The entire year had felt weird. It was all Remus had ever wanted; a chance to teach at Hogwarts. An honest hand at teaching, where his work would speak for him. Define his identity.
It should have been a dream come true. And it was.
Except… there was this feeling.
It gnawed away at his more intelligent pastimes, fraying his concentration around the edges. It struck him repeatedly at the oddest of times, drawing him from pleasure to perplexity.
It told him he was missing something. It told him he didn't understand what was going on— not fully. And it told him he should understand.
That all the pieces were right there—.
If there was one thing Remus couldn't stand, it was not knowing. Curiosity and keen observation had made up much of his personality, and certainly if there was such an elusive thing flitting about he had to track it down.
At first he attributed his scattered thinking to the Boggart lessons. The ward used there prevented him from clear recall, and could easily be hiding a world of secrets. The piece he was missing would, in all likelihood, be found there.
But he couldn't pry further without dishonoring his words to his students, and that never was a path Remus would be willing to take.
Besides, something told him that wasn't it.
So back to square one it was.
When Archie came to visit him in the Defense Classroom, reeking of sweat in the way he had been all year, the feeling heightened. He asked about the Wolfsbane, the Fade, the Weasley family, but nothing seemed too out of the ordinary.
So why was Remus’ heart racing in anticipation? As though this would be the moment everything came together. That all the pieces were right here, in this very classroom.
And then Peter rushed in, glassy-eyed and frantic, upset and afraid, so painfully familiar to Remus even after all these years. He didn't want to look at him, didn't want to think of him.
And before he could pry into his reasons, Peter seemed to coil into himself and bolted off once more.
Remus told himself it was for the best.
He wasn't even able to get to the bottom of his own unease, what would he do about an ex-friend's?
Archie left, but the strange atmosphere lingered. A whirlwind raged through his head. Why was this happening? What were his senses trying to tell him? He was normally so in tune with them, so why was this so difficult?
Months passed, and he had to put it aside for his own sanity. Not knowing what was perturbing his subconscious was killing him, and it was better to not think at all.
Until one night, an Auror, of all things, knocked at his door and told him Archie was in the hospital wing. Injured, or malnourished, or recently freed from an unhinged kidnapping— the account wasn't all too clear.
But his next step was.
He donned a light robe and rushed full speed to the hospital wing, hiding the subtle tremor in his hands when he saw James present. The Head Auror? The imagined scenarios in his head just grew worse and worse.
His senses went into overdrive, and he cataloged everything in the room. He could smell Sirius, hear him murmuring sweet nothings to someone— probably Archie, even before James told him he was there. He dismissed the distinctive scent of James, Snape, Poppy, Dumbledore, and located each Auror present, until another familiar scent caught his attention.
He froze, took a deep breath.
And ran, almost instinctively, towards his beloved niece.
His hand pried the curtain apart—
Oh Harry, how could I have let you down like this?
Gently reached out to her—
All the pieces had been right there. How could I?
—and stroked her hair, refusing to meet Sirius' anxious eyes with his own.
I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.
She stirred, told her semi-altered story to the Aurors. He said nothing.
She asked him to stay by her side that night, and he did. He said nothing.
She woke up and smiled her brave smile. He said nothing, just pulled her close.
He never intended to let go again.