Chapter Eleven
Maybe then I’ll fade away and
Not have to face the facts
It’s not easy facing up when
Your whole world is black
“Sirius Black… he’s my godfather. And he’s the reason my parents are dead.” Harry looked at Remus defiantly. “I know everything.”
Harry did not know everything. The confidence of it only reminded Remus how young he was. Remus felt tired, the ache of it steeped through him. He felt it in his belly, in his jaw, in his fingernails. Harry didn’t give him time to gather himself.
“You knew all this time, and you kept it from me. I thought I could trust you, but you’re just like everyone else!”
And then he was gone. Remus had stayed silent the whole time. What could he say? Harry was right. In a weird daze, Remus wandered the hallways, trying to think of something to make it right. He found himself at the top of the staircase that led into the Great Hall, leaning over the railing. Below, he could see his younger self, a little hazy at the edges, but otherwise so clear it felt real. He was finishing a cigarette in the entrance, while a very annoyed young Peter stood by him, keeping guard and continuously warding off the smoke with a weak wind charm he never quite got the hang of. His younger self tossed the cigarette, and they both vanished round the corner. In their place, earlier versions appeared. James and Sirius, heads down, plotting some prank… then it shifted to another scene, of James, Peter and Sirius, covered in mud, brooms in hand trying to get Remus to join them. James and Peter racing off, Sirius hanging back, grabbing Remus’s book and reading out loud to poke fun, until Remus stood up, towering over him and backing him against the wall…
Remus felt a hand on his. Professor McGonagall was stood beside him.
“I see them all, too” She said.
They stood that way for a while, both looking out at an entrance hall that was both empty and not. Ghosts could take many forms.
*
Unable to sit with with his thoughts, Remus was putting lots of extra time into Hagrid’s lessons. Rubeus continued to be mainly interested in spells that would protect and maintain the forest, although since Black’s entry to the castle he was also, begrudgingly, working on ‘Protego’. Just in case.
Unburdened by any exams or official syllabus, Remus was happy to follow Hagrid’s interests. At least he wasn’t using an umbrella anymore, and Hagrid’s pumpkins were looking healthier than ever. They were spending a lot of time going over case studies to help Buckbeak’s case too.
Hermione often joined them, and Remus was impressed with her determination and insight. According to Hagrid, she was having some friendship troubles, something about a rat. Remus wanted to ask Harry about it, but didn’t know how to interfere, especially since Harry wasn’t currently speaking to him. He wished there was a rulebook on how to be an unofficial, part-time guardian to a teenager, on your own, while also being a monster. Unfortunately, no one had written such a book yet.
There were, however, a great many books he was able to lend to Hermione, which were not stocked by Hogwarts library. She was getting through them at an incredible rate.
The burden of Remus’s secrets continued to constrict him, but still he didn’t tell anyone about Sirius being an animagus. Harry was still angry with him, and any apology would only be steeped in more deceit.
Remus took to wandering the halls at night, trying to ease his guilt by looking out for signs only he would know that Black had been near. He feared it and he wanted it too.
One night, he was writing a letter in his office when he received a summons from Snape. Remus was curious, so he went. There was Harry, out after curfew and apparently in trouble. And there, in Snape’s hands, was an object Remus never thought he’d see again. It was his old map.
Of course, Severus must know what it was, even if he couldn’t get into it. He was looking at Remus shrewdly, and Remus realised that while he was suspicious of him, he also hadn’t taken the map to Dumbledore. A look of understanding passed between them. It linked them like a chain, and Remus nodded slightly. Snape was going to help him find Sirius.
Remus glanced back at Harry. Neither man could admit what the other knew, and thus ensued a little performance. Remus claimed the map to be a joke, Snape snapped back and they began their little dance. It was familiar, he played the part of bedraggled monster full of secrets, while Snape entered into a slimy, self-serving git who never grew out of his bullying teenage years.
Harry seemed delighted. Snape swept out, apparently defeated, and Harry’s anger at Remus was momentarily discarded for awe.
Remus, however, picked it right back from where it lay on the floor, and turned on Harry. How could he be so reckless? Wandering the corridors after dark, alone and unprotected? Going down the exact same passageways Sirius could have been coming up through? Everything Remus accused him of, he knew he was also guilty of himself. But he had to impress upon Harry, somehow, the danger he was in. Finally, Padfoot and Sirius and Black knitted themselves back together in his head. His boyfriend, the murderer. Remus threw Lily and James into Harry’s face; he needed every weapon in his arsenal. He confiscated the map, using his powers as a teacher. He sent Harry to bed before he had any time to stumble, to explain, or to change his mind.
He didn’t sleep that night, staring at the map he’d thought had been lost to the sands of time. Nearly all the names on it now were unrecognisable. At least he could watch Harry now, and he did so obsessively. At dawn, an owl landed on his window. Finally, there was a reply from Rowan. It was just one line long.
We need to talk
Well, that couldn’t be good.
*
They met in the forest, like usual. When Rowan appeared in the clearing, Remus’s jaw dropped. He looked ragged, his hair was long and unbrushed, he was limping slightly, and he had a new scar that ran from his wrist up his forearm and disappeared into the edge of his t-shirt. But he was also tanned, and muscular, and looked more at home in the forest than he used to.
“What the fuck has happened to you?” Even as he asked it, Remus felt like there was a stone turning over and over in his stomach. He recognised the signs, but he needed to hear Rowan say it.
“You’re going to be angry with me… but I need you to hear me out. Please, sit.”
It was more of a command than a request. Normally, Remus would have fought it, but he was so tired of fighting everything and everyone, so he acquiesced, and then he listened.
Rowan, it transpired, had found Remus’s reports from his days in the pack. It was a betrayal, and Rowan knew it, but set his jaw defiantly and carried on. It wasn’t the worst of what he had to say. There were werewolves in that report that Remus never told anyone about. He knew they were dangerous, and they too knew parts of himself he’d tried to forget. Parts of himself that killed. But he also didn’t want any of them to end up in Azkaban. He wouldn’t wish that fate on his worst enemy. It had been his enemy’s fate nonetheless.
Remus’s eyes snapped up.
“If you found them…” he murmured, his voice deliberately flat. “Then you know… what I did. To those who led the uprising and… and to those kids who joined them. The people who are dead, because of me. That’s why you haven’t been replying to me. You know everything.”
Rowan strode over and gripped Remus at his elbows. Holding him, but at arm’s length.
“No. I understand. You were trying to stop them joining Voldemort. There were other members of the pack you had to protect. I understand, and I don’t blame you. But they need that same protection now. Dark forces are getting stronger, we’re hearing the same reports from all our sources.”
Rowan let go of Remus to pace as he talked. But Remus didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why someone as gentle as Rowan would want to get tangled up in that wild pack. Those were some of the darkest days of his life. He couldn't tell anyone where he was, or why, and after that day, when he woke up and all those boys were dead… he’d left the forest. He hadn’t cared about his mission anymore. After two weeks, he realised wanted to go back to his life with Sirius, with his friends. If only he’d gone home right away, things might have been different. But when he finally got home, his friends there were dead, and Sirius was gone.
“Remus, please. It’s not like it was before. They’ve changed. They’re interested in what I have to say!”
“NO!” Remus didn’t want to hear it. “You don’t know them like I do! They’re… they’re dangerous!”
Rowan looked at him scathingly.
“How many times” he asked “has that been the exact way people - bigots - have described you?”
Remus opened his mouth to retort, but Rowan swept in, trying a new tactic.
“Don’t you see? We need this. We need to be reaching werewolves who are out and wild, not just those who are registered or in hiding. It’s the only way to make a change!”
He tried to reach for Remus again, but Remus shrugged him off.
“No.”
Rowan sighed, and ran both his hands through his hair at the same time. It was an old habit, and it lowered Remus’s defences.
“Look,” Rowan said. “I’m back for a month now. I’m going to do Buckbeak’s court case, I’m going to be back at the bookshop. You can be angry at me, but I’m not the only one with secrets. Why didn't you tell me about you and Black? What he… was to you.”
There it was. The crux of their downfall. Had Remus’s secrets pushed Rowan into these decisions? Why did it feel like the more he tried to prevent history from repeating itself, the more it lay itself down in patterns, stretching endlessly around him.
Remus turned on his heel and strode out of the forest. At the edge of the treeline, his resolve wavered, and he looked back. But Rowan was already gone.