And Again
Bum bum
(Duhduhduh duhduhduh)
Bum bum
The black was all consuming. And all confusing.
Sometimes I feel
I've got to
(Bum bum)
Run away
I've got to
(Bum bum)
Get away
Remus was back in bed, the big one, the non lumpy one. The one he'd shared and loved and hated.
From the pain you drive into the heart of me
The love we share
Seems to go nowhere
And I've lost my light
For I toss and turn, I can't sleep at night
Positively riddled with deja vu, he fumbled for his wand on the bedside table. A flick of the wrist put an end to the synths and bass. The silence was ten times worse because what the actual hell? There'd been that light, that awful bright green. Harry had cried. He'd heard Harry crying. Screaming, actually. So, they were dead, then. Again.
And… what? He'd wandered into the little village pub, got unbelievably rat arsed and then, by some fucking miracle, made his way back to the flat? Remus considered it for a second. It didn't not sound like him. But no he wouldn't, couldn't, leave Harry alone and scared and crying. Surely he wouldn't. Something had happened though, if not that then a charm or spell or something. Memory charm, maybe.
Not that it fucking mattered, actually. It was done now, wasn't it? Might as well get on with the inevitable. He racked his brain for the nearest drop of drink as he lit up a fag right there in bed. He'd always hated when he did that, hated the ash on the pillow and the anxious squirming in his stomach because it could start a fire no matter what anyone else argued. Remus couldn't have cared any less about that now, laying there considering his options. It was, what, eight in the morning. So, no pub for at least a few hours. Fine, there was an off license a few streets over if he could scrounge together a few quid. Their affinity for JPS cigs and charity shop t-shirts meant they always had a small hoard of Muggle money lying about.
All things considered, it wasn't a bad day. Much better than his first time around, anyway. At least this time Remus had the self respect to get absolutely battered before letting a single tear fall, none of that embarrassing, throat burning, heart wrenching, sobbing this go round. Hell, he'd even struck up a pleasant enough conversation with the bartender once the pubs opened for the evening. Gotten a few free drinks and everything. It was busier than he liked though, busier than he'd ever expected a Sunday evening, let alone the day after Halloween, to be. By eight, the bar was three people deep and someone had nicked the empty chairs from his high top.
Not one, not two but three young women pushed through the crowd, whooping and laughing and all three wearing pointy witches hats. They were costumey and sparkly and obviously not the real deal but still Remus rolled his eyes. Typical. He'd purposely avoided anywhere remotely magical, no need to hear people celebrating probably the worst event of his life, and yet the reminders still found him. And then the strangest thing. The witches were joined loudly by a chubby pirate, a scruffy vampire and a severely underdressed black cat. Behind them the door swung open and in traipsed a lovely angel and devil duo. A quick glance around revealed a pub full of ghosts and rockstars and clowns and zombies that Remus had managed to completely miss. Still, it was definitely strange, all these people rocking up in costume a day late.
Remus leaned over and tapped a knuckle against the wood top of the table next to him.
“S’cuse me, sorry, just, is there a party or something in here tonight?”
The older gent laughed into his pint.
“Okay, yeah, stupid question. Just wondering why everyone's all dressed up today of all days. Sorry, enjoy your evening.” Remus answered his own question and turned back to the drink in front of him.
“What are you on about? It's Halloween, of course they're dressed up.” The man laughed, again. Though nothing really seemed all that funny.
“It's not Halloween, it's Sunday. Halloween was yesterday. It's the first today.” He said, starting to get a bit annoyed.
“Think you've had one too many, mate.” He replied with a horribly sarcastic smile.
Remus didn't find it funny.
“No, no, you're wrong. It can't be Halloween, it literally can't be. I know it was yesterday.”
"Look, I'm telling you it is.” The man drained his glass and chucked his newspaper over, “right there, in black and white. Thirty first of October. Can't argue with that, now can you.”
And he couldn't. He really couldn't. Remus white knuckled the paper, reading and re reading and again and again and again. It was right there. Thirty first. Halloween Definitely. Certainly.
Except the paper could be old. Why should he trust an old alkie? Remus stood so quickly his drink spilled as he rushed to the nearest group of costumed pub goers.
“What's the date today?” He demanded, totally ignoring the strange looks.
“What the fuck do you think?” One of the witches snapped back with a toss of her hair.
Remus ignored that, too, and looked to the pirate.
“Well? Date, what is it?”
“Twenty fifth of December.”
That got a big group laugh.
Not from Remus. He was far too drunk and far too belligerent.
“Tell me the fucking date.” He hissed, shoving both palms into the shoulders in front of him until the poor vampire stumbled back into a table. His patience was officially gone.
“Christ! You're a fucking nutter aren't you. It's Halloween, dipshit. You know, Halloween? Thirty first. Of October. Just in case you're too thick to realise that an’ all.”
Yeah, he was going to throw up. His stomach churned and twisted as he pushed his way through the jostling crowd, mouth filling with saliva in just the worst way possible. How the fuck could it possibly be Halloween? The worn wood cut into his palm a little as he shoved through the doors, not a moment too soon. There were jeers and shouts as Remus’ stomach emptied itself in the gutter but neither caught his attention because how the fuck could it be Halloween again. So yesterday was what, a hallucination? A nightmare? If so he'd wasted the whole day, just drank away his chance. He glanced at his watch. Ten past eleven. Without even pausing to check for Muggle bystanders, he turned on the spot and the world warped.
He was sick again when he landed. Not surprising. Wiping his mouth with a shudder, Remus glanced around. This wasn't Godric's Hollow. Not even close. The gnarled trees and thick underbrush were painfully familiar. Not to him, of course he'd never actually been, but the wolf inside positively preened. There were flashes, images. An imposing stag galloping between the trunks, a brown rat squeaking from its perch between the antlers. A black dog nipping at his ankles. Pulling at his fur, tackling him into a roll through the dry leaves. The barest beginnings of a smile crept onto his face and no. Not that. No. Time to leave.
Another spin and a pop and Remus' arm was burning. Sticky blood seeped through his clothes and dripped down his wrist onto fingers. Splinched. Fine, whatever. What was another scar? A quick look at his surroundings had him swearing. A twee cottage that hurt to look at and a biting wind that could only be Devon. Even further from where he wanted to be. This, this frustration right here, was exactly why people didn't apparate and drink.
Focus. He could practically hear Lily scolding him. He had to focus. Red door. Gryffindor red, with a lovely brass knocker. A lion, of course. James had insisted upon it. An apple tree, old but strong, with a swing hanging from its branches, ready for Harry to enjoy as soon as he was big enough. James had insisted upon that, too. The gate had a chronic squeak that no measure of magic or WD40 had ever managed to sort. He thought of the Christmases and birthdays and Easters that should have been, how Harry would've run past the laughing adults and maybe slipped slightly on the old kitchen tiles but that was fine because his mum and dad were there to make him feel better. His uncles, too. Remus could see it. Not just how life should have been but how it would be. How he would make sure it was.
This time he knew he'd done it, he knew he'd made it before the world had even stopped spinning. Sure enough the nausea retreated and his eyes opened and there it was. Across the square, not quite the house he'd been picturing but he knew it was there, hidden behind a facade of overgrown weeds and a broken stone wall. That was good news. If it was still hidden from him then there was still time. Remus let himself smile, just a bit. He slid on the slick paving stones and tripped the curb in his hurry to reach them, to save them. To see them. And it still wasn't quick enough.
Church bell, green. Church bell, boom. Church bell, screaming.
Darkness.
Silence.
And then.
Bum bum
(Duhduhduh duhduhduh)
Bum bum
Sometimes I feel
I've got to
(Bum bum)
Run away
I've got to
(Bum bum)
Get away
What the fuck.
What the fucking fuck.
This time Remus didn't even pause, not for a second, not even to stop the music. He tore from bed, legging it down to the street below. His bare feet slapped against the pavement and his hip throbbed horribly as he flew towards the corner shop. It didn't matter, nothing mattered except this. The tinkle of the bell was entirely drowned out by the way the shop door slammed open and rattled the glass in window frames.
“These today's?” Remus asked breathlessly.
The teenage girl behind the counter didn't look up from her magazine.
“Oi!”
That got her attention. She startled, knocking the display of chocolate bars next to the till with wide eyes. Instantly Remus felt guilty; he didn't mean to scare her.
“Sorry, just, are these today's?” he asked again, more gently, with a nod towards the newspaper stand.
“Oh, um, yeah. Delivered this morning.”
A little shudder ran through him as he reached for the paper; The Guardian, not that it mattered. He gave himself a moment's grace. Just a second to gather himself, maybe take a breath, before he confirmed what he was already fairly certain of. He took his breath. He read the front page. And there it was, in black and white.
Thirty first of October, 1981
Okay. Okay. A deep, deep breath puffed out from between his lips. Okay. So, clearly there was something dodgy about his spell. Something so beyond dodgy. Something so unbelievably and completely fucked up that he was forced to live through his very worst day, what, forever? As if his life wasn't already miserable enough.
“Are you actually planning on buying anything? Because you can't just stand there reading all day and-”
The paper dropped back onto the stand with a thunk. Maybe the cashier was still talking as Remus wandered out the shop but he couldn't be certain. His feet were cold. He should've put on some shoes. Seemed ridiculous now, the way he'd rushed from the flat without pausing for even socks. Dramatic. Overdramatic. All he had now was time, unlimited Halloweens as far as he could tell. Wasn't he a lucky boy? At least there was no pressure anymore, he thought as he strolled leisurely back to the flat. No stress to get to Godric's Hollow, no worries if he failed to save his friends again. The clock would reset, he'd be treated to the opening lines of Tainted Love and he could try again. Maybe this go round he wouldn't even bother trying, give himself the day off.
And he really did try too, a good three hours of moping before the guilt and angst set in. It was the trinkets, that's what did it. Remus had spent the first hour or so back in bed, definitely on his own side and definitely without any tears. Not one. When his head hurt, not from crying, he slipped out from under the quilt and donned a clean t-shirt, one he hadn't seen in so many years. It was soft and worn and lovely. He wandered round the drafty flat like a tourist, thumbing through the crates of records and when that started to ache he moved on to the kitchen, absently searching cupboards for nothing in particular. The tins of beans and bags of pasta didn't exactly evoke any big emotional revelations but the stash of Curly Wurlys and fizzy Love Hearts only sort of hidden behind the bread packed a surprising punch, enough to drive Remus back into the living room. Just the air in there stung. Two years of memories in that room, good and bad and mundane and exciting and terrible and wonderful, and all of them hit him the very second his eyes fell onto the mantelpiece.
Every square inch of the thing was full of knick-knacks, everything from pretty seashells to a tacky plastic Big Ben. It was silly, just a silly little tradition. Every day out, every holiday, hell, even every wee break at a service station had to be marked by some stupid purchase, always Muggle and almost always ugly. Remus was pretty sure Peter had started it with the small surfer dude figurine he'd gifted James from his summer holiday in their fourth year. The collection grew quickly and daftly as it morphed into a competition; who could find the worst souvenir? When Lily joined in, thoughtfully gifting Remus a genuine Roman coin from her family holiday, the collection gained a bit of class. But still the majority were quite awful and she'd outright refused to have the clutter in her home. Remus couldn't blame her and honestly hadn't minded when he eagerly offered up their flat to house the stockpile of crap. Now as he gently, reverently, touched the bric-a-brac with shaky hands and absolute agony, he thought he'd never forgive her for forcing him through this. If she'd been less stubborn, less hard-headed, he wouldn't be faced with the onslaught of memories and he could quite easily drink his way through the many, many Halloweens he was fairly sure were coming his way. But there was no chance in hell of that now. No way he could sit by and know they were going to die, even if they'd be alive again the next morning.
So fine then, fucking fine, he'd get himself to Godric's Hollow just in time to watch his best friends be murdered and he'd do it over and over and over because clearly it was entirely fucking impossible to stop. What other option did he have, really?