Summoning was very complex magic which required a great
deal of concentration and power. Magic still had to observe the law of
conservation of matter, which states that matter cannot be created nor
destroyed, so the manacles obviously had to come from somewhere. Remus knew
that the only way to conjure an object in this way was to hold a perfect image
of it in one's mind, and it had to belong to the person performing the spell.
These are the chains he wore for twelve years. Remus swallowed. He knows every
scrape and nick and rust spot better than he knows his own face. Or mine.
He did not want to touch the cold, black things which had held his lover all
those years when he had not, but he bravely put out his arm and allowed Sirius
to clamp the cuff around his wrist.
At last, following the lead of Hermione's cat, they were ready to leave the
confines of the Shrieking Shack.
About bloody time, too! thought Remus. The place felt hot and stuffy, cramped
and close. A trickle of sweat ran down the back of his neck making the skin
prickle. The excitement of the evening must be getting to me. I just need some
fresh air. The cold iron about his wrist made his skin crawl.
It was a struggle getting through the tunnel back to the Whomping Willow
chained together as they were. Even unencumbered, Remus had a difficult time
negotiating the passage quickly, his height and the low ceiling forcing him to
walk bent nearly in half. And now, chained to the reluctant and still-
snivelling Peter and the injured Ron, Remus was beginning to think it would be
daylight before they emerged from the earth.
He was trying to focus not only on getting through the passageway but on
keeping his wand trained on Peter. If the shack had seemed close, the tunnel
made him feel downright claustrophobic. For a moment, he felt Snape's bonds
around his chest and throat again, and had to pause, gasping for air he knew
was there.
Don't be a fool, Lupin, he chided himself. You've been through here a thousand
times or more. You know every stone, every turning. Why lose your nerve now? He
steeled his resolve. You have a job to do. Get these children safely to the
castle. Deal with Peter. Clear Sirius's name. Hold yourself together, man! The
night's not over yet.
"You know what this means?" he heard Sirius say.
"You're free," Harry's voice replied.
Free. Sirius, free. Remus's heart lifted and he felt able to draw breath again.
A smile slowly began to spread across his face, tugging slightly at old scars
as he listened to Sirius nervously raise the possibility of Harry coming to
live with him, and Harry's eager acceptance. With us, he thought firmly, though
Sirius did not mention that part. Remus was sure the omission was only due to
the fact that Sirius had not discussed the plan with him yet, and that this was
not the time to broach that particular subject with the boy.
He never doubted that Sirius meant to live with him again, to pick up where
they had left off all those years before, and live this unexpected,
inexplicable second chance to the fullest.
We deserve a happy ending, he thought. We've earned it.
Moments later, Remus felt with relief a breath of cool night air on his too-hot
face. The stresses and excitement of the night had taken their toll, and he
could feel his hands shaking as he emerged behind the cat who had cleverly
planted his paws against the tree's secret knot.
He waited with growing impatience as, one by one, the others rose from the
depths. He fancied he could almost hear the blood pulsing in his ears.
The night was warm and dark and full of the sharp scents of late spring as they
made their awkward, silent way back toward the lighted windows of the castle.
Remus felt uneasy. Something was about to happen. He jerked rather more roughly
than necessary on the chain that bound him to his erstwhile friend. "One wrong
move, Peter --" he growled threateningly.
He had been about to say, "and I'll tear your throat out," but he stopped
himself, shaking his head. No, that was not right. It was an unnecessarily
violent thought, alien to the nature of Professor Remus J. Lupin. And it might
frighten the children.
Why would I say such a thing?
And then suddenly, and with horrible, cold clarity, a light came on in Remus's
head and, as if summoned by the realisation, cool, pale moonlight washed over
him. He froze, forcing those bound to him to halt as well. Something bumped
into him from behind but his mind was racing too quickly to take notice.
Heightened senses, prickling skin, touchy temper, trembling. Not the symptoms
of an overexcited, physically worn-out man. His mind went white with dread. He
had not taken his potion tonight. In all the excitement since seeing Peter's
name appear on the Marauder's Map, he had forgotten, for the first time since
he was six years old, the fact that tonight was the full moon.
The dim, moonlit world around him began to swirl. He could hear nothing but the
sound of his own blood pounding through his veins. Pain lanced through him as
his body began to change, and with his body, his thoughts became simpler -
- more animal.
Hunt -- Bite -- Blood -- Tear -- Rend -- Kill --
***** A New Day *****
Cold, stiff and sore, Remus -- man-shaped and weak once more -- swam
reluctantly towards consciousness. This was always the worst time; when it was
all he could do to find his bed and sleep until the afternoon. His head ached,
and he knew that as soon as he tried to move, there would be pain.
Last night had been the worst full moon he had experienced in a long time.
Does the potion make it that much easier? Or does dependence on it make not
having it harder? he thought fuzzily.
He wondered how long he could get away with not opening his eyes.
He could tell from the feel of the air and the ground beneath him that he was
outdoors. Even though it was early June, there was a chill in the air, and the
birds were singing loudly enough to hurt his tender head, so it could not be
long past dawn.
A twig snapped nearby. His eyes popped open, unfocussed. The sight that greeted
him made him think for one absurd moment that he was seventeen again. Why else
would be be lying, cold and naked, in the Forbidden Forest, with a large, black
dog approaching him?
"Padfoot," he croaked, his tongue feeling sticky in his dry mouth.
The dog stopped and stood perfectly still, watching him.
Gingerly, he pushed himself upright. He had been right; it did hurt, but he
managed to maneuver himself into a wobbling crouch. He extended his hand in a
loose fist, palm down, as one did when meeting a strange dog for the first
time.
The black dog slowly resumed its approach until it was close enough to sniff
Remus's outstretched fingers. After a moment, it gave the man's knuckles a
tentative lick.
A dry sob that Remus had not known he was suppressing welled up in his throat
as he fell forward, arms tight around the dog's shaggy neck. Burying his face
in the thick, black fur, he breathed in the doggy scent, feeling his tears
dampen the fur into spikes and clumps as he sobbed painfully against the beast
that had stalked his dreams for so many years, only to disappear upon waking.
"I'm sorry, Padfoot," he gulped when he had breath enough. "So sorry --"
He drew back, tears blurring his vision as he stroked the familiar long-muzzled
face. He was so close, he could see white hairs sprinkled among the black,
marking the passage of time. A warm tongue flicked out to taste the salt tears
on his cheek.
Remus made a choked sound that was somewhere between a laugh and another sob.
He fell backwards from his crouch, his back and head resting against the tree
he had awoken under. The dog playfully licked his face.
"Aren't you going to say something?" he laughed.
The beast backed up and transformed into a stark naked Sirius, grinning
sheepishly.
Remus blinked. It was the nature of the Animagus spell that, when a person
transformed, he kept the clothes he had been wearing. If he had been wearing
any.
"I went for a dip in the lake while I was waiting for you," Sirius explained,
grinning wider. "Buried my clothes. Once I had them off, they really didn't
seem worth putting back on again."
"And here I thought it was the wolf going back to sleep that made you smell
better," Remus said with an answering smile.
"Well, I didn't get much of a wash," Sirius shrugged. "I mostly had to do it as
a dog, since it was starting to get light out, and the water's less cold that
way, so I just rinsed away the worst of it. I was hoping --" He stopped and
blushed.
"What?" asked Remus. Ask and it's yours, he wanted to say, but it was too soon
and he felt too shy.
"I went back to the Shack while you were sleeping. I thought maybe you might
still keep a spare set of robes there. I brought them for you." Sirius inclined
his head in the direction from which he had come, and Remus could see a rumpled
pile of clothing. "I found your wand in the grass while I was there. Brought
that too," he mumbled.
Remus narrowed his eyes. The wand would have been much closer to the castle
than the Whomping Willow. Sirius had taken a risk by venturing out in the open
like that.
"Thanks," he said.
Sirius blushed again. "So I was hoping that, maybe, if you knew a charm -- It's
just been so long since I've been clean that I've forgotten what it feels
like."
"All right," Remus said, laughing softly. "But you'll have to bring the wand to
me. I haven't the strength to make it all the way over there just yet."
He watched with quiet enjoyment as Sirius rose, walked away, and returned with
the clothing over his arm. He handed the wand to Remus.
When the cleaning charm had been performed, Sirius asked shyly, "Do you need
help getting dressed?"
"No," Remus replied. "Well, yes. But I'm not ready to get dressed just yet."
The June sunlight was beginning to warm the earth, the grass, and his aching
limbs. It felt good -- liberating -- to be lying here, naked in morning light.
Sirius flopped down beside him, leaning back against the broad trunk of the
tree.
"Merlin, it feels good to be clean!" he declared, stretching luxuriantly.
Remus enjoyed this performance out of the corner of his eye, but Sirius caught
him watching. Remus tried to smile, but he felt suddenly awkward, and he could
see that Sirius did as well.
"I'm sorry," said Sirius softly, looking down at himself. "I guess I'm not much
to look at anymore."
You're always beautiful to me, Remus wanted to say, but he felt too shy.
Instead, he reached out to lay his hand over Sirius's, squeezing gently. Sirius
looked up to meet his eyes again, and Remus held his gaze, trying to say with
his eyes what he could not with words just yet, and Sirius seemed to
understand. The ghost of a smile appeared on his lips as he returned the
squeeze.
"How've you been, Moony?" he asked.
Remus smiled ruefully. "Terrible. I've been a miserable, moody, unbearable
wreck of a man."
Sirius's gray eyes were sad. "I'm sorry, Moony."
"Don't be sorry, Padfoot," he said, giving the other man's hand another
squeeze. "That's all over now."
"How did you make it through?"
Remus shrugged. "I tried everything from alcohol to drugs to religion, looking
for everything from revenge to forgiveness to oblivion. There were days I
didn't think I'd make it through, and whole months that went by without my
noticing them."
"So --" Sirius gave him a tiny smile. "You missed me?
"Completely."
They gazed at one another for a moment, not speaking, before shyness
overwhelmed them again.
"Tell me --" Remus cleared his throat. "Tell me what happened last night. After
I --"
Sirius told him about Peter's disappearance and the Dementors and Harry's
Patronus, which he had not seen for himself.
"It's a stag," Remus said. "Harry's Patronus."
Sirius was still. "Prongs?" he said at last, the single word catching in his
throat.
Remus nodded. "Go on," he encouraged.
Sirius told him about the long, confession-filled talk with Dumbledore, the
argument between the headmaster, Snape, and the Minister for Magic over what
should be done with him, and finally the daring double rescue perpetrated by
Harry and Hermione.
Remus smiled. "They managed to save you and the Hippogriff as well? If those
two didn't get along so well, I would swear they were Lily and James
reincarnated."
"Clever, brave and reckless. Gryffindors through and through." Sirius sounded
proud.
"So where's the Hippogriff now?" asked Remus curiously.
"Oh, I chained him up back near Hagrid's hut. Seems he doesn't like the smell
of werewolf very much," he added apologetically.
"So -- er -- what happens now?" Remus asked. "I assume you're not going to make
me a cup of tea?" They both grinned.
"You and your Muggle tea," said Sirius, shaking his head.
"Remember how I used to get up in the morning while you were still asleep, and
make the tea?" Remus asked dreamily. "And then I would bring it to you with the
Daily Prophet, and we would drink it in bed. I wish I could do that now. I seem
to recall I got you hooked on Muggle tea as well. With just a touch of honey."
"You must be getting old, Moony," Sirius teased. "You forget that, on the
morning after the full moon, it's my job to make the tea. God, I could kill for
a spot of Earl Grey just now!"
The mutual remembrance felt good to Remus. They could not simply pick up where
they had left off, but they were not starting with nothing, either.
"So what does happen now?" Remus asked again.
Sirius looked uncomfortable. "I suppose I'm still on the run. Without Peter, I
haven't got a hope of clearing my name."
Unconsciously, Remus clutched at Sirius's hand, holding it tightly. No, he
thought. It's too soon. I can't lose you again!
Sirius seemed to read his thought, and looked up into his panicked brown eyes.
"It's all right, Moony; it's not forever. Peter's out there, and now that I'm
not the only one who knows it, he can be found again. For now, I'm content
knowing that my name is cleared as far as you and Harry are concerned."
Harry. It was easier to talk about Harry than about each other.
"He's a clever boy," Remus said. "Lily and James would have been proud."
"Tell me about him?" Sirius asked, resting his head against Remus's shoulder.
"What's he like? And his friends. Are they -- close?"
Remus knew what Sirius was asking. Both men had known hard times and
loneliness, and the thing that had saved them both from themselves had been the
miraculous bond of the Marauder friendship. Sirius would want the same for
Harry.
"Yes," Remus replied confidently. "Those three go everywhere together. I fear
the Muggles Harry grew up with -- Lily's family, you know -- were the really
awful sort. But now he's here, and he's safe, and he can build his own family,
like we did."
By now, all four of their hands were laced together, their feet intertwined.
"And the girl?" Sirius asked. "You said she's like Lily. You think she and
Harry will --"
"No," Remus grinned wolfishly. "Hermione's all for Ron. The pheromones the two
of them give off around one another! It's a wonder they can't smell them!"
Sirius laughed. "You and your wolf senses. You could set up a matchmaking
service. Or at least a 'knocking people on the head and pointing out the
obvious to them' service. It's a wonder you never guessed about me, back when -
-"
Remus was still grinning. "It's a wonder I never did. Well, what did I know
back then? Who isn't hopeless about things like that when he's young?"
"Who indeed?" Sirius smiled up into the branches of the tree overhead. "Well,
they're young yet. Plenty of time for them to figure it out."
Remus frowned then, looking at their intertwined hands. "Do you think Harry
will hate me, now that he knows what I am?"
"You forget, Moony," Sirius settled himself a little closer, so that their
knees touched, "Harry was raised in the Muggle world. He doesn't have werewolf
prejudice. No, he's more likely to think ill of us for what we are."
"You know, I don't think he will." Remus said thoughtfully. "It might take him
a while to get his head around the idea of his professor and his godfather
being, well --" He shrugged. "But like I said, he's a clever boy. And that
Hermione is sharp as a tack; she won't let her boys get away with having stupid
prejudices if she can talk them out of it."
Sirius sighed. "I hope you're right. We did convince Harry in under an hour
that I'm not actually a mass-murdering psychopath, to the point that he was
ready to come and live with me. Maybe we don't have anything to worry about.
Werewolf, poof, whatever. He'll love you. What's not to love?"
"Padfoot, I --" Remus faltered.
"What's wrong, Moony?"
It was no good holding back. The words tumbled out in a rush. "What if it's
been too long? What if we've left it too late? I mean, so much has happened. We
were twenty-one the last time we were together -- just kids. Can we really --?"
"Moony," Sirius said, quieting him. He turned so that he was kneeling beside
Remus, looking him squarely in the eye. "Do you remember the words we said?"
Remus knew the words he meant. They had said them the same day as Harry's
christening.
"'As long as the moon waxes and wanes,'" Sirius began. "'As long as the stars
shine in the heavens' --"
"'As long as I bear your mark on my body,'" Remus whispered, and reached out a
tentative finger to trace the scripted "R", stark against the pale skin of
Sirius's breast, "'I am yours.'"
"I had a little window in my cell," Sirius said softly, "and I used to sit at
night in the moonlight and remember those words. We're still bound, you and I.
I know you're scared. I am too. But we still have to try, don't we?"
Remus's throat felt dry, and he had to blink away moisture from his eyes, but
he nodded wordlessly.
"There's no rush," Sirius said, sitting down beside him again. "After all, we
have the rest of our lives."
"No rush," whispered Remus.
Sirius's arms were around him then, pulling him against his thin chest. Remus
closed his eyes and listened to the slow beat of his heart, at once familiar
and strange.
"You're right, Moony; I'm a changed man. For one thing, I've finally learned
some patience."
Remus could feel the laugh in his chest that did not quite escape his throat.
The old Sirius had never known patience. He wanted what he wanted now, and if
he could not have it, he was moody and petulant until he got it.
"For twelve years, I had nothing to do but think," he continued. "And most of
the time, I thought about you. James and Lily were dead, and that was terrible.
Peter was a traitor and I wanted to kill him for it. But that wasn't the worst
of it' the worst of it was knowing that you were out there, thinking I had been
the one -- that you hated me --."
Remus wrapped an arm around Sirius. "I never hated you, Padfoot. Not truly. I
thought I should, and I felt guilty that I didn't. I could never make any sense
of it, though. My heart was broken and my soul was torn out of me and I never
understood why. The pieces didn't add up. It was never hatred or anger I felt;
it was confusion -- confusion that you could have done such a thing -- that I
couldn't stop loving you."
Sirius was silent at that, but no verbal acknowledgment was required. Instead,
Remus felt a hand against the back of his head, stroking his hair.
"Maybe it's wrong that I can hate Peter and want him dead for what he did,"
Remus murmured, "but I was never able to hate you."
"I guess that's one less thing to hold Peter accountable for," Sirius said at
last. "Looks like there's one thing he didn't manage to destroy. Though not for
lack of trying."
Remus nodded, eyes closed. "It was bloody irresponsible of me to go off like
that last night," he said. "Without taking Snape's blasted potion. But damn it,
Sirius," he raised his head to look into those gray eyes again. "I had to see
you -- had to know the truth of it from your own lips."
"I wanted to leave you a letter, explaining it all," Sirius confessed. "I
wanted to find some way to tell you, without the risk of you turning me in. I'm
sorry," he added, "but I wasn't sure you wouldn't."
"That's all right, Padfoot," Remus sighed him, once again laying his head
against Sirius's chest. "I didn't know what I would do, either. Why didn't you
write the letter, though?"
"I could never find the time to get all of it down," Sirius replied. "I tried,
but I'd spent so much time as a dog that my hands were weak and writing was
awkward. They cramped up. It was so hard to find the words, too. I guess my
brain was getting doggy, too," he said sheepishly. "I didn't seem to be any
good at thinking in complete sentences anymore."
"But surely you could have found a way --"
"I tried," Sirius said. "At Christmas, when I gave Harry the broom, I left you
that lock of my hair. I wanted to prove I trusted you, and that you could trust
me."
"I kept trying to come up with explanations," Remus confessed. "I couldn't make
any of it make sense. I was worried that you were trying to appeal to me
because I was the only one gullible enough to believe you, but that didn't seem
to fit, either."
"I had hoped --" Sirius began tentatively. "I thought maybe, with the hair, you
could do some sort of spell. You know; to show whether the person it came from
was trustworthy."
"I'm sorry," Remus whispered again. "I should have thought of that. And I
should never have doubted you. And I bloody well should have gone to see you
after --" He found he could not say "Azkaban". "-- after you went away. I
should have at least heard your side of things. But I was such a coward.
Dumbledore wanted me to go to you; he thought you might confess something to
me."
Sirius was silent for a moment. "There were times I thought about confessing,"
he said slowly. "When they asked me about you. Because if I said I'd done it,
and it was all my fault, then I could say it wasn't yours -- that you had no
part in it."
"Ever-faithful Padfoot. How could I have doubted you?"
"It's not your fault, Moony." Sirius's hand traced down his spine, making him
shiver pleasantly. "Peter's not stupid. He planned it well, and he broke us
both. I used to hope, after a while, that you'd been able to get on with your
life. I tried to get word, whenever someone visited -- that place. But either
they wouldn't talk to me, or they just gave me a blank look. I didn't even know
if you were alive."
Remus shrugged. "I didn't know if I was alive. I was numb for so long."
"I kept hoping to find some sign, or hear word of you after I broke out, but
there was nothing," Sirius continued. "I had to get to Hogwarts and protect
Harry, so I couldn't spend a lot of time looking. On the way up, I kept
promising myself that as soon as I took care of Peter, I'd come and find you."
He wriggled down into a more comfortable position, pulling Remus close beside
him until their hips and knees touched and their feet tangled together again.
"But as soon as I came into the castle that first time, I could smell you. I
thought at first it was a ghost scent -- my wishful thinking and you having
been there so long ago -- but it was too strong, and I knew you were there
somewhere, and I had to see you."
Remus remembered waking in his room on Halloween morning, black dog hairs
clinging to the bedspread, and how it had affected him.
"I'm glad you came that night," he whispered. "And Christmas, too. I've been so
lonely, Padfoot --" his voice broke and a tear slid down his cheek.
Suddenly, warm lips were there, kissing it away. Remus drew back in surprise
and stared into Sirius's questioning eyes.
I could kiss him right now, he thought. I want to. But if we start down that
road -- there's no time.
Reluctantly, he laid his head against Sirius's chest again, and listened to the
now-rapid beat.
After a moment's silence, Remus spoke, trying to find a way to answer the
question he had seen in Sirius's eyes. "You said you'd hoped I had got on with
my life. I didn't." He struggled to find the words. "I've been alone a long
time."
He felt rather than heard Sirius's sigh of relief.
"There was a time when I thought I ought to try and find someone," he
continued. "Just someone to be with for a while, to not be alone. I thought it
might help me -- get over you." The words sounded like a confession.
"But?" Sirius asked softly.
"But in the end, I realised that I didn't want to get over you," he said. "I
didn't want to wipe you from my memory. I wanted to be able to remember the
good things, and bringing someone else to my bed felt like a desecration. It
didn't seem right."
"I'm sorry," Sirius murmured into his hair. "I'm sorry you were alone for so
long. That's another thing Peter will pay for, when the time comes. But I'm
glad," he added. "I'm glad that, even after everything, I never really lost
you. I guess I'm just selfish that way." There was a smile in his voice.
"I love you, Sirius," Remus replied simply. "Sorry, glad, selfish, absent; I'm
always yours."
"Soppy git," said Sirius affectionately. "Blubbing like a girl all down my
front."
Remus choked back a laugh, sniffed, and wiped his eyes. "That obvious, eh?
Well, I believe I have good cause. You're here and you're innocent. I am very
much inclined to believe that all is right with the world."
"Well, I don't know about 'innocent'," said Sirius, a wicked, teasing edge to
his voice. "I prefer to think of myself as 'not guilty'."
"Just like you to go and spoil the moment with unsubtle innuendo," Remus
chided.
"Give me a chance, Moony; I'm rusty. I'm sure before long I'll remember exactly
what sort of things I used to say to get in your pants -- er -- when you were
wearing them, that is."
Remus pulled away slightly at that. "Padfoot, it's not that I don't -- I mean -
- I still -- " He blushed and took a deep breath before starting again. "It's
too soon, Sirius."
"I know." Sirius gave him a squeeze. "You're right. You're always right about
these things. But you would?"
"Drop it, Sirius," Remus warned with a playful punch in the shoulder.
"Well, I suppose I can survive a little more deprivation." He sighed
melodramatically.
"I wonder what time it is?" Remus said at last, reluctantly.
"Well," Sirius began, "it's June, and we're well north, and it was about
sunrise when I had my swim, so now it would be -- sometime after that. Sorry,
Moony, I guess I've lost all track of the time."
"Maybe --" Remus said, then stopped.
"I know," Sirius said heavily. "I should go. You need to get back to the castle
before awkward questions start being asked and someone comes looking for you.
And Buckbeak and I need to be away from here sooner rather than later."
"Where will you go?" asked Remus.
"I don't know. I'll have to leave the country, I expect. Get far enough away
from here that I won't be recognised. Being cleaned up a bit will help with
that." He gazed thoughtfully into a spot of sunlight. "I'd like to go someplace
warm, I think. Spending twelve years in a cold, damp cell on a rock in the
North Sea has given me a longing for sun and sand and drinks with little
umbrellas in them."
"I wish you didn't have to go again so soon," Remus said. "I'm not ready to
lose you."
"Lose me?" Sirius sounded genuinely surprised. "Aren't you coming with me?"
"Well -- I -- that is -- I hadn't thought --"
"Not right away, of course," Sirius mused. "That would look suspicious. But the
school year is over. What were you planning to do this summer?"
What indeed? thought Remus. Go back to my lonely, dingy little flat?
He was amazed by how far removed from that life he had become in the past
twelve hours. A smile blossomed on his face.
"I suppose you're right. I could just fancy a holiday, and I have a year's
salary coming to me in a bit."
Sirius gave him another squeeze, and kissed the top of his head. "Then that's
settled," he declared. "I won't tell you where I'm going, in case they ask you.
I'm sure you'll be able to find me."
"No doubt I will." Remus sat up and pulled Sirius into a warm embrace.
When he drew back, he saw a searching look in Sirius's eyes. Again, the thought
of kissing him entered Remus's mind.
Should I? he wondered. No. Not with both of us -- like this; it would just lead
to -- it's too soon.
He blushed and pulled away, making a bigger production than necessary of
getting to his feet to hide fairly obvious fact that they were beginning to
have similar thoughts. He picked up his clothes and shook them out, handing
Sirius the outer robes.
"Here, you can wear this," he said awkwardly.
He hastily pulled on the shirt and trousers as Sirius swirled the robes about
his shoulders. Once they were decent, he felt able to meet Sirius's eyes again.
Remus raised his eyebrows. "Shall we?"
Arm in arm, they walked through the forest toward Hagrid's hut. Along the way,
they pointed out to one another spots of special significance, where the
escapades of yesteryear had taken place.
At last, Remus caught sight of Buckbeak through the trees. "I'd better stop
here if he doesn't like me."
Sirius nodded. "So I guess this is goodbye. For now." He looked suddenly
helpless and uncertain.
"Better than last time." Remus attempted a smile. "There wasn't time for
goodbye then."
Sirius looked as if he was going to say something, but Remus turned back to
Buckbeak.
"I think I can spell him not to be seen, at least temporarily. I'll just
strengthen the spell that makes it so Muggles can't see him. It should last
until tonight at least. But what to do about you?" He looked at Sirius
consideringly. "I can't make you invisible, and you'll look a bit odd just
flying through the air on your own." He tapped his mouth with his wand. "Ah, I
have it!"
He looked around until he found a straight branch of a good thickness, about
five feet in length. "From far enough away, this should look like a broom. Just
keep a good grip on it."
Sirius took it from him, still looking uncertain. He did not say anything as
Remus augmented the spell on Buckbeak, making it so that only he and Remus
could see the Hippogriff, and that only because they already knew he was there.
At last, Remus turned to him. "Here," he said, pressing his wand into Sirius's
hand. "You'll need it more than I will, and I can get another one without too
much trouble."
Sirius opened his mouth, but at first no sound emerged. "Thank you," he managed
at last. "Moony, this --" a tear spilled down his cheek.
"Go," Remus urged him gently.
He nodded, turning toward Buckbeak. He had taken only a couple of steps before
he turned back.
"Aren't you going to kiss me goodbye?" he asked.
In a heartbeat, Remus had closed the distance between them. He cupped Sirius's
face in his hands and tilted his chin up. Their eyes met as they hesitated,
both of them realising how long it had been since they had done this, and then
Remus pressed his mouth against Sirius's.
After a moment of complete stillness, Sirius's tongue flicked against Remus's
lips, and with that tiny motion, the floodgates which had held his passion in
check for a dozen years were opened. He moaned against Sirius's mouth, tasting
him, and Sirius responded hungrily, pressing against him. Sirius. Warm, alive,
innocent, present.
At last, Remus reluctantly broke the kiss.
"Well," said Sirius breathlessly, "I guess that's one less thing we have to
worry about."
"God, I wish I could keep you here," Remus growled. "Term technically lasts
another week, but I suppose it will look just as dodgy for me to be nipping off
to the forest all the time as it would if I left early." He sighed.
"A week," Sirius promised. "Maybe two. Then you'll find me, and it will be all
bright sunlight, sandy beaches, and drinks with little umbrellas in. We'll get
Muggle jobs. You can be a bartender, and I'll be a sexy cabana boy." He
grinned.
"Soon," Remus promised. "I'll find you." He let go of Sirius and stepped back.
Sirius smiled and turned once more toward Buckbeak. He bowed to the Hippogriff,
who was still eyeing Remus suspiciously, but returned the bow after a moment.
Sirius approached and patted the beast's shoulder before swinging a leg over.
He waved.
"Until we meet again, Moony!" he called, and then they were rising into the air
and out of sight beyond the treetops.
Remus walked back to the castle, whistling. It was shaping up to be a beautiful
day.
***** Epilogue *****
Two things quickly became apparent to him upon reentering the castle. The first
was that it was later than he had thought, since he had clearly missed
breakfast. Students were pouring out of the Great Hall. The second was that
Something had Happened. As soon as the students caught sight of him, they drew
up short, and began whispering to one another. Some of them hurried away,
ducking into side corridors and shooting nervous glances over their shoulders.
Remus sighed inwardly. Severus's work, no doubt. Even though his wolf senses
had receded in the wake of the full moon, he did not need to overhear their
whispers to guess what the commotion was about. With a martyred expression, he
made his way through the sea of students, who fell back to leave a clear path
for him.
He had just turned down the corridor to his rooms when he caught sight of
Professor Dumbledore.
"Remus, dear lad!" the headmaster beamed. "Good morning! I was just beginning
to worry. I'll have Severus call off the search party, shall I?" he chortled.
Remus returned the smile tiredly. He was about to ask Dumbledore if he might
have a private word, but with a quick glance around, him realised that the
corridor was suddenly and mysteriously empty of students.
"Headmaster," he said, "I couldn't -- er -- help but notice --"
"That the students are not precisely welcoming the returning hero of last
night's adventure with open arms? Yes, well -- It seems Severus -- er -
- 'accidentally' let something slip this morning over breakfast about the
nature of your condition." Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "Dear, dear. Very
upset, he was. Fudge was all set to declare him the hero of the piece and award
him the Order of Merlin. But then Black escaped." Dumbledore gave him a shrewd
look. "I wouldn't suppose you'd know anything about that, would you?" he asked.
"No, no. Nothing. Of course not," Remus assured him quickly, glancing around.
"Indeed." Dumbledore nodded and clicked his tongue. "So very careless. I can't
imagine how he managed it. Without help, that is."
"Yes, of course," Remus suppressed a smile. "Most puzzling, Professor."
Dumbledore continued to nod, looking Remus up and down a moment longer. At last
he said, "You look tired, dear boy. Have you considered taking a holiday?"
Dumbledore's perceptiveness never ceased to amaze Remus. He could only be glad
that such a man was on his side.
"I had -- thought about it, Professor," he said guardedly.
"I imagine this has been a very trying year for you, Remus." Dumbledore patted
his shoulder sympathetically. "And what with Severus's careless little blunder,
well, perhaps it would be best if you, ah, left at once?" he raised white
eyebrows over half-moon spectacles.
Remus grinned outright at that, but quickly wiped away the expression when he
saw Hagrid rounding the corner.
"Yes, yes of course, Headmaster," he said in a raised voice, nodding
emphatically. "In fact, I think I really should resign at once. After all, I
can't risk an -- incident of this kind happening again."
"No, indeed not." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "But you really have done a
wonderful job with the students this year, Professor. I am very pleased with
their progress. In fact, I mean to see if I can't arrange some sort of bonus
for you. No, no, dear boy!" he continued as Remus opened his mouth to protest.
"I insist! You've earned it."
"Thank you, Headmaster," he murmured. "I'll just be -- er -- in my office.
Packing, you know. No need to delay."
Dumbledore nodded. "I shall summon a carriage for you at once. I'll let you
know when it arrives."
Dumbledore turned to Hagrid, who had been rocking back and forth on his feet
some distance away from them.
"Is there something I can do for you, Rubeus?" Dumbledore asked as Remus turned
to go.
"Actually, Professor Dumbledore, Sir, I was jus' wonderin' if -- ah, that is, I
jus' wanted to ask Professor Lupin if he might have -- eaten anythin' las'
night?" His ears turned pink. "On'y, yeh know, Beaky got away, an' I was
worried --"
"No, Hagrid," Remus gave him a reassuring smile. "I didn't eat anything last
night. In fact, I was quite sorry to have missed breakfast."
Hagrid puffed out his cheeks in an enormous sigh of relief. "I'm glad ter know
that, Sir. An' I was sorry to hear that Sirius Black escaped. I jus' know yeh
would've caught 'im if it hadn' been the full moon."
"Indeed, Hagrid," he wrestled down another smile. "Such a shame. Well, who
knows? Perhaps I shall have another chance to catch him one day?"
Dumbledore gave a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "Perhaps," he
said. "But now, lads, I have things to do, and I know you'll be wanting to be
on your way soon, Professor." He nodded cordially to Remus and headed down the
corridor.
"Good day, Headmaster. Good day, Hagrid," Remus nodded and continued toward his
office.
===============================================================================
He packed relatively quickly, but without his wand, it was still slow going. It
took him nearly three hours to pack up his rooms and office. He hoped he would
have enough time to say goodbye to Harry, but he knew that the three teenagers
had spent the night in the hospital wing, and he thought maybe it would be
prudent to pack before risking the wrath of Madam Pomfrey, so that at least he
could make a quick getaway.
The Marauder's Map lay open on his desk.
Just as foolish for Snape to leave it lying about as for me, he thought,
shaking his head. I really should have brought it with me last night.
He peered closely at the parchment, watching the little labeled dots move
about. Snape had not known how to shut the thing off, and he no longer had his
wand, so he merely looked at it.
There were very few student dots in the castle. It was a warm June day, and
many of them had gone into Hogsmeade. Of the ones who had stayed behind, most
of them were out enjoying the sunshine. He saw the dots labeled "Ron Weasley"
and "Hermione Granger" side by side next to the lake, but could not find Harry
anywhere near them.
At last, he located the "Harry Potter" dot moving swiftly through the corridors
of the castle toward his own office. A moment later, he heard running footsteps
in the corridor outside, and then a pause followed by a tentative knock, though
the door was ajar.
Remus looked up at Harry. "I saw you coming." He smiled and pointed at the map.
"I just saw Hagrid," Harry burst out without preamble. He was slightly out of
breath. "And he said you'd resigned. It's not true, is it?"
"I'm afraid it is," Remus said, quickly turning back to his task to cover the
sudden tight feeling in his chest.
He had not thought how hard it would be to leave Harry. He's safe, he reminded
himself. Peter won't come near him now, and Dumbledore's watching out for him.
He doesn't need me.
It was hard for Remus to remember that, while he considered Harry family, Harry
only saw him as a teacher, or perhaps now as an old family friend from the
remote past.
"Why?" Harry was asking desperately. "The Ministry of Magic don't think you
were helping Sirius, do they?"
Remus quickly went to close the door. While it was all right for Harry to go
about protesting Sirius's innocence, it would only be that much worse in the
eyes of the world for Remus to be not only a werewolf, but the friend of a
convicted murderer.
"No," he said once the door was closed. "Professor Dumbledore managed to
convince Fudge that I was trying to save your lives." He sighed. "That was the
final straw for Severus. I think the loss of the Order of Merlin hit him hard.
So he -- er -- accidentally let slip that I am a werewolf this morning at
breakfast."
"You're not leaving just because of that!" Harry cried.
Remus smiled and shook his head. Life is so simple for the very young. The good
guys always triumph over the bad, despite adversity. They don't really
understand things like prejudice. But he's right; that's not the only reason
I'm leaving.
"This time tomorrow, the owls will start arriving from parents," he told the
boy gently. "They will not want a werewolf teaching their children, Harry. And
after last night, I see their point. I could have bitten any of you -- that
must never happen again."
It was a convenient excuse, but a chill ran down his spine at the thought.
"You're the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had!" Harry
said plaintively. "Don't go!"
Remus pressed his lips together and shook his head, trying hard to focus on the
task of emptying his desk to dispel the moisture from his eyes.
Harry, he wanted to say, you are the son of my two dear friends, and if not for
Peter, you might have been my son, and Sirius's. But he could not.
It's not forever, he told himself. I'll go and find Sirius, and we'll get this
whole business sorted out. Peter will be found. Sirius's name will be cleared.
Harry will come to us.
He believed it simply because so many terrible things had already happened.
Surely it was time for something to turn out right for the three of them.
At last, he managed to force back the tight feeling in his throat far enough to
break the silence.
"From what the headmaster told me this morning, you saved a lot of lives last
night, Harry. If I'm proud of anything, it's how much you've learned."
If there's one thing Harry needs, it's for people to be proud of him.
He cleared his throat. "Tell me about your Patronus."
He realised it was a slip as soon as he had said it. It was Sirius who had
mentioned the Patronus, and Sirius was meant to have been over the hills and
far away by the time Remus came around this morning.
Harry gave him a sharp look. "How d'you know about that?" he asked.
Remus recovered quickly. "What else could have driven the Dementors back?"
Harry's explanation of events was unexpected, to say the least. Sirius never
mentioned time travel! But then, maybe he didn't know. I'll have to tell him
that bit later. It seemed that not only had Harry saved Sirius twice over, and
the Hippogriff as well, but he had also driven back a hundred or more
Dementors, thereby saving his own life, in addition to Ron's, Hermione's, and
Snape's.
He heard the catch in the boy's voice as he spoke of his Patronus, and his
sudden realisation about the source of his father's nickname from his school
days. Remus was gratified to see Harry so moved by the presence of the stag.
He's growing up, he thought. He's starting to realise that these things mean
something.
"Yes," he said. "Your father was always a stag when he transformed. You guessed
right -- that's why we called him Prongs."
He removed the last few books from his desk and added them to his case before
turning back to Harry.
"Here," he said, handing Harry the Invisibility Cloak. "I brought this from the
Shrieking Shack last night."
He had actually stopped to pick it up that morning. It had been spotted with
dew from lying in the grass all night where it had fallen when Remus
transformed. He had also recovered the tiny wooden dog and the lock of hair
from the pocket of his ruined robes.
"And --" he paused, as if unsure how to say what he wanted to say. At last, he
merely held out the Marauder's Map to Harry. "I am no longer your teacher," he
said with a smile, "so I don't feel guilty about giving you this back as well."
He caressed the aged parchment gently before handing it over. "It's no use to
me, and I daresay you, Ron and Hermione will find uses for it."
Harry grinned down at the map with undisguised delight. "You told me Moony,
Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs would have wanted to lure me out of school --" he
said with a slightly puzzled look. "You said they'd have thought it was funny."
"And so we would have done," said Remus, closing his case. "I have no
hesitation in saying that James would have been highly disappointed if his son
had never found any of the secret passages out of the castle."
A knock came at the door, and Harry shoved the map and cloak inside his robes,
but it was only Dumbledore.
He smiled at Harry before saying, "Your carriage is at the gates, Remus."
"Thank you, Headmaster," he said, glancing once more at the boy who was still
staring guiltily at the aging professor. He picked up his suitcase and
Grindylow tank.
"Well -- goodbye, Harry." He smiled affectionately at the boy. "It has been a
real pleasure teaching you," he added sincerely. "I feel sure we'll meet again
sometime." He transferred his gaze to a very amused Professor Dumbledore.
"Headmaster, there is no need to see me to the gates; I can manage --"
"Goodbye, then, Remus," Dumbledore said as he adjusted his luggage so that he
could shake hands with the man who had shielded not only himself from the
Ministry, but Sirius as well.
We are fortunate to have such a friend, he thought gratefully.
With a last smile and nod to Harry, he was away, hurrying through the school.
As he emerged into the mid-afternoon sunlight, he felt light as the air. The
whole world seemed brighter and more colourful than it had the previous day.
As Remus pulled the carriage door closed behind him, he heaved a sigh of
contentment. Sirius was out there somewhere, waiting for him. And with him,
waited a whole new life, shining with possibilities.

                                  ~ THE END ~
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