no matter what i do, this wound will never heal (why are you never real?)

He looked so young.

Out of all the things that were going through Remus’s head, that thought was the one most prevalent in his mind. The youthfulness of the other man felt so wrong. So shiveringly unnatural, even.

Sirius Black, or an illusion of him, was stood there in all his mighty glory – luscious dark waves curled loosely behind his ears and down the nape of his neck; his face was no longer withered by the hard lines that Azkaban had seared onto his skin. Gone were the scars that had come with aging and war, the tired skin was outwardly replaced with a tanned, smooth cover. If he were to take a guess, Remus would say that the man, or thing, in front of him looked to be in his mid-twenties.

Remus had never seen Sirius Black this age when he was alive – the man had barely escaped teenage years before he had been sentenced and imprisoned for eternity. He had never been able to visit his old friend in Azkaban and, as he himself grew older, Remus had started to believe that he’d never lay eyes on him ever again. But he had. A Sirius haunted by ghosts and riddled with suffering returned, a stranger to Remus, and a person whom he had never gotten the chance to properly rediscover.

It was peculiar that now he was dead, he was witnessing this version of Sirius – the one he was never able to experience when he was living. His stomach tightened in deep longing, an uncomfortable ache drove itself between each and every one of his organs, enveloping his body in a nostalgic pain, before settling snugly around his lungs.

Remus’s breath started to turn strained as he continued to stare closely at Sirius. With his sharp cheekbones and jawline that contrasted against softer features, like his plump lips and subtle dimples that rested on the lower part of his face, Sirius Black was undeniably handsome – more dashing than Remus ever recalled. His piercing grey eyes were hyper-focused on Remus, and although the bed-ridden man could see no ill intentions behind the stare, he was certain that something was amok.

Perhaps after dying, Death liked to present the recently deceased person with their biggest regret, the moment – or, in Remus’s case, person – which had amounted in the most soul-aching remorse that one could ever feel. Maybe this Sirius was a lookalike imposter that Death designed to torment and trick Remus into a false sense of hope and safety.

He squinted to look closer at the other’s face, his eyes seemingly incapable of focusing on the minute details. It was like the Black man had read his mind, for he grabbed something close to Remus – having Sirius move closer to him than he would’ve preferred, Remus unintentionally held his breath until the man took a step back.

“Here you go, Moony.” Sirius lifted something by his face, nodding down to what he was holding. “Your glasses. Want me to put them on for you?”

In absolutely no possible situation was that going to happen, and so Remus, with striking passion, prominently shook his head as a blatant refusal. Sirius shrugged at the man’s fervour, opting to gently place the glasses in Remus’s left, open hand.

Remus’s physical ailments were harsher than he had at first grasped but, after more of a struggle than he would’ve liked to admit, he shoved his glasses onto his nose, eventually getting his arms to work together to do so. Now being able to see clearer, he had to tell himself not to look at Sirius too long, for observing the man’s face in its full definition would be extremely dangerous for his own sanity.

“Sirius.” He managed to croak out, voice breathy and quiet as though anything louder than a whisper would cause the other being to disappear and to never be seen again.

“Yeah?” The young Sirius replied in a much louder and hopeful tone. “What is it, Moony?”

“Why are you here?”

There was a pause, enough time for Remus to recognise a light ticking of a clock in the background.

“What do you mean, mate?” The potential Sirius-imposter replied and shuffled closer to him.

“I mean, why are you here?” Remus tried to emphasise on the last word, hoping that the other man would understand what he was implying.

Why, when I’m dead, am I greeted by you, of all people?

Sirius Black remained silent; confusion overtly present on his expression before some recognition flooded his features.

“Oh! Why am I here at St Mungo’s?" Even though he had asked, Sirius didn’t stop for Remus to answer the question and instead carried on with an explanation. “Well, I was the one who drove you here and I just kinda decided to wait until you woke up, you know, to make sure you would be alright.”

Remus was left with more inquiries as the other spoke. So, in this surreal death dreamlike world, he was in a hospital. Why? In a daze, Remus lightly nodded at the dark-haired man’s words as he tried to make any sense of them, but Sirius took the action as a rite of passage to continue speaking.

“And you can only guess what the others were like. I mean Lils was freaking the fuck out, and obviously Prongs still can’t drive – it’s bloody ridiculous, really, he’s twenty-six, Moony! Twenty-six!” Sirius breathed out in disbelief before he shook his head, returning to a more serious stature. “Never mind, that’s not important right now. So anyways, ‘cuz of that, I was the one who drove you here and yeah. I know you hate my bike but like, Moony, do you know how insanely bad it looked?”

Sirius gave him a pointed look – one that Remus had no idea what could mean.

“So, I’m sorry you had to suffer a trip on the ‘man-made torture device’, as you like to call it, that is Betty but, like, that wasn’t important at the time, mate.”

Remus’s mind was whirring at two-hundred miles an hour at all the information that had just been offloaded onto him. He couldn’t focus on anything except the two names that Sirius had blurted out: ‘Lils’ and ‘Prongs’ – Lily and James. Shit, were they here too? His brain was going to implode at this rate, he was sure of it. He didn’t have the time to think about why Lily and James had come up in the conversation, or why they were also potentially here, as Sirius was looking over at him expectantly, waiting for a response.

“What, uh, looked insanely bad?” Remus managed to ask, not able to say the other man’s name out loud again, scared that it would cause the illusion of Sirius to vanish. In truth, he was terrified that the other man would depart for good, leaving with all the bittersweet answers that Remus so desperately required and, all the same, abandoning any chance of a final farewell that Remus had failed to provide him whilst they had both been alive.

“You, Remus.” Sirius looked in disbelief as his eyes scanned down Remus’s body. Remus felt the gaze burn into his bones. “You looked so fucking bad.”

“Huh?”

“Mate, do you remember what happened?”

“Uh,” Remus stumbled over an answer for he had no clue what was actually happening in the current moment, yet alone what had occurred in a moment he had no memory of. “No? What, uh, happened?”

“Jesus, Moony. I don’t even know how to explain it, your accident.” Sirius’s voice crumbled ever so slightly, glancing away from Remus for the first time since he had woken up. “You, uh, you were walking with us – a bit distracted with your book, I’d say, but nothing out of the ordinary – and then bam, all of a sudden you just keeled over. No explanation, nothing.

“We thought you were being dramatic at first, as if something in your novel had made you have this big, like, over-the-top reaction or something. But then you didn’t move from the ground, and that’s when we were like ‘oh shit, something isn’t right’. Your breathing was super fucking irregular and you just started convulsing, grabbing your ribs and gasping as if you were being drowned.”

Remus held his breath as his waited for his dead friend to continue, but it seemed Sirius was struggling to find the words to resume with his account of the events.

“What then?”

“Well, then you just stopped and were dead still. Prongs for sure thought you were gone but I didn’t even give myself the chance to think ‘bout that option. I just lifted you onto Betty, in the process nearly doing my back in, mind you.” The Black man let out a biting, pained chuckle. “And it’s silly, I know. I should’ve bloody apparated you to St Mungo’s, but I just didn’t – couldn’t – think. So instead, I brought you here on my bike and then the healers surrounded you and it was a bit of a shitshow, and, like, I didn’t know what to do and so I just waited.”

Whilst Sirius spoke, his thoughts drummed around his brain. Remus just couldn’t understand why he was here.

From his deductions, it seemed that this Sirius had known him, had interacted with him before he had arrived in this hospital but, at the same time, had shown no recognition of the past that Remus had experienced with him. How was it, then, that this younger Sirius had memories with him?

An infinite number of possibilities could be the answer; ridiculous theories clouded Remus’s mind, but he knew that in his current state, it would be extremely unlikely to find the correct answer. To his misfortune, it didn’t stop the questions turning around in his brain.

What body was he in? Whose body was he in? Fuck.

Remus let out a shaky breath. What if he had killed the ‘Remus’ that was in this body by somehow coming here? Did this mean that somehow, he was… alive?

No. He must be dead, certainly. He could so clearly recall the feeling of what it felt like to perish, to leave the human sphere of existence. He had died.

“I just-” Sirius cut himself off, his voice thick with upset as Remus finally concentrated back to him. “I can’t believe I – we – nearly lost you, Moony.”

The reaction was so raw, so visceral and vulnerable, that Remus felt uncomfortable lying still in his hospital bed, powerless and too confused to offer any ease to Sirius’s worries. He hadn’t seen this version of Sirius – the one that wore his emotions on his sleeve – for more than a decade, more likely nearly two; not since Hogwarts, he was sure of that. He had missed this side of the other man after they reconnected, had longed for the man to show anything other than sarcasm and cynicism. Most predominantly, he had missed feeling like a priority to the Black man.

Sirius Black had been a fiercely caring young man but, after Azkaban, well, he had cared in the ways that he could. Not to mention, taking on the role of being the godfather of Harry Potter, along with his commitments to the Order of Phoenix, had meant that most of his time had been spoken for – Remus didn’t blame him for not prioritising their friendship. Especially since Remus was sure that he had reminded the other man of what, and whom, had been lost.

A pain tightened around his chest again as he came to a realisation. Of course, it had to make sense. This younger Sirius in front of him didn’t know him – at least, not the him that was littered with the traumatic experiences that were the aftereffects of the First and Second Wizarding Wars. In fact, it wasn’t him at all that this Sirius was upset about nearly losing.

Sirius was mourning for someone who no longer existed – someone whose body Remus had commandeered; had unwillingly claimed as his, for some unknown reason. Someone who Remus would somehow have to become, depending on how long he was forced to remain in this hellhole. Double-fuck, what was he going to do?

Unable to comfort the young man in front of him, Remus was almost gladdened when the white door of his supposed hospital room opened. His relief was short-lived, a sickening swooping within him arising once more, a trend that was becoming rather rife and far too regular for his liking.

James Potter and Lily Evans were here, making their way through the entrance of the doorway.

The beautiful auburn-haired woman was dotted with light, faded freckles that splattered across her pale skin. Her piercing green eyes – Harry’s eyes – were swirling with worry, her mouth downturned as she spotted Remus lying down. Despite her obvious concern, she still appeared graceful and put-together. James, on the other hand, was unkempt; his tousled hair flopped all over the place and he had, by some means, managed to get his glasses skewed upon his face. Even in his current less-than-ideal situation, Remus had missed James’s chaos so much that he had to fight a smile at the image of the other man. However, his mood soon dampened as he comprehended that they both looked older than he had ever known them to be. It soured even more when he saw that they were followed by another ghost, this one he remembered with not such fondness.

Petter Pettigrew. The bastard who had betrayed the two people he had arrived with, the one who was responsible for leaving the baby Harry Potter parentless and all alone. The man who had placed the blame of Lily and James’s murders on Sirius. The anger that cascaded through his body was uncontrollable, and Remus was sure that he was almost shaking with rage.

His emotions fought against each other, ardently clashing for his attention. He felt a concoction of confusion at what was taking place, relief at seeing the loved ones he lost mixed along with a deep-rooted sadness that was desperately trying to consume him, a rage so powerful that felt like it would never disperse. But one feeling championed them all: fear. Remus Lupin was a coward, yes, but he could at least admit when he was fucking terrified.

For now, he – a dead man – was encircled by a room of revived corpses, all of them drilling imaginary holes into his already wounded body with their weighted stares. If he wasn’t already deceased, he would’ve died right then and there from fright alone.

///

A healer had arrived before any of the newcomers could say anything but quick greetings. Remus was grateful that the others’ attention was fully focused on the medical professional – the heat of his dead friends’ gazes had been too heavy for him to attempt to make light conversation with them, as if it were a normal, regular day. Fuck, nothing about this was normal. Remus couldn’t even remember the last time he was in a hospital, let alone being the goddamn patient.  

“So, Remus John Lupin – that is your name, correct?” The red-headed male healer asked, waiting until Remus nodded in confirmation before he continued. “Good. I’m Healer Henery Rooks, nice to meet you. Now, looking at your files it says that after some tests, it seems that you are suffering from a broken leg and a couple fractured ribs. How are you feeling right now?”

The burning in his lungs increased as he accidentally breathed heavily, the breath catching in his throat and forcing him into a painful coughing fit before he could reply to the healer. His eyes watered and his face was undoubtedly red as he tried to lift up his arms and turn about in his bed in a desperate search for water. His helpless flailing didn’t last long as he quickly felt a cold glass press against his half-opened mouth – someone, a person he couldn’t quite distinguish with his blurry vision, was holding a cup of water up to his face – and he gulped down the cool liquid in sweet relief.

“Um, sorry, what was the question?” He sheepishly replied to the healer once he had recollected himself.

“That’s okay, Remus, I was just asking about how you’re feeling. Are there any pains or irregularities that you’re currently experiencing?”

“I have a little burning around my right rib area and,” God, speaking was a harder task when everyone’s eyes were on him, Remus just wanted to get this over and done with. “I guess my leg’s not feeling right, but it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” Sirius scoffed, not believing his words before turning slightly to the healer. “Healer Rooks, my friend here has a habit of downplaying how he’s actually feeling. Would you mind doing some checks on him to make sure he’s gonna be alright?”

Lily, James and Peter all nodded, hums of agreement escaping their mouths at the Black man’s statement and Remus was suddenly struck with a wave of hopelessness – did he really have no say in this? He knew that these people were doing this because they were worried, but Remus couldn’t help but want to cry. After all that had occurred, the only thing he wanted was at least a little control in what was going to happen to his body – or the body he was now occupying, he should say.

It was all starting to get a bit much and, as if he could detect Remus’s overwhelmed self, the healer spoke out to the others in the room.

“I’m sorry, everyone, whilst I appreciate that you’re worried and want to make sure your friend is okay, I’d like to speak to Remus.” Healer Rooks stated firmly, looking at the group of Remus’s dead friends. “Alone, please.”

They murmured quick apologies and left the room in a hurry, although Sirius seemed to be hesitant to leave Remus alone, but nevertheless wandered out of the room with one final glance.

The ghosts were now gone. Remus could breathe again, finally. Well, breathe as well as he could with the fractured ribs he was currently suffering with.

“So, Remus, is it alright if I ask you a couple questions? I didn’t want your friends’ opinions to affect your answers.”

“Uh, sure, yeah.”

“Okay, thanks. So, again, what’s your full name?”

“Remus John Lupin.”

“What’s your date of birth?”

“Tenth of March, nineteen-sixty.”

“Perfect. Now, do you remember what happened before you woke up?”

“Well…” Remus was unsure as to what degree he should mention his death as it seemed this healer believed he was still a living person – a very ridiculous belief to hold, indeed. “I- uh, I’m a bit confused.”

“How come, my boy?”

My boy. Remus almost snorted at the belittling words, for he was no boy. There was no youth within him that remained; his exterior consisted of a sullen-faced man pushing forty, with splatters of grey hairs, deep-set wrinkles that showed the hardened life he had lived and, not to mention, the scars that covered him head to toe from being a lycanthrope. And it wasn’t even like his soul was youthful – his preferred activities included reading classic literature by a crackling open fire and admiring the taste of top-notch Scottish whisky that he would sip out of an overly-expensive crystal tumbler.

“It’s just that…” His voice trailed off, uncertain as to how to phrase his thoughts. “… aren’t I dead? I simply don’t understand what this is all about.”

“Dead!?!” The middle-aged healer let out a bark of laughter. “Remus, just because you got a couple broken bones, it hardly makes you dead!”

“What? I’m not-” Remus lowered his voice, stopping to sigh before he murmured out “I’m not joking. I’m dead.”

Healer Rooks’s face sobered at the genuineness of his words, the humour all but gone.

“Remus, what do you mean by that?” The healer leaned forward, his expression was sympathetic, but his eyes told a different story – the quick, panicked glances back and forth between Remus’s features didn’t comfort him in the slightest. “May I ask why you think that you are… dead?”

Would this Healer Rooks send him somewhere else – a place where he’d be locked away and tested on – if he spoke about what had truly happened? Even if the probability of this being real was an extremely miniscule possibility, he would hate to be wheeled off to be examined on for the rest of his time here, however long that was to be.

“Remus, how old do you think you are?” The red head asked another question since Remus remained quiet.

“Thirty-eight.”

“…Right, okay.” The healer paused before frantically writing something down on the paper in front of him, gnawing at his chapped lower lip. Had Remus said anything wrong?

“And what year do you believe it to be?”

“It’s nineteen-ninety-eight, sometime in May.”

Healer Rooks made no verbal conformation whether this was right or not, but he did scribble more scrawly notes on his notepad.

“I won’t lie, Remus, I don’t think I’ve seen anything quite like this. I really don’t know how to say this properly, but please try and remain calm, okay?”

“Okay.” Remus replied with unusual confidence, sure that nothing more could surprise him as all the shock he bore had already left his body from the recent events he had experienced.

“Right, well.” The healer shuffled on his feet, obviously unsure and slightly uncomfortable. “Remus, it’s nineteen-eighty-six. You’re, uh, twenty-six, not thirty-eight.”

Oh. That wasn’t good.

Wait… how were James and Lily still alive? They had been killed in ninety-eighty-one, five years prior. If they were still living, then did that mean that Voldemort – the monster that had plagued Remus for the past two decades – was dead? Did that mean that Voldemort… no longer existed?

“Uh… what?” Remus could’ve laughed if the pain in his ribs hadn’t increased in its achiness. “You’re having a laugh, right?”

The healer shook his head sombrely and, oh, it might’ve just pushed Remus over the edge if Rooks hadn’t immediately started interrogating him about ‘his’ life. A life that he had no idea about.

The questions seemed never-ending, and he had no proper answers to them. As each minute ticked by, Healer Rooks outwardly became more and more frustrated at there being no plausible cause of why Remus was the way he was. Remus wanted to help, truly, as he was eager for any solution, so he tried to answer every question the healer asked. It was just unfortunate that most of his answers ended with an unsure ‘I don’t know, sorry’ or a vague ‘No, I don’t remember.’

Healer Rooks gave in, eventually, with a heavy sigh as he pulled a chair by Remus’s bed to sit down, defeated. Remus turned his head to the side, upset that he couldn’t be more help. In the corner of his eye, he noticed a mirror nearby and curiosity overcame him. If he was, in fact, younger – twenty-six if he remembered the healer saying it correctly – then would that mean that his appearance had changed? It was a stupid question, but Remus couldn’t quite believe the fact that he had somehow reverted back to a youthful version of himself unless he saw what he looked like.

“Do you want to use the mirror, Remus?” The healer had apparently noticed where he was looking and stood up from where he sat to retrieve said mirror after Remus responded with an ‘um, okay then’.

Before Healer Rooks held the mirror over his face, he hesitated, looking for confirmation in Remus’s expression.

“I’ll hold the mirror for you. Are you sure that you want to do this? You don’t have to do this if you don’t feel ready.”

“Yeah, I am. I’m sure.”

But was he really? He squeezed his eyes together before ripping them apart again, ready to confront whatever the mirror had to reflect. It was already nearby, edging closer and closer into his vision. He let out a deep breath before he braved a look in.

A fresh-faced man looked back. He was young. Fuck, he looked different than the younger self he once was, too – it was ever so slight, but Remus spotted it, nonetheless. His green eyes looked brighter than he’d ever seen them, his light brown hair was messy and wavy, rolling down the back of his neck just enough to be described as a long length. His skin was tanned and freckled and God, were those earrings? Multiple piercings layered his ears, a style choice he had never considered before, but he strangely liked them. Even with fractured ribs and a broken leg, he looked healthy, or healthier than Remus had ever been in his old life, but something was wrong, he just knew it.

Remus scoured his features for anything amiss and, as he did, it hit him.

His scars were gone.

“Can- Can I ask one thing?” Remus spluttered out before he could think properly; eyes unable to stop staring at the unblemished skin where his scars used to be. Healer Rooks gave a quick ‘yes’ in response. “Am I, uh, I mean am I a werewolf – a lycanthrope?”

“Hm, well, looking at your records here, there’s no mention of lycanthropy or anything as such, Remus. Why do you ask?”

His stomach dropped. He wasn’t a werewolf.

Remus John Lupin wasn’t a werewolf.

All throughout his life, he’d wondered whether there could be a cure to lycanthropy. Since being turned into a werewolf when he was a child, he had struggled through years of internal battles between his identity; the self-hatred of why he was like the way he was, the shame of becoming a bloodthirsty monster every full moon, the dread of what he had done when he had been transformed.

The fact that, deep down, he must’ve done something wicked to deserve such a curse.

His whole existence had been trying to hide it – to deal with the pain, to keep his problem at bay, to make sure that he hurt no one. But now, apparently, he wasn’t a werewolf. He didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

Grief flooded through him, his body mourning the loss of something he had always hated. But now it was gone, the final thing he thought would never change – would never leave him – had, and he wanted it to consume him again like it had done for the years and years beforehand.

Alas, nothing altered and now he was Remus Lupin, the person who wasn’t a werewolf. Remus Lupin who was… who was Remus Lupin, really?

Remus could only take so many shocks in one day. Dying had been one, although not too surprising, losing his life had still been a traumatic event. Getting transported to wherever the fuck this was, again, was another shock. Seeing Sirius? Okay, that was a forceful push that pressed him tantalisingly close to his final straw. But now, finding out on top of all this that he, in fact, was not a werewolf. Well, Remus Lupin had reached his fucking threshold.

“I thought-” The words were harder to say, shock rendering him nearly speechless. “I, um, nevermind. Must’ve been confused, or something.”

Healer Rooks opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by a gentle knock at the door.

“Yes?”

The door opened hesitantly, a dishevelled head of dark hair poked through, followed by warm brown eyes that moved to Remus and then returned back to the healer.

“Hi, yeah, is everything alright?” James Potter asked, his voice a lot quieter than Remus remembered it to be. “It’s just that we’re getting a little worried ‘bout Remus, since you’ve been taking a little while.”

And with that, the group of his old schoolmates – Lily, Sirius, Peter and, shit, was that Marlene Mckinnon? – huddled behind the door, surrounding James as they waited with bated breath for the healer to reply.

“Yes, well, we were just finishing up. Remus, would you like for your friends to keep you company as I explain?”

“Uh, sure.”

He wasn’t sure, not at all, and as soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he’d regret it. Stupidly, he hadn’t even thought before he had spoken and now all he could do was wait for the ginger-haired man to diagnose what was wrong with him as the group of people quickly shuffled inside the room and shut the door.

“Okay, the good news is that Remus’s broken leg and fractured ribs should be easily healed by some Skele-grow, as long as you rest until the potion is fully finished.” Healer Rooks started, and Remus carefully nodded, grateful that the difficulty in breathing would be gone soon. “I recommend that you stay overnight so that I can oversee that your bones are healed properly, are you okay with that?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“And now, this next piece of news will come as a bit of a shock, I must say. After speaking to Remus for a while, it appears that he is suffering from some sort of rare amnesia – to what extent and level, I’m still unsure – but it’s quite prevalent.”

Murmurs throughout the room emerged and Remus could feel the ripples of shock that each person was feeling.

“What about a memory charm?” Lily questioned after she had processed the words. “I read about one that helped someone with decades-worth of amnesia! That could work? Surely?”

“Without doing more evasive tests to double-check, I believe that a memory charm would be useless, unfortunately.” His dead friends gasped at the healer, their heads snapping to Remus once more. “I’m not sure quite how this happened but, with Remus’s permission, I’d be happy to look into it to see whether there can be any treatment plans.”

Remus was tired of being a guinea pig; his lycanthropy had controlled his life, and there was no fucking way he’d allow himself to become a test subject again.

“No. Please, no.”

His friends looked like they wanted to criticise his choice, but Healer Rooks gave them a stern look, halting them in their obvious disapproval.

“That’s okay, Remus, you don’t have to decide right away, I know it’s been a very overwhelming day today.” Turning to the rest of the group, the red-haired man continued. “Now, I would advise you all that after he is discharged from St Mungo’s, it would be most useful if Remus stays with someone he’s familiar with, to try and help him integrate back into his normal, everyday life. And, possibly, it could help recover some memories.”

“Will he ever get his full memories back?” Peter spoke is a hushed tone, eyebrows furrowed in worry. Remus fought every bone in his body not to curse him out, in the end controlling his urges and settling on giving the man a quick, icy glare. If Peter felt the hatred pulsing from Remus’s eyes, he made no show in recognising so.

“I cannot say whether he will or not, I’m sorry.” The healer replied, glancing down at Remus. “All I can promise is that he will need some recuperation. I’d recommend not bombarding him with questions about the past right now, as that could overwhelm his brain. What I do hope is that being around you might be something that could help trigger his memory. You all can sort it out tomorrow, but for now, I’d appreciate it if you let Remus rest.”

“Are you kicking us out, Healer Rooks?” James boisterously jested, trying to lighten the mood after such a serious admission from the healer.

“I’m trying to look after my patient, who has had a very busy day and needs some well-intended peace and quiet. So, politely, yes. Yes, I am. If you would like, I can give you more advice in my office and we can leave Remus to himself for a while.”

None of his friends looked like they wanted to leave him, but Remus was desperate for some alone time, and so he tried to assure them that he was okay and just wanted ‘a good nap.’ It took a bit of persuading, but they thankfully respected that he needed his space, and soon followed Healer Rooks out of the room after the healer had issued him with a dose of disgusting Skele-gro. Remus shivered at the thought of having to drink the horrid potion once more and hoped greatly that he didn’t need another bout of it later on.

And, with that, he was alone. It wasn’t completely silent, the constant ticking of the clock and slight mutterings from the hallway outside made sure of that, but Remus didn’t care. His mind was still whirring, but it seemed that his body was too exhausted to care, for it only took a few minutes before he drifted into an uncontrollable trance of sleep.

///

He awoke to a sharp stabbing pain that poked at his ribs and a horrendous throbbing in his injured leg – the Skele-gro was appearing to do its job, which sadly meant the pain wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. His body was covered in a sheen of sweat and Remus grimaced when he felt the bedsheet cling on to his bare feet. Despite his body being slick with moisture, his mouth was rather parched, and so he blinked his eyes open in search of some water, or any drinkable liquid, really.

His eyes didn’t need to adjust much, to his surprise, as it appeared to be night now, the hours of darkness must’ve come when he was still asleep. He turned his head and, in luck, found a glass of what he assumed to be water on the bedside table to his left. Now, all he had to do was retrieve the said cup.

To say it was difficult was an understatement, and Remus felt like admitting defeat multiple times, but he persevered and succeeded in gently pushing himself up into a slightly seated position and reached his left hand out slowly to grab the glass. The water was room-temperature, but Remus didn’t mind as the liquid quenched his aching thirst and, when he felt his arm weakening, he placed the glass back to its original place before he could accidentally drop it.

Now fully awake, the dire predicament of his situation started to sink in, and he had nothing left that could distract him from spiralling into his thoughts.

It was fucking weird, was the honest conclusion he arrived at; that he had fallen into a body that looked like him but wasn’t him, one that had lived a life he knew nothing about, and one whose soul he had replaced with his own; the war-torn, sullen individual that he was.

It made him wonder, who had this Remus Lupin been? Had he been fun and carefree, had he been humorous and confident? It seemed he had at least one similarity to this Remus’s personality, as they apparently both enjoyed a good book, if Sirius’s words were anything to go by, but other than that, he had no idea what this other Remus was – had been - like. He envisioned another version of himself – one who wasn’t tainted with battle, dark magic and grief. One who had not been attacked and bitten as a young child. One who had not, in consequence, become a werewolf.

Who would he have become without the pain he suffered through and, more importantly, who was he without it?

Even though the night had arisen, its stars blinking in the blackness of its sky, the white walls of St Mungo’s Hospital still pierced through the clouded darkness of his room. This nighttime wasn’t comforting like the darkness he thought death had offered before. No, this one felt all too real – all too alive.

His body burned as he lay in the hospital bed, and it was then that he allowed the tears to trickle down his face. In the morning, he would blame the crying on the physical pain, but the truth was that he was just so tired of being confused as to where he was, who he was. Nothing made any sense, and Remus was too exhausted to care and decipher what it all meant. Whether he was dead or alive, he didn’t bother to try and understand it any longer.

Because if, in some sick kind of miracle, he was alive, that meant that he was a stranger in the life he was currently living in; he was the imposter. Nothing terrified him more, the thought of not knowing who he was. And so instead, he simply refused to believe that outlandish theory, replacing it with the idea that this was some sort of game that Death was mocking him with.

Remus had thought that Death would have shown itself by now, but it seemed as though he was incorrect, and Death was being uncharacteristically shy – or the more likely case, where Death was being deviously quiet to cause Remus more emotional damage.

Obviously, he hadn’t done enough – been good enough – to deserve a peaceful afterlife, if you could call it that, and Death was goading him with this strange alternative universe that had no end in sight. Maybe, just maybe, he would wake up and find that all this had been a simulation of some kind. Maybe the next time he fell asleep, he wouldn’t wake up at all.

Nevertheless, Remus pondered, if this was to continue and Death wanted to play a game with him, then he would fight back. He refused to make himself a fool any longer. Death may have chosen to torment him this way, taunting him with familiar faces he had long tried to forget, but Death had been the one to overlook a crucial detail – Remus Lupin was a dead man, and dead men had nothing to lose.