Heat
September 1st
It’s late morning when Remus finally wakes, which comes as a welcoming surprise considering most nights he finds himself tossing and turning in bed, begging for the sun to finally come up. Light now streams through his window, warming the room—an indication that the brutal heat still reigns despite the storm.
As he moves towards the bathroom, he becomes painfully aware of the dull ache that seems to plague every muscle in his body. But for once, he doesn't really mind. Deep down, there's an awful sense of pride. He showers in scalding water, attempting to wash off the dirt and grime from yesterday—and everything that came with it.
It's only when Remus can’t stand the clawing of hunger in his stomach that he decides to leave his room. When he does, he soon comes to realise that the house is oddly clean. There’s no mud on the carpet or dishes in the sink. His mother’s pink blanket is neatly folded, and her cup is washed and put away in the glass cabinet. Two suitcases litter the doorway, but Remus tries his best to ignore them.
He discovers his mother on the front porch, sitting comfortably on the cushioned bench. A cup of tea sits in one hand and a book in another, Pride and Prejudice, her favorite.
“What’s Mr. Darcy up to today?” he asks, sitting down beside her. He figures that if he forces himself into small talk, then the world may seem a little less painful for the two of them.
“Not dancing as yet,” she replies plainly, placing the beloved pages down. Remus can tell she’s exhausted and can’t help feeling a little guilty at the sight.
“The apples are done,” she adds, gesturing to the overflowing pickup down near the shed. Remus hums in reply. “Do you mind taking a few boxes to the neighbors, darling? I want them gone before we leave, and the markets can’t take them all.”
Remus hesitates. “Who to?”
“Just the Pettigrews, Evanses, and Lovegoods.”
Remus lets out a sigh. “Can’t Pete do it?”
His mother takes a long sip of her drink. “You’re avoiding her,” she says flatly.
“No, I’m not,” he protests defensively.
“She only cares about you, Remus. It's nothing to be afraid of.”
Yes, it is, he wants to say. I don't want to hurt her. I’ve already hurt so many people. But Remus doesn't want to burden his mother anymore then he already has. if it gives her peace of mind thinking he's talked to Lily, he doesn't see the harm in letting her believe they’re okay. So, reluctantly, he murmurs a stubborn, “Fine.”
With that, she stands, muttering something about packing.
Remus guesses that if he’s quick, he can avoid being detected by his neighbors and spared their looks of sympathy. After managing a few slices of toast, he sets out on his bike, an apple-filled trailer in tow. He has the routes mapped out in his head, knowing all the shortcuts and where the trees are thick enough that the sun won't burn his skin with its kisses. The Pettigrews are closest, and Remus wastes no time slipping the cardboard package onto the doorstep of their large house and scurrying away.
Afterwards, he follows the same grass path, weaving in and out of the trees. When he reaches the ragged little stone bridge—the one he’d pretend to fish off of as a child—he knows he’s close to his next stop. It’s not long before the small path opens up into an idyllic clearing. The Evans home, a small brick cottage, sits on a large homestead; they keep horses in the first field and sheep in the second. Year-round, the house is draped in flowers—every kind one could imagine. Remus often counts the year in flowers: violets, snowdrops, and primroses in the winter; bluebells and foxgloves come in the spring. During summer, there are blankets of daisies, and harebells line the fence in autumn.
He leans the bike on the rusty fence, wincing slightly when a sharp pain runs through his arms as he heaves the box of apples up. Much to Remus’ dismay, when he opens the gate he is greeted by Mrs. Evans in the front garden, planting the last of the summer seedlings. When she spots him, she straightens up. “Remus, dear!” she exclaims hurrying over to the boy. When she reaches him, she pulls him into a long, warm hug. Remus tries to relax into the touch, to allow himself to feel loved, but something feels oddly wrong that makes him cringe away.
“Oh, how nice to see you.” She looks at him fondly. “How’s your mother?” she asks, her tone shifting.
“She’s, um, managing. It’s just… a lot for her to process.”
Mrs. Evans nods in agreement. “Well, you tell her, if she needs anything at all, don’t be a stranger. I’m perfectly happy to lend a hand.”
“I will—thank you,” he forces a polite smile before motioning awkwardly to the box at his feet. “I brought apples. They’re nice and sweet at the moment.”
“Oh, thank you, love. Do you mind taking them round the back? I’m sure the horses would like a few, and my shoulder’s been playing up.”
“Of course. Have a nice day.” He replies, offering another brief smile.
The stables brought a familiar smell of hay and manure. Remus places the apples in the corner next to the feed before wandering over to his favorite horse—a dapple grey Irish Draught, a gift from an old couple who moved away some years ago. He held out his hand, making a few clicks with his tongue, but before he could reach to stroke its mane, there was a very loud and very angry yell of:
“Remus John Lupin!”
Lily Evans stands in the door of the stables, arms crossed and wearing a look of murder upon her face. Her cheeks are a violent shade of crimson, and she walks towards him fiercely.
“Two weeks! Two whole weeks I haven't heard a word from you!”
Remus stood frozen, a little taken aback. It's not often Lily gets this mad. It’s even rarer for her to get this mad at him. As she nears, Remus prepares to take the inevitable verbal blow. But instead, she pushes past him, heading to the next stall where she begins angrily sweeping spoiled hay into a pile. Remus watches her, unsure what the correct thing to say is.
“You know, even just a ‘Hey, I'm okay’ would’ve been alright,” she says, finally looking up.
“Oh,” Remus begins, rubbing the back of his neck “I mean, I just didn’t think you’d care so much about it all.”
At that, she stops sweeping, leaning on the broom she turns her gaze to him, her expression softening.
“Remus, you had surgery. Of course I’d care about how you are.”
Remus looks away, uncomfortable at the eye contact and the blatant declaration of concern she has for him.
“Well, I’m okay now,” he says, picking at a patch of muck on the wall, still unable to meet her. He can still feel her staring at him. Remus could tell she was trying to look for the truth in his words but couldn’t find a single thing.
“Are you, really?” she asks quietly.
Oh.
She knows.
Well, Remus thought she knew. But now he can't pretend, can't cling onto the small hope that he could shield her from this.
“When’d you find out?” He looks now at his shoes, kicking the floor carelessly. Lily puts the broom away and starts placing the hay in a bucket.
“Not long after you did,” she grunts. “Did you, ah, get my letter yesterday?”
“No,” he lies. “I’ll ask Mum about it.”
“Okay” she says, a sigh escaping her lips. “Just… make sure you read it before you go.” Remus nods, another lie.
There's a crunch of an apple and a high-pitched yelp as Lily’s hands come to her face. “That's disgusting!” she screeches, scrunching her nose and wiping juice off her cheek with the back of her hand.
The two walk along the overgrown path to the Lovegoods’. Remus balances his bike with one hand, an apple in another, while Lily’s fingers graze the bushes for wildberries.
“So…There's a party tonight,” she mentions after a while, plucking a berry and inspecting it before popping it into her mouth.
“Yeah?”
“We should go,” she says firmly, which takes Remus by surprise. She must've seen the look on Remus’ face, because she shrugs and says, “It’s the last time to see everyone before you leave.”
“You make it sound like I’m never coming back,” he retorts, half-jokingly.
At that, she slaps him quite hard in the arm. “Don’t you dare joke about that, Remus. It’s not funny.”
A broad grin breaks out on his face as he shakes his head. “So sensitive, you are.”
The Black Lake, as its name suggests, is quite ominous and imposing, sticking out sorely amongst the hills. Remus had never found it beautiful, but in saying that, he rarely finds things pretty nowadays. The water is dull no matter the time of year and stains the banks a ruddy brown.
Lily meets him at the top of the slope, and Remus gives her a smirk as she approaches.
“Trying to impress someone, Evans?” he taunts, eyeing her short mini skirt and even smaller black top.
“You wish, Lupin. Anyways, you’re clearly not.” She gestures to his clothes—his usual uniform of jeans and a white singlet.
Remus just shrugs, and they begin to descend down to the water's edge. The bonfire is already lit, its glow peeking through the trees. Music blares loudly, drowning out the natural noises and silence of the farmland. Everybody is there when they get to the clearing, and Remus appreciates how no one takes notice of his arrival. Benjy is laughing with the twins, Gideon and Fabian, as Peter gets slapped in the face by a girl in a tight blue dress. Frank and Alice dance around the fire, and she squeals when he takes her too close to the flames. The girls; Marlene, Dorcus, and Pandora, sit on the old camping chairs left years ago, giggling and braiding each other's hair. There are other people here too that Remus doesn’t know, probably from the town nearby. Some are dancing, others stand around talking, and there’s even a bloke already passed out on the floor. Lily wanders off, and Remus is left alone with the company of his drink until someone gently bumps his shoulder.
“Hiya, gorgeous,” she says cheerfully, her usual brightness cutting through the party's haze, and Remus is happy that at least someone is acting themselves around him.
“Hey, Mary,” he replies.
“Why’re you standing all alone?” she asks.
“Taking it all in, I guess.”
She hums. “Well, I’m here to have some fun tonight,” she says, pushing him into the group, “and I can’t have you sitting around sulking.”
She disappears for a moment before turning around with two shot glasses.
He raises an eyebrow. “What’s this?” he asks.
“Since when do you care?”
Remus grins before downing the lot.
He doesn't remember much that happens after that. Maybe that's why he came here in the first place—to stop caring for a bit and only feel the burn of alcohol down his throat. He figures it must be early morning before he drags himself away from the array of people to sit down for a moment and breathe.
Somewhere in the chaos, he’d stumbled across half a crumpled packet of cigarettes. He begins to make his way through them as he admires the lake in front of him, the water glistening in the silver light of the full moon. He didn't particularly like the taste, but he didn’t mind the feeling. With each inhale, warmth entered his lungs. It was a different kind of burn to drinking—soothing and gentle.
“Since when did you smoke?”
Remus shrugs as Peter comes tumbling out of the bushes to sit beside him.
“Done it a few times. Feels nice, relaxing and all that.”
Peter plucks the cigarette from his fingers and coughs furiously after a deep inhale.
“My god, my Ma’d have my ass if she saw me smoking—she’s all ‘you’ll get cancer and die.”
At that, Remus bursts out laughing. Then Peter lets out a snort, and the two are howling all over again, to the point they almost can't breathe.
“But,” Remus manages to let out, “but I can't get what I already have!”
He continues to crack up and doesn't notice Peter stopping.
“Shit. Sorry, Remus, that was stupid. I’m a little too pissed,” he slurs.
Remus waves him off, genuinely smiling like this is the funniest thing in the whole world.
“Isn't it crazy, Pete? I mean—I must be super lucky to get cancer this young! Might as well enter the lottery!
“Maybe it was the three times I smoked before, or all the beers I’ve had here over the years. No! I’ve got it! It was definitely that one time I got stoned with Frank in the sheep field!”
He chuckles at the thought. Maybe it was the alcohol’s doing—lowering the barriers he’d carefully built—allowing the truth to slip out with every bitter laugh.
“Or maybe it was just dumb luck—dumb fucking luck. Of course, it had to be me, too, Pete. As if my life isn’t tragic enough. You know, it's hard to think of a time when my life wasn't shit.”
He begins to count on his fingers.
“Dad dying was a bummer at seven. Mum being diagnosed with Alzheimer's at ten wasn't something I was particularly fond of either. And you know what? Finding that fucking lump on my neck at seventeen was just the cherry on top.
“But hey, maybe I won't even have to suffer for that long. Maybe I’ll just suck it up for a few lousy months, and then I'll be outta here like my old Pa. Don’t worry about Mum either—she’s on her way out too.”
Remus is not sure when, but at some point, his laughter started to hitch and tears spilled down his cheeks, mingling with the taste of ash and alcohol.
It’s through blurry eyes that Remus spots a wide-eyed Peter, cigarette turning to ash in his hand. He looks stunned. Remus doesn't care—this was good. He felt as if a weight had left his chest.
He takes a swig of his drink, no longer being able to feel the burning heat.
With a final, unsteady breath, he mutters, ‘I’m going to find Lily,’ and stumbles back toward the party.