Don’t Follow
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"I have a lot to tell you. But to be honest, I'm not sure where to start. It feels like I'm doing something wrong, which is ridiculous," Aberforth admitted warily to an unseen companion in the dim confines of the Hog's Head.
Crouched low in the shadows outside, Remus couldn't believe his ears. The muffled voices drifted out from the narrow doorway, where flickering candlelight spilt onto the cobblestones of the darkened street. The werewolf had almost crossed the tavern's threshold when an unusual scent gripped his senses, causing him to freeze. It was a fragrance distinctly different from the usual cloud of sweat and stale alcohol that hung around the pub. Remus would never openly share this, but he kept what he learned from the wolves close to his heart and…leaned into his heightened senses every now and again. Thankfully he had, for they informed him that Aberforth had company despite the late hour, and whoever accompanied him smelled miles better than the drunken patrons that typically roamed the bar.
"I just know if the kid knew what I was doing, he'd vanish. Ugh, hang on a minute. I need something stronger than tea for this conversation." Aberforth's voice broke into a grumpy laugh—perhaps as close to genuine mirth as the man got. The werewolf stilled, feeling the heavy weight of his borrowed suit—a black ensemble that belonged to the recently deceased Danny Vance—binding him like iron chains. He should never have left the funeral early, but if he hadn't, he wouldn't have known Aberforth couldn't be trusted!
The betrayal stabbed Remus' heart, even though he knew he should have been prepared for it. No adult could be trusted besides Dumbledore, Pomfrey, and Corbyn, not after everything; he had learned that lesson well. Still, it stung in a dull, resigned way, festering beneath a simmering layer of anxiety that overshadowed all else as it thrummed through him like a war drum. He knew going to the funeral would be a mistake, but he hadn't the heart to turn Pandora down. And as he suspected, as he stood amongst a sea of unfamiliar faces—packed tightly with Ravenclaws of all years, Hufflepuffs, and even worse, some older Gryffindors he recognized—he had felt utterly out of place.
Despite wanting to stay to support Pandora, he'd only had a fleeting moment to hover near her before other visitors engulfed her in their supportive embrace. They were better friends than he could hope to be—devoted and heartfelt. Meanwhile, Remus accepted supporting her from afar, not eager to be introduced to her true friends and risk someone else recognizing him. So he became a ghost haunting the periphery of her grief, desperately wanting to fade into the background. If only he hadn't felt like an imposter, especially considering he had to borrow clothes from Danny, whose heavily enchanted corpse couldn't mask the decay of rotting death from the werewolf even from across the room.
But the final nail in the coffin had been Remus' heart plummeting once he glimpsed a stiff-backed Regulus entering the parlour with his aristocratic mother. Without thinking, the werewolf had fled the gathering, getting halfway down the block before he paused to consider whether to turn back.
He obviously hadn't, and though the ride on the Night Bus had been uncomfortable, filled with Remus choking on guilt, he couldn't make himself regret his decision. Now he knew Aberforth had taken advantage of Remus' absence, and in hindsight, the werewolf admitted he should have anticipated it. Even if he wanted to reject the idea, he knew the old bartender must be speaking about him, and betrayal continued to twist like a knife in his gut.
Aberforth had promised! After the Vances left to stay with family and arrange the funeral, it took a whole day to convince Remus not to flee the Hog's Head immediately, thanks to the incident with Emma nearly blowing Robyn's cover. As far as he could tell, Aberforth hadn't gotten the chance to speak to the youngest Vance again, but the paranoia left him jittery for days.
The tension between Aberforth and Remus had stretched to snapping until the old man had pressed a mug of butterbeer into the werewolf's hands. Alongside the gesture, he reluctantly conceded he would drop the matter with one condition: "You need to quit looking like you're going to bolt the minute I turn my back. Keep your secrets. I don't bloody care. You just better damn well have the decency not to leave after all the trouble I've put into keeping you alive."
Adequately chastised and guilt-tripped, Remus, though hesitant, stopped waiting to be caught and jumping at every sound. And so the following day, the werewolf assumed the gruff man merely knew better than Remus did about not pushing his limits. Following that, when Robyn failed to bring his well-worn extension-charmed bag inconspicuously, Aberforth unexpectedly offered up his Fortistama Cube. While the werewolf hadn't been familiar with the miraculous object at first, he soon learned that the palm-sized container was an extremely valuable variation of his bag in that the sturdy cube could hold all his belongings.
Remus had naturally protested such a gesture, questioning the cause of such immense generosity. Aberforth had merely pointed out with gruff amusement, "It's not like even a danger magnet like you could break this. It's damn near indestructible" The old man's pragmatism won Remus over in the end, as the man explained he'd rather risk Robyn losing it rather than face the wrath of Mrs Vance. Even Robyn couldn't deny the woman would certainly have criticized Aberforth for allowing 'his nephew' to carry around the bag that had become a tattered eyesore after a summer spent on the run. Not once did Aberforth suggest Robyn leave behind his belongings—an unspoken understanding lay between them that such trust hadn't fully formed yet.
Somewhere deep down, Remus recognized he should have responded with suspicion to Aberforth's overt kindness; it ought to have raised red flags in his mind, as it normally would. Yet, despite all the signs urging him to be cautious, he chose to believe in the old man.
And look where that led you. Great going. Remembering his uncle's sneer left him shuddering. It just didn't make sense. Aberforth had pointedly kept busy enough with other matters, and Remus took that as a clear sign the man would let him be. But apparently, the backstabber had other ideas. It didn't make sense, though. Why now?
Was Remus' sorrow and gnawing anxiety for Pandora impeding his cleaning? The werewolf could only manage so much, his hands tightly bandaged since day one, limiting his movements and constantly aching. Despite his physical restraints, he poured energy into cleaning, tackling tasks beyond his assigned duties. Hadn't he been the perfect house guest? He had made a conscious effort to keep himself out of Aberforth's way, maintaining a polite demeanour even when worry chewed him up and spit him out.
"Alright. I'm ready to talk now," Aberforth proclaimed, his voice laced with grave seriousness and a newfound resolve. "I'm glad you responded to my letter. I just… I'm concerned about the kid."
The prickles of betrayal exploded inside the werewolf as the second occupant spoke. Tears burned in his eyes, fighting to stream down Remus' cheeks; staying would be impossible now!
"I can see why." McGonagall's firm, no-nonsense tone appeared softer, the one she reserved for addressing her students on sensitive occasions. Remus clenched his fists, barely fighting the impulse to slam his head against the nearest wall. Why was this his life?
"Oh, you don't even know the half of it, Minerva," Aberforth scoffed, frustration evident in his voice. "You wouldn't happen to know a Robyn, would you? I'm convinced now that it's not the kid's name."
"Well, there is a Robyn in Ravenclaw," McGonagall mused thoughtfully, a frown creasing her forehead. "If you could provide me with more description than just an injured, underaged runaway, I might be able to assist."
Remus momentarily eclipsed his distress at the revelation that a Robyn attended Hogwarts. He had believed for too long that the boy haunting his nightmares was merely a figment of his imagination. However, he'd remembered a name last year, the monumental moment overshadowed by the chaos that has persisted since he attended Hogwarts. Still, he'd gotten so used to dismissing his 'imaginary friend' that he hadn't even considered trying to find the boy. Yet, reality weighed heavily: such a simple conclusion couldn’t possibly exist; his life had never worked that way. Plus, he was…mostly sure Robyn had been with him...had also been in Greyback's cruel clutches. The thought that the boy might now share his lycanthropic fate—or lie forgotten and dead somewhere—rocked him to his core. Shaking his splitting head to dispel the dark thoughts, he took a trembling breath, straining to hear the conversation over the blood pulsing in his ears.
"See… I promised the boy I wouldn't say anything." Remus forced himself not to be swayed by the tangible hesitance and guilt that coloured Aberforth's voice. It didn't matter anymore; trust resembled fragile glass shards—easily shattered, painful, and bloody to peace together again.
"Yes, well, you've already broken that promise," McGonagall replied, her irritation simmering beneath her composed exterior. "I'm afraid I simply do not have the desire to dance around the issue. A young child in your care without a guardian is a deeply troubling situation. I must admit, I'm disappointed you waited so long to alert me. You mentioned his hands were damaged, and he was—"
"There's no kinder way to say it. The kid was gouged," Aberforth cut in, his tone heavy with regret. "Look, I didn't want to get caught talking to anyone. I had to wait until his friend took him to her father and brother's funeral. How tragic is that? The boy is incredibly skittish. I cannot emphasize that enough. He's tried to bolt twice when I pressed for more information. I even caught him dangling from a bloody window one night. If I didn't have the whole establishment’s entry points warded, he would have vanished without a fucking trace..." At McGonagall's pointed tsk, the man continued with less colourful language. "I suspect he might be fleeing from Death Eaters, but when I finally heard back from Moody, he indicated no one like that existed under The Order's protection."
"Just because we are unaware of their existence doesn't mean anything," McGonagall interjected, her voice grave. "We are a relatively small organization, struggling to combat the many fires the Death Eaters have ignited this summer." Remus could almost visualize the frown deepening on her face. "I can't help if you don't let me meet the boy. He is likely one of our students; even if he isn't, he requires medical attention from the matron at her earliest convenience. While I'm sure you did your best, neither you nor Linda are trained professionals."
"No need to remind me." Aberforth groaned. "I've told Linda repeatedly to give the boy space. I suspect that's why the lad preferred to stay with me—he seemed depressingly self-conscious about how much his staying with either of us would cost. Kid can't be older than fifteen… tops."
"Well, if it's the same student I'm thinking of, he has a rather sturdy build, and he's entering his final year at Hogwarts," McGonagall explained with confusion, undoubtedly troubled. It seemed to be a typical reaction whenever the werewolf got involved. Still, he was too lost in the turmoil of his broken heart to register her concern fully. The idea that the Ravenclaw Robyn might be the boy he once knew shattered his fragile hope before it could solidify properly.
Perhaps it's for the best, he tried to convince himself, but a pang of longing remained. Remus considered the book he had stumbled upon with the orb last year—the one that recorded the names of every witch and wizard born. If his name had been crossed out due to his condition, there existed a solid chance that while the book wouldn't move when he uttered a non-lycanthrope's name—like his dad's, it would respond to someone 'his species.' He wasn't sure whether to feel uplifted or devastated by this possibility.
First, he would have to locate the book a second time. Perhaps Dumbledore hadn't moved it alongside the remaining half of the orb that Hogwarts had safeguarded. Doubts crept into his mind like weeds—what if the headmaster had kept the tome with the orb? If so, he might adopt the guise of inquiring about the Maapallo Krieger Ochrona's safekeeping. But that rested on the assumption that Dumbledore would share such important information with a mere student. Maybe Remus had merely tricked himself into suspecting the headmaster valued him...
Then, there was the further complication of testing whether the book would also respond when he uttered the names of the departed. So many crossed-out individuals in the back of the book worried him; he couldn't shake the suspicion that there were more than just werewolves among the names. If movement happened when he called on someone previously deceased, like the young man whose suit he still wore, there would be no way to know whether Robyn had died or...existed out there as a werewolf...with Greyback. Nausea threatened to give away Remus' eavesdropping, but he swallowed the bile, inhaling sharply against the increasing agony. For now, the dark mystery surrounding Robyn would remain unsolved; he couldn't afford to consider the matter any longer, something deep inside him blaring a warning alarm through his entire body about delving deeper.
The restless pacing, abruptly shifting to the sharp crack of a cup smashing down onto a table, jolted Remus from his tumultuous thoughts.
"Dammit. Figured that would be too easy. I knew the bugger was using an alias! I don't know if this means anything to you, but he's lanky, probably undernourished—a real bean pole. He's got sandy hair and amber eyes and—"
"Did you say amber eyes?" McGonagall interrupted, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. Oh shit! He should leave now, forgoing returning Aberforth's cube, which currently housed all his belongings, and instead vanish into the night. Yet, inexplicably, he remained rooted to the spot, a mixture of fear and curiosity holding him captive.
"Well… yeah, why? Does that ring a bell for you?" Aberforth continued, oblivious to Remus' internal struggle.
"Aberforth, you should have led with that information; amber eyes are a rarity, even among wizards. When did you say he showed up injured again?" she pressed thoughtfully. Remus could almost hear the gears turning in her mind as Aberforth recalled the date with meticulous accuracy. The werewolf sensed her inevitable conclusion, the dreadful realization the full moon had passed just before the ‘mysterious’ boy had been discovered. Oh, he was truly screwed now, wasn't he?
A sudden jarring sound—a chair scraping violently against the wooden floor—made the hidden werewolf flinch and curl up tighter into himself, trying to melt into the darkness.
"What's the matter? Do you know who it is?" Aberforth asked with urgency, tinged with confusion, as someone rose from their chair at a more deliberate and less frantic pace. Surely, McGonagall had gotten up second. He couldn't imagine her losing her composure.
"It's quite possible," McGonagall replied, her tone clipped yet laden with an undercurrent of buried concern. He had heard her sound this way before, particularly during moments of crisis involving him or Sirius. There was no doubt in his mind that she was piecing together the possibility that Robyn was, in fact, Remus. Perhaps he should have picked a name that was more obscure, more distant from his identity. But he doubted it would have made a difference.
"And…" she hesitated, her uncertainty causing Remus to stiffen. Would she reveal to Aberforth what he truly was? Why would she? The full moon was still a week away! "…you said he went by Robyn. Are you certain that's the name he gave you?" Remus frowned, his tension mounting. What did that have to do with anything? Why did that seem to unnerve her even more than the possibility the runaway and injured kid could be Remus Lupin.
"Heh, pretty damn sure. I've been calling the kid that for weeks now," Aberforth grumbled, no doubt irritated by McGonagall's unusual dodginess. "Do we have a problem or something?"
"I must return to the castle urgently, Aberforth. If it is indeed who I fear it is, we may have more than one problem to contend with."
"Care to share, or will you keep being vague as hell?" Aberforth pressed a tinge of pleading in his tone.
"It's not my information to spread," she sighed, her voice revealing a weariness that weighed heavily upon her. Remus would have felt guilty if not for the swirling confusion in his mind.
More than one problem? Was it because he was a werewolf? But he had confined himself to the Shrieking Shack, so there had existed no chance of him hurting anyone. Perhaps she was worried about Lyall, isolated and alone. Maybe that was it…but something about her tone bothered him.
"Yeah, I figured as much. Will you at least let me know if there's something I should know?" Aberforth asked, his voice roughening with impatience.
There was a meaningful pause. Remus could almost feel McGonagall carefully weighing her options, sizing up the older man before speaking. "Only that you must do your utmost to keep the boy here. Do not scare him away or even hint at this conversation. And… that I will be involving your brother."
Brother? The word echoed ominously in Remus's mind. Why? What could that mean? Surely, McGonagall wouldn't be so foolish as to enlist the ministry. No, she would know they would sooner throw Remus in Azkaban than help him. Aberforth's brother must be connected to Hogwarts or The Order, although this left just as many questions and doubts. What was going on? Aberforth's reluctant "figured as much" left the overwhelmed werewolf with no additional clarity.
"Goodnight, Aberforth, and… good luck. I will return in the morning with a plan for how to handle this… concerning situation."
Remus jumped slightly as the front door swung open with a creak, the soft sound of hurried footsteps soon fading into the night. McGonagall, face crumpled in sadness, failed to notice the cowering werewolf’s presence, allowing him to relax, if only briefly, already contemplating his next move. The Whomping Willow was now firmly off-limits until he had no choice but to return for the approaching full moon.
The werewolf knew he wouldn't be missed until morning, as he wasn't expected back until late with the Vance women. He doubted the perpetually exhausted Aberforth would remain awake, waiting for him. Well, perhaps the old man would anticipate Robyn's early departure. Even if Regulus hadn't shown up, Remus doubted he could have survived the whole time amidst the chaos, for it had been overwhelming—too many people, the stench of death wafting from the ornate coffin nestled in the parlour, the shifting volumes and tones of mourners drifting through the air, the painfully bright lights, and, to top it off, his own pounding head and racing heart had all contributed to his running away at the earliest opportunity.
Remus hadn't managed to shake the painful reminiscing attending a funeral conjured, all of it reminding him of the little he'd been allowed to experience at his mum's service before his uncle drove him away. He had assured himself, rationalizing leaving by telling himself that Pandora's friends—those she had nurtured bonds with for years—could provide the comfort she needed far better than he could manage. With that reasoning, the werewolf convinced himself that slipping away was not merely acceptable but expected. That sounded better than acknowledging he hadn't considered Emma's Slytherin friends might unexpectedly make an appearance. The last thing he needed was for Sirius to learn where Remus had been from Regulus...
Deep down, the werewolf accepted his actions for what they were: cowardice. But overhearing Aberforth and McGonagall's conversation, now leaving him free to escape, or at least put off getting in trouble for a little longer, made it worth it...partially. Still, an unsettling worry formed in his stomach for Pandora. He had to keep reminding himself that she had friends at her side and a mother who loved her, so unlike the heavy solitude that had accompanied his own grief. In the end, he always ended up isolated and afraid, right back where he started, the burden of being a monster condemning him to the shadows. The prospect of facing his father—or worse, his uncle—filled him with dread, their inevitable punishments looming ominously like dark thunderclouds.
In the end, it wouldn't matter that no one had shown up for the werewolf at the train station, nor would they listen to his defence that trying to find an invisible house in the middle of the woods would have proven impossible. Ever since Sirius and James had burst into the Lupins' 'house' Remus' father's paranoia had reached new and worrying heights. Even knowing the address would only get him so far—floo blockaded since the impromptu trespassers. And he didn't fancy running into the traps that would most likely surround the newest dilapidated shed by now, tailored against werewolves as if Lyall's subconscious wanted to keep his son far away...
Aberforth's voice broke through his thoughts, a twisted comfort in its oddly resigned yet fond tone. "I just knew that kid would be trouble, Fleabag." The words carried an unexpected gentleness that Robyn couldn't bear to reflect on. His heart raced as he held his breath, acutely aware of every creak in the building. It was only when he noticed Aberforth approaching the window to close up for the night that panic seized him, making it nearly impossible to keep still as his chest closed up and dizziness descended out of nowhere.
Thank Merlin, Aberforth seemed preoccupied with everything Minerva had relayed, muttering about "bleeding hearts" and "tragic lives." Oblivious of the very boy he'd been tasked to keep close, hiding just beneath the window sill, the man grumbled until it became incoherent.
As Aberforth clinked around, dumping the mugs into the sink with a clatter so loud it suggested he had thrown them, Remus waited. He ignored the tension building in his muscles even as it approached an unbearable level, only his racing heart betraying how badly he wished to flee. He remained immobilized long after Aberforth retired for the night, frozen until the aching tightness became too much to bear. At last, the shroud of stillness broke, and the werewolf bolted into the night, sadness consuming him at the thought of leaving Pandora behind. He had no clear destination in mind, but one thing was certain: he could no longer stay. The adults wouldn't listen, they never did, and he'd get sent home.
Why did he pretend another solution existed? He didn't know. He couldn't make himself reason correctly; he found facing death with a full moon inexplicably preferable to confronting his family. None of it made sense, yet running away remained the only tolerable option left to him, an almost primal need urging him to do so even though he knew he couldn't run forever. So, as much as he cherished his newfound friendship with Pandora, Fleabag and even the peculiar man who had offered him sanctuary, urgency propelled him away from the warmth of that temporary home and the weight of his feelings.