Someone save Remus the poor gay
Remus’ father had died not long into the war. His mother had died far earlier, just before his graduation. This had left Remus with a small cottage in wales, just on the sea side. He wouldn’t keep it much longer, Minerva knew, he couldn’t afford to. He had been talking with Sirius about selling it, oh so long ago.
She finds herself in the untamed garden of the little cottage. The grass is overgrown and there’s a large number of weeds taking over the stone wall around the garden.
She focuses her eyes on the front door, once bright red paint worn from the weather and slightly peeling.
Knock, knock, knock.
She rubs her hands together in an attempt to warm them against her sudden nerves. She hears a crash, a hissed ‘oh for fucks sakes’ and the muffled sounds of Remus Lupin desperately trying to get his life together to no avail.
The door swings open and there he is. His hair is a mess of unwashed curls and there’s stubble on his chin, a mustard stain on the collar of his shirt. He blinks at Minerva, turns his head away from her and then turns back as though he’d expected her to disappear.
“Professor!” he half shrieks in shock.
“Mr Lupin,” Minerva grins in amusement.
Remus is suddenly bright red in the face as he seems to realize that he’s in what seems to be an unwashed shirt and a pair of bright yellow pants.
“I’m very sorry about my appearance.”
“I am too, Remus.” She grins and Remus’ face goes even redder, if possible.
“I wasn’t—um, I wasn’t expecting company.” He apologises.
“I can tell,” smiles Minerva, “You get changed, I’ll put the kettle on,”
There’s a pause, before Remus nods, “Kitchens end of the hall,” he croaks before disappearing into the house.
Minerva follows silently, regards the quaint cottage with a smile and it is very much the home of Remus Lupin. He’d never been the neatest boy, unlike Sirius who had naturally kept things in proper places, or even James who’d had an eclectic organizing procedure. There’s books stacked against the walls of the hallway, the odd tea cup left abandoned on a few of the stacks.
The kitchen is even more of a mess, books take up most surfaces, including the kitchen table. Some have even taken residence inside of the oven, by the looks of things.
She sighs, dropping her handbag onto the kitchen table. She fills the kettle with water and puts it on the stove. While she waits for the water to boil, she sets to the task of finding new homes for the books on the table and chairs, clearing a space for herself and Remus. Once that task is done it’s onto the mission of finding a pair of clean, unchipped tea cups and then preparing the tea. She pulls the package of biscuits from her hand bag and settles into one of the chairs at the table.
Remus arrives not long after that. His curls are damp but he’s in cleaner clothes and gives her a bright, if slightly embarrassed smile as he drops into the seat in front of her.
“Hullo Professor,”
“Hello, Remus,”
Remus takes a long sip of his tea, screws up his nose and drops in two more spoonfuls of sugar.
“How are you?” he smiles, always kind and polite.
Minerva smiles, “I’m alright, children at Hogwarts keep me busy, and yourself?”
“Best I can be, I suppose.”
It’s a lie. Minerva can see it in his eyes. Remus Lupin was terrified of his friends leaving him. He’d been terrified of it all his years at Hogwarts. He’d clung to James and Sirius and Peter and eventually Lily like lifelines. She can see it in the unwashed dishes in the sink and the new scars adorning his face, neck and hands.
“How have your transformations been, of late?” she asks finally, and Remus pulls down one of his sleeves over his hand.
“Not—Not great, but they never are, ‘spose,” he grumbles, “Professor, why are you here?”
Minerva takes a slow sip of her tea, helps herself to a biscuit.
“Sirius is innocent.” She says finally.
They’re both silent for a long moment. Minerva dips her biscuit into her tea and glances up at Remus who’s staring at her like she’s thrown a hex at him.
“Sirius Black,” hisses Remus, “Killed Lily, James and Peter and countless muggles—”
“You know that isn’t true.” Says Minerva, “You must Remus, you knew Sirius better than anyone—”
“I thought I did,” snaps Remus, “But the war taught me a lot about myself and my friends. Namely that some of them were never truly friends.” He gets to his feet, toppling his chair back, “I’m sorry Professor, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Minerva regards Remus for a long time. The summer sun from outside casts a bright glow into the kitchen, warm and kind. But in this moment Remus looks startlingly like Sirius, trapped in a prison of his own making.
“Sirius loved you, and you loved him back, once.” She says, not unkindly as she picks up her handbag, “Maybe, you’ll remember that.”
“I wasn’t the one who forgot,” croaks Remus, “Goodbye Professor.”
And with that Remus storms out of the kitchen, she can hear him thunder up the stairs and the sound of a door slam shut. Minerva see’s herself out.