Chapter 1
February 13th, 1998
The office felt colder now. He hadn’t remembered it feeling particularly warm to begin with. As a student, he hated this tower. It always meant he was in trouble, or, worse, someone he loved was. The very walls themselves still held the presence of a man who shared no secrets. Who was two steps ahead, and perfectly content to leave everyone around him in the dust of their own confusions. Dumbledore had that effect on things, on people. Even now he left everything cold and unanswered in his wake.
Today, however, the office was bone-chilling. Even its original atmosphere had harbored some minuscule sliver of hope. The paintings talked to you, even if it was usually just a snide comment. Today, the room was silent. Banners of black and green were draped across the wall and any ounce of hope had long since been evaporated.
Remus went over the facts in his head. Dumbledore was dead. Snape had killed him. This was the plan. That much he knew. That much he had been told. The Order sent him to gather a few important objects and transport them to Grimmauld Place. He was the obvious choice. The only one who could get through the wards now that Harry was off on his own. As much as he dreaded being here, he dreaded Grimmuald more. It never held hope. Any laughter that sounded inside those walls was dead with him. He had taken it with him, and it was probably stuck somewhere deep in the veil at the point. Remus hated that they still used the bloody place. A new safe house would have been smarter, safer, cleaner. A clean break added to an already contorted bone. What was the necessity of keeping the keys?
Sirius wasn’t there. Not anymore.
He sighed and rubbed a hand against his face. Floo in, grab a few items, floo out. That was the mission. He walked over to the nearest trunk and began shuffling through papers in search of a few deeds and account files. Leave it to the Order to send him back to Hogwarts in pursuit of paperwork. He grabbed a folder marked “Grim. Place” and tossed it into his bag. The abbreviation itself deserved a small laugh, and maybe a few months ago Remus could have managed one.
He had approximately two more minutes before he was surrounded by Death Eaters, and that was not an encounter he wanted to risk.
Quickly, he scanned the other trunks in the corner of the office. He grabbed a couple of wands: some collected from students over the years and a few stolen from Order members after the latest round of Ministry duels. It was surprising that Dumbledore’s possessions were still in the office at all. It felt too easy. He shuffled through the contents of the trunk before him when his hand brushed a small velvet box. Examining it closely, Remus was confused. The box itself was shaped like a ring box, but he highly doubted that Dumbledore had ever planned on proposing to someone. He didn’t really seem like a “get on one knee type guy.” Examining it closer, it seemed to be too large to be a ring box but too small to be much more. The deep red color of it felt Gryffindor in nature, and it hummed in his hand. No, not the box. It’s contents.
He should not open it.
It was not on the list, and he knew what magic felt like.
This felt warped. Where most magic felt warm and soothing, this box was burning. Too hot all of a sudden, he felt the urge to drop it.
Instead, however, he flipped the box over. It had been inscribed at some point. The words were too dull to make out after the years. Anyway, Remus didn’t care. Okay, he slightly cared.
Curiosity was getting the best of him now. He was wasting time. He made a quick decision. The latch of the lid flipped open, and the humming grew louder.
At first, he didn’t know what it was. A small golden object, only a little smaller than a snitch maybe? Remus had never really taken James or Sirius up on their offers of Quidditch lessons, but he felt like snitches were supposed to have wings. He was sure of it, actually. This, he decided, was not a snitch. It had grooves along the side of it, and when Remus turned it over the humming dulled for a moment. Then, he swore, the faintest sound of a clock played in his hand. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Oh.
Suddenly, Remus remembered a certain 3rd year’s class schedule, and a genius plan to save the love of his life. The story had been retold by Sirius multiple times. He was always quite proud of Hermione’s ingenious problem-solving skills.
1 minute. The rush of boots running down the hall. Remus tossed a few other folders, and some last-minute trinkets in the bag on his side. He stopped to look at the time turner once more. It was a dangerous item to have in one’s possession. They were finicky things at best, and he still wasn’t quite sure how Hermione had talked her way into one. That being said, he couldn’t leave it for someone to stumble upon later. He definitely couldn’t risk it falling into Voldemort’s hands. They were losing this war. Remus knew it. Minerva knew it. Sirius knew- had known it. He had all the faith in the world in Harry, but Merlin, what a weight to put on a boy barely out of adolescence. Better to put up a fight, than go without one.
Remus carefully placed the turner back into its box and then gently in his pocket. It isn’t that he didn’t trust the other Order members, but he knew how much some of them were willing to lose in order to win. There were too many sacrifices ready to be made on the lambs’ behalf. He would keep this to himself for now. That was the smart move. The only move.
He quickly grabbed a handful of powder and tossed it into the fireplace. A decoy stop first, to confuse the system.
“32 Shell Street.”
He stepped out of the fireplace and walked outside of the small London flat.
He hated apparition. Not his choice.
His stomach twisted and he found himself at the wrought iron gates of Grimmauld Place. Stumbling inside past the wards he put down the messenger bag and found his way to the kitchen. Slowly, he pulled the red box out of his pocket and placed it on the table. Taking a seat in one of the kitchen chairs, he unlatched the box. He didn’t want to touch the turner again. That felt risky. Instead, he stared at the box for what felt like hours. He memorized the small engravings and flourishes of it. It seemed to tick for him, to a rhythm that he had heard before but couldn’t quite place. He felt the light in the room dim around him. Evidently, the sun was setting, leaving the windows nothing more than ghosts of glass and pane. At some point, he made himself a cup of tea and grabbed a chocolate bar from the cabinet. Sirius had bought them in bulk the last time he was out. Muggle chocolates from a small corner store down the street. He knew they were Remus’s favorite. The ones his mum used to get for him after one of their adventures out into the world. They tasted like summer. They reminded him of too much now.
There was an opportunity in the small red box that Remus had not dared to let himself consider, but as the night drug on he could feel Sirius’s magic in the walls of Grimmuald. Still clinging on to a distant memory. Remus pulled his wallet from the inner pocket of his coat. He hadn’t moved to take it off since he’d gotten there. The magic in the house was still warm, but the house itself was built to be an unforgiving type of cold. From his wallet, he pulled out a small photograph. He watched as Sirius hugged him from behind, Remus holding Harry. It was the last time he had seen him before James and Lily went into hiding. The camera shifted ever so slightly so that they could be seen on the edge of the photograph. Lily was beautiful, laughing at Remus as James beamed at her like the sun. James. It was hard not to look at the picture and at once think it was Harry. The way his glasses reflected the light, the two almost looked identical now. For a second, he thought about how painful it had been watching Harry grow up. How he was slowly reaching an age James never got to see. How the only thing he had left of Lily were the eyes that rolled at him every time he told Harry a joke. He thought about the first time he had seen Harry, really. Really, really saw him after Lily and James died. Not from scattered photographs or a distance. How small Harry had looked standing amongst all of the other 3rd years. A child forced to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Atlas at the center of a war he should have never seen. He thought about James and Lily. Sometimes he thought of Ron and Hermione. Harry had never truly known his parents, but Merlin, if they weren’t reflected in his two best friends. Hermione taking on the intelligence and genuine goodness of Lily. They were both so kind. Ron taking in strays just as James had. Rescuing Harry from the Dursleys just as James had rescued him… had rescued Sirius. Sirius.
Harry was the spitting image of his father, but he was Sirius through and through. It wasn’t fair. They should have watched him grow up. Not from behind the walls of death or the bars of Azkaban. They should have been given that at least. Life was cruel. He laughed. A decent laugh that he hadn’t had in quite some time. Understatement of the century.
At some point, distracted from his actions by his thoughts, Remus picked up the turner and rolled it over in his hands.
He knew so much now. He felt so old. In his 30s and felt like he had been alive easily thrice that.
He knew so much now.
He knew so much now.
Dumbledore had once told him that knowledge was a burden. It was starting to feel like an opportunity.
They were already losing the war. If they were all going to die anyway, why couldn’t a few people get a few extra years? It started out as a joke. Remus had scrawled out a couple of pointers on a small slip of parchment next to him. He would travel back to 1981. To the day the photograph had been taken. He could hide them all in a safe house, not tell Peter- the bastard- where they were going, and save them all. Sure, it would be hell to pay with the Order at the time, but hell was worth his family. He continued to think out a plan that was quickly losing all of its comedy. He knew about the Horcruxes. Not the specifics, but he knew they existed. He knew they could find a way to destroy them. Voldemort couldn’t come back if they killed him right the first time. Dumbledore wouldn’t like it. Dumbledore was dead though so that was a quick and self-winning argument. A few months further back he could see Mary and Marlene again. Harry had written Sirius a letter after they had found the locket. A little fiddling and Remus could catch Regulus too. No martyrs. No Chosen One. No broken families.
No.
It was a stupid idea. It was bound to go wrong in countless different ways. It was better if he called it a night and went to sleep. Woke up tomorrow and returned to one of the other safe houses. He looked at the parchment in front of him and the turner that he had placed back in its box before he’d started writing.
Frustrated, he stood up and poured out the tea that had gone cold an hour ago. He stopped at the sink for a second before throwing a small spell behind him at the slip of parchment, now a small flame. He didn’t need evidence of his break from sanity. He heard a small sizzle sound and turned quickly. His photograph.
“Shit!” He mumbled before grabbing it and shaking it slightly. The right corner was gone, the edges burnt. He stared at it. Sirius’s face was scuffed now. If it weren’t for the tattoos on his arm’s one might not have known it was him. He felt something splash across the photo before he realized he was crying. Now he didn’t even have proof that they had been happy. Not decent proof anyway. Life was cruel.
In a split second, he found himself grabbing the turner, tossing the box in his coat pocket, and winding the small dial on the side. 1980, September- a short holiday that they had taken to the beach. In the middle of the war with no time for breaks, but Lily had insisted she had news to share. He could get to all of them there. Frank and Alice, too. He could figure it all out when he got there. He just needed to be there. With them.
He let the dial turn, and the ticking got louder.
Tick Tick. Tick Tick. Tick Tick.
He closed his eyes. It occurred to him to be scared. He was going somewhere foreign, somewhere he shouldn’t be. But in the end, it was quite simple.
Remus Lupin was going home.