Harry Potter left the room, and Remus' eyes followed him out. That night, Halloween, all those years ago, his entire life had changed.
This had not been Remus Lupin's first 'life-changing' night; and, logically, it was not the most influential. That night... as a child... his whole life had changed, it had changed so much... too much. His parents... their lives had changed, had ended, almost... everybody around him had changed, there were whispers... snarls of anger, displeasure, pity. He had shrunk away from everybody, lost every hope, every aspiration.
At least, he should have. But he was a five year old boy, and five year old boys do not work like that.
And he had lived. He had lived as best he could. He had friends, he had grown up. And now there was a war, and he was prepared to fight. His friends were fighting alongside him. He was alive.
And then, one night, came the news. It was everywhere. 'Voldemort was gone.' He had been destroyed, And so few spoke of the loss. The thousands of lives, both Magical and not, people dead, people scarred, people mourning. And, most of all, James and Lily.
Remus did not think back to that night, he did not think back to that news. The news that the Potters were dead. And then, the betrayal of Sirius Black, the death of Peter. His friends were dead. And yet, he still lived.
Then, twelve years later, he met Harry Potter, the boy who had destroyed Voldemort, had evaded him twice, who stood before him, pure and innocent, never had a black notion crossed his heart.
The Boy Who Lived.
He looked like his father. Except for his eyes. He had his mother's eyes. And when Remus spoke to him, so much of his parents did he see... so much of Lily, so much of James.
He spent some time in this revery, sitting at his desk, head in hands, not yet weeping, merely pondering... That was until he was interrupted by the potions master, one more sharp reminder of a time long gone.
Severus had simply dropped off a document, nothing of importance, but seen as enough to be delivered by hand.
As he left the room, a cat had slipped through the momentarily open door. Ginger, bottle-brushed, bow-legged. Not a cat that Remus had ever before seen, but it jumped up onto his lap all the same, curling up and then stretching out, before it began to lick itself. this was a rather shocking occurrence to the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and he awkwardly stroked the cat scratching it behind the ears when he got more comfortable.
As his fingers scratched, his thumb brushed against the collar, and a piece of thick parchment that was tied to it. Blindly feeling for more of the parchment, he pulled at it, and removed it from the cat's collar. At this, it jumped off his lap, and scurried for the door, which Remus proceeded to open for it.
Unrolling the parchment, he saw a single paw print, in black ink. He kept on staring at it for exactly thirty seconds, before walking over and throwing it in the fire, watching as it curls up and burns.
But the memory of the paw print stayed with him long after it had burnt.
He did not sleep well that night, and he woke to the crisp sunday morning with a head that was by no means well rested.
He was here. Sirius was at Hogwarts, hiding in the shrieking shack, expecting a call. And he could tell Dumbledore.
He should tell Dumbledore.
He would tell Dumbledore.
He had to, the number of times he had betrayed him over the years... the number of times... he sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, ran his fingers through his hair, remembered James, and then walked down to breakfast.
Dumbledore was sat at the centre of the table, as always, and the guilt welled up every time Remus' eyes flicked to him, or heard him ask for the eggs, or looked at the paper and saw a report of Sirius Black, or glanced up and happened to catch sight of Harry.
He would tell Dumbledore.
After breakfast, he made the slow way up to his office, and then watched the rain splatter on his window. I hadn't been raining in the Great Hall.
The document that Severus had brought the previous evening, which Remus had not yet glanced at. It was a letter from Professor Dumbledore, with ink of a second colour indicating Severus' scrawl. The letter was about security in relation to Sirius Black. Severus had added a few snide comments about Dogs and Wolves.
Picking up his wand from the desk, he slipped it up his sleeve, and walked up to Dumbledore's office.
Standing by the stone gargoyle, he considered his options. What could he do?
Muttering the password at the gargoyle, she ascended the staircase, and knocked on the headmaster's door, and heard a call to 'enter'.
When Remus Lupin left the office, he cursed under his breath. He had secured the day's leave, and nothing more had been said.
But he had to go through with this now. It was too late to go back. So he walked out of the school, out of the gates, passed the Dementors, and disapparated about half a mile from the village, in a small forest area.
It was not raining there. The ground was dry, and sun was peaking through the clouds. Moving at a slow speed, he allowed himself to get caught up in a crowd of church goers, waiting for the path to clear before strolling into the graveyard, making straight for James and Lily.
Staring at the words, he did not seem quite capable to take them in, but he knew them so well. He would never forget them.
'James Potter, born 27 March 1960, died 31 October 1981
'Lily Potter, born 30 January 1960, died 31 October 1981
'The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.'
A single tear slipped from his left eye, rolling down his cheek, curving at his mouth, slipping off his chin, landing on a single lily, white and beautiful. So fresh it could have only been left that day.
Slipping the wand out of his sleeve, Remus produced a yellow lily, out of thin air, and placed it next to the white one. He then left the graveyard, as quietly as he had come, walking to the outer village, treading a path he knew so well. As he approached The House, he turned round suddenly at the sound of a twig snapping, his eye caught sight of something black. Shaking his head, he turned his head back to The House, touching the gate, and reading the messages, seeing the faded remnants of his own, barely visible, totally illegible. He placed his hand on the sign, flat on the palm, opening the gate, stepping into the garden. Looking up at the old house.
A single tear drop.
He would not tell Dumbledore.