This is a companion piece to Chapter Twenty-Seven- Small Talk of Penance - Year One but it can be read as a stand-alone.
The room was spinning.
Faces, familiar but unplaceable, floated in and out of his vision. Some of them spoke to him but their words became jumbled somewhere between his ears and his addled brain.
He stood in the back of the crowded little chapel, swaying on unsteady legs and trying to look somewhat sober. Two coffins rested at the front of the church, their lids flung open, a long line of mourners queued to say final farewells.
A small, cool hand grasped his own and he did not resist as it pulled him to a side room.
Alice gently eased him down onto a low sofa and Frank pressed a steaming cup of coffee to his reluctant lips. Remus shook his head, immediately regretting doing so as the world tilted in a nauseating rush.
“Come on, mate,” Frank said in a voice that made Remus want to punch him in the face. He would have shouted not to patronize him if he weren't afraid of being sick if he opened his mouth.
Alice's chilled fingers brushed the hair from his eyes, relieving some of the heat that he had not realized had built in his face.
“Please, Remus. For James and Lily, alright? They wouldn't want you to be like this.” Her voice was teary and something about her tone, more so than her words, caused him to crack open his lips just enough to permit Frank to tip the bitter coffee into his mouth.
“That's it,” Frank said, sounding again as though he was talking to his baby.
When he finished the coffee, Alice encouraged lukewarm water down Remus’ throat. With each passing moment, he became more aware of himself and the scene around him. They were in some sort of parlor - perhaps for the vicar between services - where a small table had been set with hot beverages and paper cups. The most ugly set of curtains he had ever seen hung from the only window.
He tried to focus his eyes on Alice's face but he had to turn away. He couldn't bear the pity he saw etched into her round face.
“Drink up,” Frank said encouragingly. Remus’ temper flared.
“Don't tell me wha- what t-” a bucket appeared before him just in time to save his muggle suit from the cocktail of coffee and liquor that had been swirling in his stomach.
As his violent heaves subsided, he felt Alice wipe his mouth with a handkerchief before dabbing away the tears he hadn't felt on his numb cheeks.
“Shhh, it's okay,” she cooed and Frank held up another paper cup of water. Remus sipped it begrudgingly. It tasted like cardboard.
Water clung to his lips as he pulled away and looked at Alice with angry, red-rimmed eyes. “No it fu- it fucki-” he paused to allow a new wave of nausea to pass. “It's not okay,” he finally slurred. “Nothing is o-”
More watered down booze made its way back up his throat. Frank patted him on the back, as if he could force the several hours worth of drink out of the younger man's system.
Spitting into the bucket, Remus swatted away the friendly hand. “Don't touch me! Don't…” He dissolved into tears.
Frank checked his watch. “We only have a few minutes left, mate. Let's get some more coffee in you - wouldn't want you embarrassing yourself during the service.” He had meant it as a joke but Remus stood up faster than any of them (including Remus) would have thought possible in his state.
“Shut it!” He shouted. If he had been slightly less drunk he would have been humiliated by the way his words muddied on his tongue. “You th- you think you're so perf- you can't judge…” The room began to spin again.
Alice reached up to cup his damp face. Her hand had warmed considerably. “We aren't judging you - we completely understand.”
“No you don't!” Remus shouted, his voice suddenly stronger. “No one FUCKING understands!” He wanted to kick something. To claw. To bite.
“Is anything the matter?” Remus looked at the doorway, his chest heaving with anger. Dumbledore was gliding through the door; Remus could see some curious faces staring from their pews until Dumbledore closed the door with a gentle click.
The old man - the one who was supposed to have brought them all through this - watched the trio with maddening calm, his hands clasped before him.
“Just pulling ourselves together before the service,” Frank said, far more kindly than Remus deserved. “Rough day.” Remus returned his kindness with a steely gaze.
Dumbledore’s blue eyes met Remus’, giving him the familiar feeling that the headmaster was reading his thoughts. He tried to think of something venomous for the old man to hear in his head, but the words became broken and confused.
Dumbledore finally looked away from Remus and rested his eyes on the young couple tending to their friend. “Thank you, both. I wonder, might I have a moment with Remus before the service begins?”
As Alice and Frank retreated, Remus finally found the words that had escaped him moments before and silently shot them at the departing couple. I wish it had been you. Or me. Anyone but them.
Less than a week later, he would be glad he hadn't spoken the words aloud.
As the door snapped shut, Dumbledore returned his gaze to Remus, who made a concentrated effort to stand up straight and focus his eyes.
“Remus,” Dumbledore began, his voice kind but firm. “I do hope that we will not be graced with any more outbursts today?” Remus would have been ashamed if he weren't so filled with grief and anger.
“Good,” Dumbledore continued, as if Remus had heartily agreed. “Now, while I doubt your promise has escaped your memory, I would like to remind you of what we discussed the other day.”
Remus had sat miserably across from the headmaster's desk. Three days of stubble sandpapered his face and his clothes hung limply from his shoulders, as if they, too, had given up hope.
“…Which is why I must impress on you the importance of keeping your distance, do you understand?” the man to whom Remus owed everything was saying. “I hope you know by now that I am not the type to make empty or needless threats, but I can assure you that there will be severe consequences should you or anyone else attempt to contact Harry or his family without my express permission. Do you understand?”
He hadn't understood, not really, but Remus nodded his head obediently. No matter how much it broke his heart, he had known Dumbledore must have had a good reason to forbid any contact with his friends’ child.
“You should know that Lily's sister is here with Harry.” Remus’ stomach lurched. “I must remind you that you are not, under any circumstances, to engage with Mrs. Dursley or Harry.”
Remus nodded mindlessly.
Dumbledore smiled sadly and took in Remus’ appearance. He knew how he must look. His suit, which he had bought for the Potter's wedding and worn three weeks before the big day for his mam's funeral, was unbuttoned and already nearly two sizes too big. Months of field assignments and a week of mourning had whittle him down to a mere shadow of himself. He knew his hair was a mess and he could feel how bloodshot his eyes were. He prayed to the god he had ceased to believe in that there was no vomit crusted to his chin.
“So young,” Dumbledore mused sadly, “to have lost so much.”
Remus’ lip trembled as a fresh bout of sobs threatened to overcome him. Instead, he brushed past Dumbledore as brusquely as he could manage and took a seat towards the back of the church.
*
He barely heard a word of the service, but he didn't care. If it was anything like the bollocks they had spewed at Peter's funeral the day before, he wasn't interested.
He tried, with every ounce of self-discipline he could muster, to keep his eyes trained on the pair of caskets at the front of the room, but his eyes disobediently drifted to the back row where a bony woman held Harry on the edge of her knees, as if she were trying to keep him as far from her as possible.
Never in a million years would he have pegged this shrewish woman as Lily's sister. She was hard where Lily had been soft, her mouth habitually formed into a sour pinch, nothing at all like Lily's quick-to-smile lips.
His heart filled with hate for her nearly as strong as what he felt for Sirius as he took in Harry. The baby looked miserable every time Remus managed to focus his eyes on him. It had been weeks - months, really - since he had seen him, but Harry had lost the effervescence Remus remembered. He did not bounce on his aunt's knees or clap his hands. He did not look at her with the charming, pebble-toothed grin that had filled Remus’ heart with so much love it hurt. Later, he would tell himself that he had imagined the fearful way Harry tilted away from his guardian.
*
He stood, along with the rest of the congregation, at the end of the service, taking care not to look in Harry's direction. He watched his feet, struggling to keep from stumbling on his way to the gravesite.
“Moo!” a tiny voice called out, followed by a sharp Shhh. Remus pretended not to hear Lily and James’ son as he allowed the flow of the crowd to carry him outside.
“Moo-Moo!!! My Moo!”
He swallowed back the acid rising in his throat at the desperate sadness in Harry's voice and pressed his way through the double doors into the November chill.