Chapter Text
January 15, 1987
Remus Lupin was not having a good day.
He didn’t have many good days anymore, despite what Mary had told him back when things got really bad. There’s bound to be a good day sometime soon. For a while, Remus wanted to believe she was right because it was Mary, and she was very rarely wrong. Now six years had passed, and all Remus could account for was varying degrees of bad days.
And today was a very, very bad one.
The night before had been the full moon, and it had been one of the more brutal ones. The wolf had torn Remus apart, leaving him bleeding and shivering on the cold January ground in the woods somewhere north of his flat. He woke to a dusting of snow in his hair and flakes falling from the miserable grey sky. With his aching bones and shuddering movements, it had taken hours to get back home. He had barely managed to wrap his injuries before lighting a cigarette and collapsing onto the sofa.
So he lay there, still trembling despite the blankets pulled around his shoulders. He had lost track of what cigarette he was on, letting them burn down to the filter before mindlessly pulling out another. That nagging voice at the back of his head tried persuading him to crack open a bottle of something stronger than the tea in his cup, but Remus ignored it. Besides, there wasn’t any alcohol left in the house. Remus had gotten rid of that monster some time ago.
He hadn’t even had the energy to put a record on, so Remus sat in silence. The occasional whistle of wind wove through the cracks in the floor, filling the space between his ragged breaths.
Remus was dozing when the knock came.
He didn’t move from his cocoon; he just took a drag of his cigarette and let his eyes draw close again. It certainly wasn’t anyone important; whoever it was could leave a note. Remus kept to himself following the full moon. Well, he kept to himself almost every day, but especially after the full moon. He hated the stares or frowns of pity from strangers who couldn’t even fathom what he had gone through. He hated the way his voice sounded after the wolf’s howls had torn it up. The few people Remus could bear to see after the full were all gone now.
Yet, the knock came again, more stern this time. So Remus sat up, but he didn’t stand. Instead, he hugged his arms around himself in the hope that he might stop the shaking of his shoulders. The cold of the night had settled so deeply into his bones that he thought he might never be warm again. He missed when…
Never mind.
He pushed the thought from his head as quickly as it came. He was already in a bad enough state. He didn’t need his mind making things worse.
The knock came a third time, so with a sigh, Remus stubbed his cigarette, reached for his cane, and dragged himself over to the door. The pain that shot up his legs and into his back was so strong that with each step, Remus hissed. By the time he got to the door, his eyes were watering. Blinking his tears away, he squinted into the peep hole. Then Remus stumbled backwards, barely catching himself on the wall with his bandaged hand.
The last people Remus expected to see at his door were Minvera McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey.
They did not knock a fourth time. Instead, the lock clicked, and the two witches stepped inside. Pomfrey was the first to enter, the stout witch pushing past her taller counterpart to inspect Remus with worried eyes. She was saying something, but Remus’ world had gone silent the second he caught sight of their familiar robes and wands. It had just been over five years since…
Remus thought he might be sick.
When his mind returned, Remus was sat on the couch again with hands steadying his shoulders. Pomfrey was tutting, her face the same as it had been all those years ago, but Remus wasn’t nearly the boy he used to be. She pressed a hand to his forehead, then moved his blanket aside to inspect the cuts and bruises scattered across his body. When she reached for her wand, Remus flinched, pushing her away. Pomfrey’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say a word.
After things had fallen apart in ‘81, Remus had done his best to remove himself from all sources of magic. There wasn’t anyone left to cut ties with, so all he had to do was fade back into the real world. Since then, he had kept his wand hidden away, only taking it out once a month. The owls eventually stopped coming with the Daily Prophet, he closed up the fireplace and kept his robes hidden beneath his bed. His invitations to Order meetings went unanswered until they stopped coming at all. He got jobs doing simple muggle things, although it was hard for him to keep them for more than a month. It had been nice to forget, but apparently, he hadn’t gotten as far away from it as he had hoped.
“What are you doing here?” Remus gasped. “What happened?”
No answer came. His mind was a jumble of thoughts, most of which he couldn’t quite decipher. He knew one thing, however:
Something was wrong.
“Lie back, dear,” Pomfrey’s voice rose from the silence. It was just as soft as ever, and Remus’ body responded almost unconsciously.
Shock had stilled his limbs now, and instead of fighting, he watched with glazed eyes as the nurse cleaned and healed his wounds with the flick of her wand. He wanted to be angry at her for bringing magic back into his life when he had spent so long avoiding it. Pomfrey’s cheeks and kind smile were a cruel reminder of everything Remus had lost. Her familiar healing incantations brought him back to Order safe-house floors covered in warm blood.
Remus lurched forward, trembling so badly that he felt his teeth begin to chatter.
Something’s happened. Something bad.
A pair of hands pushed him backward onto the couch again. He grabbed for purchase, clasping onto Pomfrey’s arm as tears filled his eyes.
“What happened? Tell me, please.” His voice was raw as he begged.
It’s him, isn’t it?
“Shush, dear.”
The chill of a glass bottle touched his lips. Before Remus could revolt, the familiar taste of a sleeping draft slid down his throat. Between one breath and the next, he had drifted into a dreamless sleep.
☾
Remus felt better than he had in years when he woke. The incessant pain had dulled to manageable aches in his joints. There was a cool towel draped across his forehead, and his blanket was tucked around his body. Soft noises floated in from the modest kitchen. For a moment, Remus forgot who was in his apartment. For a moment, Remus let himself believe that he had just woken up from a years long nightmare.
But no matter how hard he tried, that wasn’t the case.
Poppy returned from the kitchen carrying a pair of steaming teacups. With his little remaining strength, Remus pushed himself up and propped his body against the pillows. Silently, he took the warm cup from Poppy and held it between his chilled palms.
“Why are you here?” Remus whispered, not looking up from the tea. McGonagall had followed Poppy into the living room. The two witches looked wildly out of place in Remus’ muggle apartment. If things weren’t so terrible, he might have laughed.
“Remus-” Poppy frowned.
“No, I know something is wrong. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
McGonagall stepped forward, placing a hand on Poppy’s shoulder. The two of them exchanged a look before returning their gazes to Remus.
“You’re right, dear,” Pomfrey whispered, giving Remus a sad smile. Of course they wouldn’t have come if they didn’t have something to tell him or needed something from him. That was always the case, wasn’t it?
“We thought you would have heard by now,” McGonagall interrupted. “It’s been in the Prophet all week, and we’ve been sending you owls.”
“Don’t get owls anymore,” Remus muttered. And the last time he read the Daily Prophet was…
“But I think it’s better you hear it in person, dear.” Poppy reached out to press a hand against Remus’ arm, but he knocked it away.
“Just fucking tell me.” Remus hated the way his voice sounded so cracked and broken as he spoke. He would never have imagined speaking to Poppy like that, but he was on edge now.
“It’s Sirius, dear. He’s innocent.”
Remus’ ears began to ring, blocking out the rest of what Poppy and McGonagall say to him. All he could do was watch their mouths move without a sound, the two of them exchanging furtive glances. They tried to hand him a letter, but all he could do was look at it. He couldn’t get his hand to move to grab it. He couldn’t get his mouth to move to tell them to stop.
Innocent.
Some part of him had always wanted to believe that, but the grief was too deep, and the decisions were made all too fast. By the time Remus got his feet back underneath him, Sirius had been forgotten about in a cold cell, and Remus was just another werewolf who had been caught up in the war. No one wanted to believe him when he had raised the notion that Sirius wouldn’t betray his best friend in the entire world. But no one knew that Sirius was no longer a Black, and that when Remus suggested that Sirius wouldn’t betray his family, they didn’t know he meant the Potters.
“If he didn’t, then who?”
The words came out of Remus’ mouth before he could fully form the thought. Sirius was the secret keeper, right? So he was the only one who could betray them.
“It was Peter,” McGonagall whispered. “There was a last minute switch, and Pettigrew was made the secret keeper. Pettigrew was the traitor.”
Peter who played chess with Remus beside the fireplace in the common room. Peter who nearly failed Potions but knew everything about Herbology. Peter who sent letters throughout the war to check on Remus when they went weeks without seeing one another.
Peter who betrayed them all and got the Potters killed.
Bile rose in Remus’ throat. He traded Poppy his teacup for the letter she had offered earlier. Taking it between his trembling hands, he forced his mind to focus on the letters that danced on the paper before him.
January 7th, 1987,
Just over five years since the supposed murder of Peter Pettigrew, he was apprehended by Aurors and brought before the Wizengamot for trial. He was discovered to be an illegal animagi living with an unsuspecting wizard family. Pettigrew’s trial will proceed that of Sirius Black, who was believed to be responsible for the murder of Pettigrew and twelve muggles on the evening of October 31, 1981. Black has been serving time in Azkaban for his supposed collaboration with the Dark Lord.
Another piece of paper had been attached, this one addressed to Remus himself.
Dear Remus Lupin,
Sirius Black requests your presence prior to his Wizengamot trial on the 17th of January, 1987. Please visit the Ministry for an escort.
The papers dropped from Remus’ hands before he could read any further. Ignoring the stares of Poppy and Minerva, he dug a cigarette from his pocket and lit it before taking a long drag.
“Remus?” Poppy whispered.
“Just a minute.” Remus held out a trembling finger and then took another long drag of his cigarette. He was trying his best to ignore the thoughts that rose in his mind, but he could only do so much to avoid what was right in front of him for so long.
Sirius, innocent. Peter, alive. After all the tears and blood that Remus had shed trying to live with the truth, it turned out to all be a lie. Yet none of it changed the fact that James and Lily were still dead.
Remus began to laugh.
It started as a bubble of fear in his stomach then rose to a howling that sent him doubled over himself. Cigarette in hand, he gestured to McGonagall.
“I get it,” he gasped. “After all the problems we caused you at school, you finally decided to get back at us. Real fucking funny.”
The witches looked at him with horror in their eyes. Poppy looked like she was on the verge of tears. Neither dared to speak.
“Good one, Professor,” Remus gasped, the laughter turning sour. “You got me…”
In an instant, a sob tore from where the laughter had just been. Remus pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to stop the tears from spilling over.
“I-I’m sorry.” Remus’ voice was just barely a hoarse whisper now. Everything inside him felt jumbled up, and he didn’t think he’d felt this confused since 1981. Remus wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or sad. He had fought for Sirius, but not for long. They had rejected his pleas and convinced Remus that Sirius was guilty. All his memories of Sirius had been tainted, changed. So much of Remus’ life became dull. For five years, Remus had let a lie ruin his life. For five years, Remus had let a lie ruin Sirius’ life.
Guilt pressed down on his chest, suffocating him. Sirius would be furious with him for what he hadn’t done. Remus had spent years trying to live with the grief, only find himself stuck in it. He was a recovering drunk, a chainsmoker, and about ten pounds lighter than he was before. He had the demeanor of an eighty year-old and took jobs bagging groceries at the market until he was inevitably fired. The only other time he left the flat was for the full or to get more cigarettes. He was pathetic. He had all the freedom Sirius didn’t, yet spent his time a prisoner to his own self.
“I need to think on it. Let me think on it.” Remus propped his elbows on his knees, dropped his head into his hands, and began pulling at his curls.
“You don’t have time,” McGonagall frowned. “You have to visit him tomorrow, Remus. His trial is in two days.”
“No, no,” he muttered. “I’m not ready yet. Just give me some more time, and I’ll-”
“I’ll be here at noon to bring you to the Ministry tomorrow,” Poppy interrupted. Remus looked at her with wide eyes, shaking his head.
“I’m not ready,” he whispered.
“I don’t think you ever will be, dear,” Poppy smiled. “But you have to go anyway.”
Remus lowered his head to the pillow, pulling the blanket back around him. He didn’t care much that Minerva and Poppy were watching as he let his eyes drift shut again. As sleep pulled him under, he let the cigarette burn out between his fingers, the smoke filling the air around him.