the stretch of my skin
June 29th, 1976
Severus Snape dies on a Thursday.
It’s a sunny day, one of the last of their school year, and even though Remus usually struggles the days coming up to the full moon, he’s felt lighter these past ones. He is pretty sure he did good on his divination exam and James has spooked away a couple of fırst-graders from the best spot at the lake by telling tales about the kraken, so they have it all for themselves.
"I flunked potions", Peter moans. "My Draught of Peace had all these dark blue spots, it looked moldy."
Sirius snorts, looking up from where is lying on the grass. "Yeah, I saw that one. More like draught of terror."
James shoots him a lazy side glance. "Don’t make him feel worse, Pads, would you? I would like to enjoy these beautiful moments of exam-free bliss without any talk of them, thank you very much."
Remus thinks that James is probably the only person Sirius wouldn’t pick an argument with on the principle of it. He watches him shrug and stretch his arms behind his head. The movement makes his shirt ride up, exposing a sliver of his pale stomach and just a hint of the lion tattoo that Remus knows he got over spring break. Usually it sits on his hip bone, but today it seems to have decided to move up onto his stomach, its tail lazily flicking around.
Remus looks away. It’s suddenly gotten hot in his sweater, not the most practical choice in the June heat, but still the best one if he doesn’t want all of Hogwarts population to take a look at the scars decorating his arms. Maybe he should cover them in tattoos too, he thinks. When he turns his head back Sirius is already looking at him, eyebrows slightly furrowed. Remus gives him a slightly questioning look and Sirius shakes his head and looks away. There is an uncomfortable knot in Remus stomach, one that makes his mouth feel weirdly acidic and dry.
"You guys reckon Cynthia has forgiven me yet?", Sirius wonders out loud.
James laughs. "You threw up on her on her own birthday, Pads. You’ll need a grand romantic gesture if you ever want to make up for that."
Sirius has that annoyed look in his eyes, the one he always gets when things don’t go particularly his way. "I brought her a whole bunch of roses and she told me to go to hell."
"She’s allergic to roses", Peter pipes in, not looking up from the textbook he’s been studying.
"How in Merlins name am I supposed to know that?", Sirius protests.
Remus scratches his forearm. His scars get itchy this close to the full moon. "She mentioned it a bunch when you started seeing her."
Sirius gives him the stinky eye. "You’re supposed to be on my side here, Moony. In fact, all of you are."
James snorts. "Not when you’re trying to kill the girl. Why don’t you just break up with her already?"
Sirius groans. "She would get so annoying about it. And I would have to see her all the time in the common room."
"At least we wouldn’t have to see you try to snog her face off anymore. I might finally sleep without nightmares", Remus says dryly.
James laughs loudly and Sirius shoves Remus. He lets himself fall to the ground and grins lightly. He likes Cynthia, he really does. She is in the year below them and a bit of a chatterbox, but she’s good friends with Mary and Remus always enjoyed her energy. But ever since Sirius and her started dating, she’s been getting on his nerves a bit. ‘Have you seen Sirius’ this, and ‘oh look what he got me, so sweet right’ that. On her birthday party over the weekend it started annoying him so much that he got drunker than he usually liked to and only remembers crawling up the stairs, falling asleep next to his actual bed. James ushered him into it when he came to the dorm, suppressing his laughter while telling the story of how Sirius threw up all over Cynthia while giving a toast.
"Alright, enough of this. Who’s racing me to the water?", James calls out, already halfway out of his shirt and he doesn’t have to wait long for Sirius to start stripping out of his and come running after him, tackling him which results in both of them toppling over into the lake.
Somewhere near them he can hear Mary MacDonald laugh and call out for Sirius. He lies back down in the grass, his muscles aching and eyes hurting from the sun like they usually do this close to the moon. His body knows what is coming. James is probably right, he thinks. He should enjoy these few blissful moments while he can.
June 30th, 1976
Remus wakes up with the terrifying, gnawing feeling that something went horribly wrong. He takes longer to come to than usually, but when he does he can feel all his senses on alert. It is scary how much he can feel the wolf inside of him, even during the day, when there is a full moon. It’s like all his senses have heightened, burning away at him, trying to escape the small human body they are trapped in. He has learned to control it better, but the first minutes of coming back to himself are always hard.
The fırst thing he notices are his hands. They’re shackled to the bed he is lying in and immediately panic rises up in him. The pain is next. He tries to move and it shoots through him so intensely that his breath catches in his throat for a moment.
"Don’t move to much, my dear. I have done my best, but you have broken several ribs. You need to rest."
Remus blinks up as Madam Pomfrey moves into his sight. Usually her presence calms him down, but right now his heart is hammering to fast in his chest to even properly acknowledge her. His eyes hurt, still adjusting to the lights of the hospital wing.
"What happened", he manages to say, his voice coming out broken and raspy. "What…"
He looks down at his hand. Thick, metallic shackles are bound around his wrists and he winces when he sees the state of them. There are bruises all over his hands and arms. He hasn’t hurt himself this bad in a while. He used to, back when he first started transitioning and then again when puberty started and not only his body changed, but also the wolf started growing and getting more aggressive. That was, until the last summer when his friends figured out how to join him and the full moons started becoming something at least bearable. His friends - where were they? Usually when he woke up from his full moons James, Sirius and Peter were always right by his bedside. Madam Pomfrey used to protest, but recently she had started leaving extra pillows on chairs and turning a blind eye. But he looked around and couldn’t see anyone - until his eyes fell on figure a few beds over. Limp and with his face turned away, but undoubtedly-
"James!" Despite the shackles he moves up as much as he can manage, frantically searching for a sign of James chest lifting, his head turning, anything.
"He’s alright, Remus", Madam Pomfrey says gently, "nothing I can’t fıx."
There is something strange in her voice, like some sort of deep sorrow and he fınally takes a proper look at her. His hands are trembling. "Madam Pomfrey, please. What happened?"
The door to the hospital wing flies open. Several people march in. Dumbledore is at the front, seemingly arguing with the rest. They are wearing dark, official-looking robes and grim faces. The one next to Dumbledore seems vaguely familiar, but Remus can’t place it.
"Albus, please", Madam Pomfrey hisses, "the boy needs rest."
"I am sorry Poppy. I do agree with you, but we need to ask Remus a few questions. This takes precedence."
Dumbledores voice sounds grave and Remus realises that he has never seen him look this serious. He feels a chill run through his body. His eyes drift over the men in the robes and get stuck on the guy who was talking to Dumbledore earlier. The guy is looking at him too, blue eyes piercing into his and suddenly Remus remembers where he knows him from. When he was bit, they send a guy from the Ministry to talk with his parents about what was going to happen to him. They had a long talk that he wasn’t allowed to join, but before he had left the guy had looked at Remus the same way he is right now.
"Professor", Remus calls out. His ribs are aching. "Please, tell me what happened. Is James alright?"
Dumbledore turns his eyes to Remus. Remus doesn’t want to look at him, not when Dumbledore looks so clearly struck by something, something that Remus must have done. He wants to hide away into his pillow, pretend he can’t see anyone and they can’t see him. But he is not five anymore so he braces himself and meets his eyes.
"Your friend will be alright. Remus, I am going to need you to tell me everything you can remember from last night."
September 30th, 1980
Remus wishes he could say he is surprised when Dumbledore comes to their door. He hasn’t rang the doorbell, doesn’t need to. Remus has already seen him coming from his window on the second floor, facing the fields in front of them. He’s been sitting here for a few hours now, burning cigarette after cigarette. He has long learned how to conceal the smell from his mother, who would wrinkle her nose in disappointment as smoking was his biggest flaw. He has also learnt that on the nights where sleep doesn’t come easy its his only consolation.
He knows that Dumbledore has seen him too. The old man stops a few metres in front of the house, looking up at his window. Even from down there Remus can feel his icy blue eyes on him. He gets up, closes the window and makes his way downstairs. His bones ache, partly because of how he’d been sitting and partly because of last week’s transformation that had been a particular brutal one.
He makes his way downstairs, stepping over the creeky stairs and putting on the kettle as he passes through the kitchen.
When he opens the door, Dumbledore is right in front of it. For a second, Remus takes in his sight. He wouldn’t have thought Dumbledore could look older than he already did four years ago, but there was a graveness in his face that added years to it. The fancy robes he used to wear were gone, exchanged for simple, inconspicuous travel robes. His beard was shorter and thinner along with his hair. His cheeks were sunken in and he stood slightly hunched over. A strong pang of guilt overcomes him and he blinks as if to shake it away. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.
"Remus", Dumbledore says in that same ever-calm cadence. "I’m very sorry about disturbing you at this hour, my boy. May I come in?"
Remus steps away from the door, the words stuck in his throat and Dumbledore follows him in.
"Tea, professor?", he manages. He speaks quietly, not wanting to wake his mother.
"Tea would be wonderful, Remus.", Dumbledore replies. "And I haven’t been a professor for a while now, but thats kind of you."
Remus cringes and wants to disappear on the spot. He picks at his ratty pyjamas, wishing he’d had the time to pick out something proper to wear. He puts the kettle on, the noise of water boiling a welcome distraction, and grabs two cups out of the cabinet. His eyes fall onto one yesterdays Daily Prophet, lying next to the stove. Front and centre on the fırst page is the face of the man standing in his kitchen currently. Above it in thick black letters it says: DUMBLEDORE OUT OF AZKABAN - WORKING FOR THE MINISTRY?
Remus got as far as the first paragraph when he felt a bout of nausea overcome him and he had to stop reading. He hasn’t picked the paper up since, but its been burned into his brain regardless. Four years ago, following the tragic murder of a young school boy by a werewolf tolerated on the grounds of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore took the fall and got sentenced to four years in Azkaban after a riveting trial. The former headmaster has been out of Azkaban for a few months and has been seen in talks with Minister of Magic, Eugenia Jenkins…
He puts down the cups of tea with more force than needed. Dumbledore doesn’t react. "You must be wondering why I am here, Remus."
Remus fiddles with his sleeve, sitting down across the old man. "Not to gossip, I assume?"
"I see you haven’t lost your sense of humour." Dumbledore smiles. "But no, unfortunately I am not here to share any gossip, as delightful as that would be. I am sure you could catch me up on a lot."
Not really, Remus thinks. Sitting at home for four years with no work, no friends and no prospects for a future doesn’t qualify him as a great gossiper. But his mind takes him elsewhere - why is Dumbledore here? Has he finally realised how unjust it was what happened to him and he is here to take out his revenge on Remus? Yell at him, curse him, threaten him?
"I am not here about the past, Remus", Dumbledore says, as if he read his mind. He might have. "I am here to talk to you about what is happening right now. I am sure the events of the last years haven’t gone past you?"
Remus shakes his head. How could they? Even with a life as reclusive as his, he couldn’t have missed the state of the world. Blood fanatics everywhere, led by the guy calling himself a lord, the ministry on a quiet warpath and everyone in fear of what these people would dare to do. He had been watching it ever since he was a teenager. They started off with jokes and insults, framed as opinions, and slowly crawled their way into public positions until they made violence against muggleborns sound like one of their justifiable opinions too instead of the revolting thing it was.
"Its been hard to miss."
Dumbledore sighs. "Yes, it has been. Frankly, it has become worse faster than I was hoping for. And I am working on stopping it, but there is only so much I can do on my own."
Remus glances at the Daily Prophet on the counter. "Is it true that you are working with the ministry on it?"
Dumbledore follows his look. "Is that what they are saying?" He gives a tired smile. "No, I am not working with the ministry. Although I have hope that Eugenia will listen to my advice. What I am doing. Remus…" He leans forward and there is a glare in his blue eyes that sends a chill down Remus spine. "It is confidential, so I trust that this will stay between the two of us."
Remus nods. Who would he tell? His mom?
"I have assembled a group of people I believe to have the knowledge and strength to fight this war alongside me and win it, if I dare to say so. It is not an operation that the ministry would approve of, but it is what we need in these uncertain times."
Remus furrows his brows at him, an uncomfortable knot in his stomach. "Why are you telling me this, Professor?"
"Because I would wish for you to join me, Remus."
Remus chokes on his tea and coughs. Dumbledore stays quiet until he has caught himself. "You want - you want me to join? I am sorry, Professor, I know I owe you a great deal, but that, that is ridiculous. I didn’t finish my education, I don’t even own a wand, what do you want me to do? Punch death eaters in the throat?"
He is aware he sounds frantic, but Dumbledore must have gone insane in Azkaban. Who the hell recruits a 20-year-old drop-out for their secret rebellion group? This isn’t Star Wars. Dumbledore keeps his eyes on him. "I know your circumstances aren’t ideal, Remus."
Not ideal, my ass, Remus thinks. Dumbledore continues. "There is work to do in many places. Lord Voldemort has been recruiting wizards and witches, but thats not his only focus. He has been preying on those not valued enough in our society. The outsiders, the ones shunned and mistreated."
"Werewolves", Remus concludes.
Dumbledore nods gravely. "As clever as I remembered you being."
"And you want me to…what? Make them our allies?" He shifts in his seat, uneasy. He has never met any other werewolves, only heard horrible stories about people like Greyback.
"If they are the right fit, ideally, yes. If not that, then your aim would be to at least persuade them not to follow someone like Lord Voldemort, who will discard them when the moment comes and he no longer has to pretend he doesn’t see them as less than him, just like he does muggleborns."
Remus takes a deep breath in. "I don’t know if they would listen to me. I am not particularly popular among werewolves. They won’t thank me for what I did to them."
Dumbledore is quiet for a moment. Then he nods. "They might not. But I do believe you have the power to get through to them. The choice is entirely yours, Remus. If you wish to take no part this, I wouldn’t blame you. You have lived a hard enough life as it is and I do not wish to make it harder. You don’t have to tell me now. I will give you time to think it over."
Something bitter trickles down Remus throat. Dumbledore says the choice is his, but thats not really the truth, is it? It hasn’t been for four years now, ever since the man took the fall for him. The weight of that has hung over him like a dark cloud and he has pondered and tortured himself over how he will ever be able to make it up to him. And here Dumbledore waltzes in and presents the opportunity to him on a silver tablet. Remus answer has been clear before Dumbledore even asked him the question and he wonders if the old man knows that.
When he walks him to the door half an hour later, he is holding a piece of parchment in his hand with an address scribbled onto it. "We won’t be meeting with the Order until next week. Until then we will have take care of that wand problem of yours. I will send a friend of mine to meet you in Diagon Alley Sunday afternoon. She will be able to help you out with that."
Lightning shoots through his spine. He hadn’t thought that joining Dumbledores secret club would mean he could use magic again. It had been so long since he’d felt that familiar pull of magic surging through his bones into his wand. "Thank you, Professor."
Dumbledore looks like he wants to correct him for a moment, then just nods. "It has been a pleasure to see you, Remus. I wish the circumstances would have been kinder to you."
"Me too", he whispers, unsure if he is talking about himself or the man in front of him.
"Goodbye, Remus", Dumbledore says before he apparates away with a pop and leaves Remus in silence.
"Goodbye, Professor."
October 2nd, 1980
The entrance to the ministry is emptier than usually, thanks to everyone being home for the holidays. Remus appreciates it. These visits are hell enough as it is and a crowd of people puts him on edge. He walks up to the registry and clears his throat. The elderly woman with the monocle shoots him an annoyed look.
"Name?"
"Remus Lupin. I’m here for the check-in."
Her eyes lift from where she was scribbling something on her parchment and something in them shifts.
"Number?"
"305", he states, pulling up his sleeve to show her the black ink right on his wrist. 305. Marked like the animal he is.
"Fifth floor, door to the right of the elevator", she says, pointing in the direction of where he needs to go as if this isn’t the sixth time he is doing this this year alone. Nonetheless, he heads over there, passing security and lining up behind a guy in a brown robe. The line is slow and Remus has a headache building up behind his eyes.
He had a few drinks with his mom yesterday - or rather he had a glass of wine and she had four. He can’t stand drinking these days, not when the sensation is so eerily similar to the lack of control he feels when he turns into the wolf. His mom got sentimental, as she always does when she drinks. She complained about the neighbours and marvelled at how nice their autumn decorations turned out (it truly looked horrendous but they both pretended they did a good job) and even talked about his dad once or twice which was a rarity since they got divorced.
"Typical of them to pick a Saturday, isn’t it?", the guy in front of him grumbled. "Some right cunts. I could be with my wife and kids right now, enjoying the weekend."
"Hm", Remus hums noncommittally.
The guy turns to face him. "Whats your name?"
"Paul", Remus replies. The lie comes easy enough. He’s not arrogant enough to believe that every werewolf will know his name but he does remember the time where his face was plastered onto newspapers and he wasn’t in a particular mood to get confronted about how because of him werewolves lost any semblance of equal rights they had before. "Whats yours?"
"Richard", the guy introduces himself. "You’re awfully young to be here, Paul."
Remus shrugs. "Didn’t choose to be."
Richard huffs out a laugh. "Did any of us? As if being caged up isn’t enough, we have to do this shit every other month too. Makes you wonder if you shouldn’t just become the monster they think you are. That would serve them right."
Remus shifts uncomfortably on the spot. "Don’t think thats the right way to do it."
"Just sayin. Don’t take it too seriously, kid. They would deserve it though."
He simply nods and stays quiet. Great work, he thinks sarcastically. Dumbledore really picked the right guy to talk to people.
He spends the rest of the wait in silence until he gets called into the room. Abercrombie looks up from a stack of papers when Remus walks in and gives him a once-over. "Lupin."
Remus nods.
"Give me your number again?"
"305". He scratches at the skin where it's displayed. Abercrombie flicks through his files until he finds the right one. "Your last full moon was when?"
"The 23rd, sir."
He nods and scribbles something down. "And you spend it in the mandated cell?"
Remus nods. "Yes."
"Who’s your supervisor again?"
He fights the urge to roll his eyes. How they’ve been through this what feels like a hundred times and the guy still cant remember these things is beyond him. "McCharter."
"McCharter. She said you’ve been particularly aggressive last time." Abercrombie looks up at him.
Remus raises his eyebrows. "Yeah, thats kind of what happens when you turn into a bloodthirsty animal against your own will."
"Don’t get smart with me, boy", Abercrombie reprimands him, but drops the topic. Remus is pretty sure Katie McCharter has it out for him personally. Sometimes she reminds him of his primary school bullies, a group of girls that would make fun of his scars and how he wet his pants sometimes (also a side effect of turning into a bloodthirsty wolf once a month).
"Right. Let's go over your status. Still living at the same address?"
The questions go the same as they usually do and Remus answers them dutifully, hoping he can get out of here early so he can take nap before his mum invited her sister over for dinner. He feels terribly exhausted.
"Anything you didn’t tell me?", Abercrombie ends his line of questioning.
Remus thinks of Dumbledore at his house in the middle of the night, of a secret club and an agreement to try and turn the werewolves over to their side. "Nope", he says and shakes his head. "Nothing I can think of."
Abercrombie nods, writes something down. "Right. You’re dismissed."
He steps into the elevator and lets out a quiet sigh of relief. These check-ins feel more draining than they should. He closes his eyes for a moment and when he opens them again the elevator has stopped, but they’re not on the ground floor yet. The doors open and Remus heart skips a beat. Right in front of him, fancy robes and all, stands Peter Pettigrew, a briefcase in his hand and his mouth agape.
"Remus!", he calls out, still standing in front of the elevator.
Remus blinks. "Peter. Wow, uh, you work here?"
Peter nods frantically. "Uh, yeah. Dad got me this job. Its not the most exciting, but he said a secure job is better than a fun one and you know how he is…"
Remus remembers distinctively how they used to make fun of Peter for rambling when he got nervous. The memory of that feels like a stab in the chest.
He nods in lack of something better to say. "Yeah. Were you gonna get on here or…?"
"Right", Peter says and steps in, clearly looking like he would rather be anywhere else. Remus cant blame him. "Uh, what are you here for?"
Remus lifts his arm so the sleeve drops down and exposes his mark. "Check-in."
Peter winces. "Oh yeah, you have to do that. Listen, you have to know I don’t approve of that."
"It’s alright", Remus says, "they’re not too bad here." He doesn’t know why he is trying to make Peter feel better.
Peter nods, his face relieved. "Right. That’s good. Listen, James should be around here somewhere. He’s doing Auror training now, did you know?"
Remus nods. "Uh, yeah, I heard that."
He did hear about it from James - in one of many letters he send him after Remus left school. He never responded to any of them, couldn’t bring himself to, not when the image of James was so tightly intertwined with the image of Sirius in his head and - well, that was a place he couldn’t go. But James kept sending letters and Remus read them all, keeping them in his drawer. He heard about Marys new boyfriend, about the prank Peter and him pulled, about graduation and how he thinks McGonagall cried a little. He heard about how his father had gotten sick and how worried he was and then about the Auror program and his mentor and how he wishes Remus could see it.
"And you know who else? Lily Evans is in his class", Peter whispers like he is sharing gossip. He was always the one they would come to if they needed the newest information on anyone. "I think he still has a bit of a thing for her."
Remus remembers that from their letters. You wouldn’t believe it, but Lily is in my class too. She is great at this stuff, of course. A total natural.
He also remembers the last time he saw Lily. In that courtroom, her eyes as red as her hair, hands in a fist around her wand. She only looked at him once and he will remember that look for the rest of his life.
"Maybe we could all catch some dinner together", Peter says.
"I’m sorry Pete", Remus says, "I promised my mum to be there for dinner with my aunt. Maybe another time?"
He knows Peter is trying and he appreciates it, he really does. But he cant see James. Or Lily, for that matter. There is just no way.
Peter smiles vaguely. "Right, yeah. Another time. I gotta - uh, get back to work."
Remus nods. "It was nice to see you, Pete."
"Nice to see you too Remus."
Only on the way out the ministry he realises his heart is beating like he ran a race.
October 3rd, 1980
Remus hasn’t been back to the Leaky Cauldron ever since they went to get him supplies for his school year four years ago. To say he is nervous standing in front of it would be an understatement. It takes him a good couple minutes to muster up the courage to push the door open and when he walks in it feels almost defiant. They might have taken his wand and broken it in two but he can still come in here. He still has magic.
He takes in the few people sitting at the bar in the dim light, the musty smell and the christmas tunes blaring over the radio. There is an empty table so he orders himself a cup of tea and heads over there. Tom doesn’t even look up when he orders and no one else seems to take notice of him either. Still, his hands shake around the cup.
He has finished his tea halfway when someone sits down in front of him. It’s a tall black woman in a big cloak and when she pulls the hood back, she has a mischievous little smile on her lips. "Remus Lupin, I assume?"
He nods and hesitantly holds out a hand. The touch of her hand feels warm.
"Dorcas Meadowes."
He blinks in surprise. "You were a few years ahead of me in school."
He remembers her name, but he wouldn’t have recognised her in this dim light. She changed the style of her hair from a big afro into long braids with silvery streaks all throughout it and there is a big scar all the way from the base of her neck to her ear. He doesn’t look at it too long, knows the feeling of that all too well. He also remembers that she was a Slytherin but he doesn’t bring it up. Who would he be to judge people on things they have no choice over?
She nods and leans back in her chair. "Class of 1975. You kids were quite some troublemakers during your time."
He shrugs, not particularly wanting to talk about the stirs they caused back in school. She seems to sense it and leans back. "Right. No time to waste, then. The top man sent me here to help you out with a wand problem, isn’t that right?"
He nods.
She looks around them. "We might want to do this next part where no eyes can watch. Follow me?"
When they get up, Dorcas is almost as tall in him. She leads him over to the pubs toilets and, after a look around, drags him into one of the cubicles. She looks the door and there is only a tiny amount of space between them which makes him a bit flustered.
She seems to notice and gives him a smirk. "Don’t worry, you’re not my type."
She grabs his hands and he notices a couple more scars leading up into the sleeves of her robes.
"This might feel a little freaky but I need you to stay calm until i’m done, alright?"
"Uh, what are you going to do?"
Dorcas taps her fingers on top of his hands, seeming a little nervous and, wow, that really inspires confidence. "It’s kind of hard to explain. Trust me, will ya?"
He seems to have no other choice so he braces himself and - oh.
It’s like all the magic that’s been pent up in him, without a proper way out starts rushing through his pores, filling him up with electricity. It is the most enticing thing he has ever felt. And then, as fast as it started, it’s over. He gasps for air and Dorcas released his hands, stumbling back against the bathroom door.
He reaches out for her arm to hold her upright and she winces. "Are you alright?"
After a couple of deep breaths she nods. "I haven’t, uh, haven’t done this one on someone I wasn’t trying to harm before. It’s a bit of a tough balance act between taking a small amount and liquidising your brain."
"Oh my god", Remus mumbles.
"Sorry. I would’ve explained before, it’s just…" She waves her hands around. "Not the most conventional method."
"What the hell were you doing? That felt like…Merlin, that felt incredible." He steadies himself on the wall, feeling a bit dizzy.
Dorcas flashes him a wide grin. "It does, doesn’t it? My grandmother taught me. Her people have been using it for ages. It’s called syphoning. Think of it this way. We all carry magic inside of us. It’s how we cast spells, how we live longer than muggles, what puts us apart from them. But it’s not just us - everything has magic. Trees and animals and even muggles have a tiny bit of it. Not enough to actually use it but it’s there. It is the life-force of the universe. What I was doing was take some of your magic, just a tiny bit, to hold inside of me. It will help me pick out a wand that actually works for you because the wand will feel you inside of me."
"You didn’t even use a wand to do this", he says amazed. He has never heard of this before, hasn’t read a single thing about it in any book.
Dorcas shakes her head. "Wands are a western creation. They strangle our use of magic, make us dependent on them and on spells. What really causes magic…’ She taps his chest. ‘It’s in here. And you, my friend, have a whole lot of it. You were basically brimming with it."
He stares at her in surprise, not sure what to do with that piece of information. He never would’ve considered himself someone who has more magic than others. He wasn’t better at spells than James and Sirius and he hadn’t practiced magic in a little over four years now. Remus knows of wandless magic of course, knows that it’s a thing talented wizards and witches can do but he never thought of it this way.
"Can you teach me?", he blurts out before he can stop himself. He immediately feels the embarrassment shoot through him. Dorcas isn’t his friend or his mentor, she probably has a successful career and she’s sent her to get him a wand, not entertain him or teach him anything.
To his surprise she smiles. "Sure. Let’s get you a wand first and then we can see how you do without one."
Seeing Diagon Alley feels like a punch in the chest and he tries his hardest not to look around and see all these familiar shops he used to go to every year.
They stop at Ollivanders and Dorcas turns to him. "Hey, do me a favour?" She points at his jeans and sweater. "You look like a muggle that stumbled in here. Get yourself some nice robes while I pick out the wand."
She tosses him a little sack full of clinking coins and before he can protest, she’s disappeared into the shop. She’s not wrong - the only robes he has are from when he was 15 and he’s grown a good bit since then. But then again he hadn’t really considered it necessary since there was nowhere he went that people would expect him to wear them. His bi-monthly check-ins at the ministry came the closest and there they already saw him as not one of them so what difference did it make?
Hesitantly he makes his way over to Madam Malkins, the doorbell ringing when he enters. The shop looks just like he remembers it, decked out in fabrics and mirrors, platforms to stand on around the room. Madam Malkins herself is talking to two people and he freezes when he gets closer.
"This fabric looks cheap", the elderly woman says, her nose turned up. Remus has never met Mrs Black in person, but she carries herself in the same way the rest of them to, a haughty kind of arrogance surrounding her. The guy standing next to her almost gives him a heart attack. For a moment he is fifteen again, standing in a courtroom only a few metres away from Sirius Black. But then he blinks and it isn’t him. Only a pale photocopy, a version younger than he would be and older than he remembers him. Regulus Black - well he sure doesn’t look like the snotty fourteen year old boy Remus remembers.
"My son won’t walk around in this. Don’t you have anything proper?"
"I will have a look in the back", Madam Malkins responds, sounding salty. Remus is backing up to the door, but she turns to him before he can grab the knob. "I’ll be right with you, dear."
He freezes on the spot. The Blacks don’t turn around.
"I will meet your father. Come to Borgin and Burkes when you are done here", Mrs Black announces and turns around. She brushes past Remus, not even sparing him a glance.
"Sir, if you would come over here so we can take some measurements", Madam Malkins calls out to him and, forcing his feet to do their duty, he walks up to where they are standing. Regulus turns around and Remus can see the surprise visible in his face. Madam Malkins enchants a few measuring tapes to fly around Remus and disappears into the back.
"Lupin. Since when do they let you out of the cage?"
If he didn’t already look like a copy of his brother, the casual cruelty with which the words leave his mouth would make him the perfect mirror of Sirius. He looks around, half expecting to see him come around the corner, a leather jacket around his shoulders and a sly grin on his face.
"Says the guy whose mommy picks out robes for him", he replies, only barely hiding the tremor in his voice.
Regulus sneers at him. He used to be a decent kid, Remus remembers that. He always resented them, of course, but he wasn’t cruel like his peers or cold like his family. Seems like his genes finally got the best of him.
"I’m surprised you even have money to be in here. Who hires a werewolf and murderer?"
"You’d be surprised", Remus replies dryly. Top secret organisations fighting the forces of evil, apparently. Not that they come with a paycheck. He is starting to feel antsy. Madam Malkins still hasn’t returned from the back and one Black family member is one too many to be around. Any second he feels like the door will open and -
"Sirius isn’t here, Remus, you can relax", Regulus says, the dismay clear in his face. What the hell is up with people reading every thought of his face? Regulus turns to fully face him. "Actually I should thank you. Without you, he would never have taken his place in our family like he should have. You did us a great favour."
Remus feels like he’s going to throw up.
Madam Malkins rushes out of the back with a few sets of robes just as Regulus steps of his platform.
"I think I have seen enough. I will buy my robes elsewhere." He shoots Remus a look. "You should really consider what sort of creatures you let walk into your shop. Might be bad for business."
He struts out, the door banging behind him.
"Nasty folk", Madam Malkins snarls. She turns to Remus. "How can I help you sweetheart?"
He leaves the shop half an hour later with a new set of simple black robes and his trembling hands hidden in the sleeves. Dorcas waits for him outside.
"Alright, Remus?", she asks.
He nods numbly. "Yeah."
"Hey, do you want to get some coffee? I can't give you the wand until we are out of her, but you can have a look at it and I'll tell you what it's made out of."
Everything in his body screams at him to get out of here, leave behind this boulevard of memories from a life he can’t live anymore. It almost feels like the second he decided to take a chance, the universe reminded him that this wasn’t where he belonged anymore. First Peter, then all these places and now Regulus Black. It feels like Sirius shadow is chasing him around. A persistent reminder that he won’t ever be welcome. You’re welcome, shadow Sirius says with that wide grin Remus used to admire. You just had to trust me with your secret, didn’t you?
But Dorcas has been kind and welcoming and Dumbledore offered him a job and as much as he wants to run and never look back, he’s too much of a coward to even say that out loud. So he nods and follows her down the alley.
June 30th, 1976
"There has been a tragic accident", Dumbledore says in that ever-gentle tone. Remus ears are ringing and he’s not sure he is feeling his body anymore. Dumbledore keeps saying things but he isn’t listening, can’t -
"Who - who is it? Professor, please." The words come out a broken stumble.
There are images flashing across his mind, one more horrid than the other. Wormtail, tiny rat body torn apart by his claws. He’s been telling them, he’s been saying it, it’s not, they shouldn’t do it - Sirius. Oh God, Sirius. Sirius in dog form, whimpering as Remus tears into him. Sirius in his real body, his storm filled eyes begging Remus to not do it. The images feel so real that he isn’t sure they aren’t memories.
"Severus Snape went through the Whomping Willow at night. Your friend James went after him. He was incredibly brave, but he didn’t get there in time." Dumbledore lifts his eyes to look at Remus. There is an anguish in them that makes him feel like he can’t breathe. "Madam Pomfrey did the best she could, but he didn’t make it."
"Snape?", he breathes out. His vision has gone dizzy. There is people discussing something in the background and he hears his name but he can’t focus on that. Can’t focus on anything except… "No. No, that can’t be true. It can’t have been Snape. You must be wrong, Professor. He he doesn’t know how to get through, how would he - how would he be there? He wouldn’t know how to."
He is aware he sounds frantic, but they must be wrong. There is just no way for Snape to know this, he couldn’t.
He meets Dumbledores eyes again and what he sees in them terrifies him more than anything else. His breath catches in his throat. "Remus", Dumbledore says gently, "I need you to know that this isn’t your fault. And I will do everything in my power to make sure everyone knows this."
"Professor", he whispers, "what happened?"
Dumbledore clears his throat. Remus feels like there isn't enough air in the room.
"We don’t have all our information yet, but it seems that your friend Sirius told Severus how to get through the Whomping Willow."
Remus’ world goes dark.