"You asked who's good, I think it's me
I barked real loud right at that tree
It smells like someone else, you see
A someone who's not us or we!
"You asked who's good, it's hard to say
Let's find out in the park some day
You'll teach me tricks and how to stay
And after that, we'll play play play!
"You asked who's good, I don't quite know
And on our walks you go so slow
It doesn't matter to me though
As long as you're the one I tow!
"You asked who's good, it's tough to call
This one time you fake threw the ball
This other time I made you fall
'Cause I was big and you were small!
"You asked who's good, I think it's you
I think that all this time I knew
And even though the years were few
I loved them so, and love you too!"
—c.m. averin, "Who's Good?"
Lupin, Remus John,
Wherever he might be,
August 23rd, 1977
Dear Moony,
I don't know what to write anymore, Remus.
Lily's started writing me to ask if I've gotten anything from you. She's worried sick about you—she has to be, if she's owling me of all people.
I get it.
You have the right to put us through Hell and back with what you've been through and what we did.
Don't take it out on her. From what I gather, she's going through enough on her own without one of her closest friends abandoning her.
Please. Please.
I know that you got our other letters. If there's one thing you take out of this, just write Lily back.
For her sake.
The rest of us can cope until the start of the term. I really hope you're coming back this year. Even if you don't want to be around us anymore, don't let us push you out of Hogwarts. You're the most brilliant bloke I know. Even if it doesn't mean much because we didn't say it before.
And, if it matters at all, Dumbledore sent me a letter. I'm going to be Head Boy.
Your Faithful Friend,
James Potter
5 Manor Drive, Guildford, Surrey, Great Britain
Remus eyed the letter briefly before adding it to the ever-growing (if disheveled) pile of parchment on his desk. He sat back in his chair, and in sequence, he: threw back his head; closed his eyes; exhaled deeply; and stared up at the low wooden ceiling, just as he had for many nights before. And, just as he had done those many nights, he wished that he was somewhere else. Someone else. A different time or place or person, where he could lose himself in something or someone or somewhere interesting.
He wasn't being fair to the simple one-room cabin. It'd served him well over the past month or so. It was warm and dry. It had a bed that bore the terrible things done on it without complaint, a comfortable chair (not unlike the bed), and a desk (not unlike the chair). If he'd wanted anything else for the cabin—within reason—he could've asked one of the Den Mothers and had it within a few days.
The prospect of returning to a cozy, safe cabin every night had enticed him in the beginning. After hours of prowling the forest and helping out in the village each day after a lifetime of libraries and pasty, Remus had wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the mostly-soft mattress and dive into a good book until sleep took him; and that was exactly what he did the first few days.
Until the first letter arrived.
The inside of Remus's eyelid itched.
Remus opened his eyes. He shuffled through the stack of letters, laying eight of them out over his desk with the utmost care, the rest left untouched. His hands moved with a precise efficiency, as though acid or silver lined their edges and might bite at his hands if he handled them too long or too wildly. He watched them even. They—the letters, that is—they couldn't move on their own.
After another heavy breath, Remus reached out for the third letter in the chronology.
Lupin, Remus John,
18 Junction Lane, Wickham, Hampshire, Great Britain
July 7th, 1977
Remus,
I'm the bloodiest fucking idiot in the world. I'm the worst friend you could've ever made. I don't even deserve to be called your friend anymore for what I did.
I know I told you I was sorry more times than you can count, and that's unlikely to happen, because you're the smartest bloke we never deserved. But I'm going to keep saying I'm sorry until the day I die. I'm going to keep saying sorry, even though I'm never going to forgive myself for betraying my closest friend over a stupid bit of anger I tried to play off as a joke. I'm never going to forget the biggest mistake I've ever made.
You were there for me when I finally stood up to my old mother and father. I remember. It was right after a Full, a Full that you had to do alone, but you treated me like I was the one who was really hurting even though you were bleeding through your bloody ribs. You, James, and Peter kept me alive. I would've destroyed myself without you lot putting me back together. You're one of the only bright things in my life, Remus, and I did something that I can't take back.
I'm so angry at myself.
I'm so angry at the world.
I wish you were angry at me. I kept wishing that you'd scream at me, curse me, beat the shit out of me, because then I'd know how you feel. I'd know that you were feeling anything, anything at all about me, rather than this nothing. I'd know we'd be feeling the same thing at the same time for once, instead of always missing each other by minutes. Even if that feeling were anger.
Me and my Black temper. I ruined the only thing I cared about in the whole world because I couldn't keep my stupid, stupid emotions under control.
I'd give anything to go back and change it. I'd kill the everyone in the entire bloody world and then myself if you asked me to, Remus. You know I would.
It plays over and over and over and over again in my head and I can't stop it playing. I want to die when I think about it. I want to die a lot.
I think the worst part is that I thought I was being funny. I was so angry that I made you worth nothing more than some sick, stupid bloody punchline. I didn't even think about it. I didn't think about how I was about to throw your future away. Your life away. Us away. All I wanted was to get back at Snape. I can't forgive myself, because I didn't think that my 'prank' was an issue until I told Peter.
If he hadn't run to James, I don't know what I would've done.
There's so much more that I ruined for you.
That's why I can't forgive myself. That's why I know you can't forgive me.
I miss you.
Please hurt me.
Sirius
5 Manor Drive, Guildford, Surrey, Great Britain
Remus carefully placed Sirius' letter in its proper place, not in the basket with the others. That one was special, and there was a system. One couldn't simply read the letters as written, as they'd arrived. No.
With practiced nonchalance performed in an empty theatre, Remus flicked his wand, bringing a thrice-rewarmed mug of tea to his hand. He gingerly sipped once. Twice. He blinked his eyes three times. Exhaled.
Setting the mug down with one hand, Remus grabbed at the fifth letter with the other.
Lupin, Remus John,
18 Junction Lane, Wickham, Hampshire, Great Britain
August 4th, 1977
Dear Moony,
Everybody's worried about you. You haven't been answering any of our letters. We're not even sure if you're getting them, because we went to your house—your old one, I mean—and you weren't there. You don't owe us anything, but if you're getting this, please let us know you're alright. We can set you up with a place to stay if you can't keep the house. Or if you don't want to.
Padfoot told me about the letter he sent you. He isn't sleeping. He's been in a bad way since everything happened, but he's getting worse. I know I shouldn't be bringing his guilt to you. I don't have the right.
I still want you to know that it's tearing him apart.
He'll wander for hours without saying a word. He'll go outside and vanish at night, then come back in the morning and keep on walking around doing nothing. Wormtail and I take turns watching him, now, because we're scared he'll have a full meltdown or hurt himself. Peter says he'll stand still or sit up in bed for hours, staring at nothing.
I believe him.
Sirius passes out eventually, and after that, he's fine for a few days. Pete and I don't know what to do. St. Mungo's is out of the question. Getting him to talk to us about anything was hard before, before you two got close. Now, it's impossible. I told him he should owl you again so he could talk about his feelings to someone. He said that he's sent you more than ten letters, and he's run out of ways to say everything differently.
We never should've left you for a Full. Not with what happened last time. I know you don't want to talk about it, but, hey, I don't know if you'll ever read this. I know you don't want another apology, so I won't give you one.
Everything's so fucked up.
Your Concerned Friends,
Prongs, Padfoot, and Wormtail
5 Manor Drive, Guildford, Surrey, Great Britain
Sip. Swallow. Wince.
Still too hot to drink.
Sip. Swallow. Wince.
Remus replaced the letter. He rubbed his face with both hands (a terrible habit, he'd have to wash again later) and stared at the wall; anywhere was better than the desk. He sipped again. Swallowed. No wince.
A few deep breaths later, Remus dove back in. The seventh letter awaited him.
Lupin, Remus
18 Junction Lane, Wickham, Hampshire, Great Britain
August 17th, 1977
Dear Remus,
James and Sirius kept sending you loads of letters, so I didn't want to send you one and harass you more because I owled Dumbledore when they were panicking, and he said that you should be getting your mail, and I hope he's telling the truth, because I don't want to find out that you're dead, too.
Some muggles were taking all of the stuff out of your house and putting it into one of the truck things that Sirius is always going on about, so I guess you couldn't keep the house, but James and Sirius have the money to help you keep it, but I guess you didn't want that, and anyway, if you don't have a house, maybe you don't have the Prophet, either, so I don't know if you know how things are, now.
I'm scared, Remus. Everything's getting bad, and not just us, either, everyone's got it bad. I can't remember if you knew Amelia Bones or not, because she might've had potions or something else with us, but she might've just been in a class with me and not you, and Death Eaters burned her home down and trapped them inside while it happened, and they're saying that they're all dead, her entire family.
Someone had pictures.
James is really upset because apparently Evans's parents are both really sick and he says she wanted to take them to St. Mungo's, but her sister took them to a muggle hospital and told the staff she was crazy so she can't visit them or see them and James says she says that it's not looking good.
Maybe you should write her so you can tell her what to do, because you're good at telling people what to do to make things better, but if you're not feeling up to it, maybe you could write me back and tell me how to tell them if you're not ready, because it's not like planning a prank, because I'm good at that, but I just don't know how to fix everything because it's all way too big and there's too many details.
Sirius fixed himself, I think. He dragged a muggle loud bike thing into the house a couple days ago, and he spends a lot of time in a room with it, but he's eating and sleeping okay now, and I wish I had his appetite, because James said I've been losing weight and that he was proud of me, but he was using that jokey tone and with everything going on I can't really tell what he meant.
Sincerely,
Peter Pettigrew
16 Castle Way, Stamford, Lincolnshire, Great Britain
Remus stretched, blank-faced, and leaned to place his now-empty mug on his bedside table. His ears flicked involuntarily (another terrible habit picked up from the woods) and started picking out sounds. They settled on the crickets chirping outside.
He stood up from his chair and took a half-step away from the desk, just to pop out for a breath or two of fresh air, just to listen to the crickets while he sipped too-hot tea, then paused mid-stride.
The quiet voice of reason in his head told him to sit back down and read the four damn remaining letters over again. To write something back to them, to Lily at the least, because he had no reason not to.
Remus listened. He deflated back into his seat and grabbed the sixth letter, Lily's.
Lupin, Remus
18 Junction Lane, Wickham, Hampshire, Great Britain
August 9th, 1977
Remus,
I think I made a terrible mistake. A horrible, bad, really, really bad mistake. I pulled some strings at St. Mungo's and got my parents taken there because it became 'a possibility' that their illness was magical in nature. I'd figured they'd be diagnosed with some non-magical malady, cured, and on their way in a night, no matter Petunia's chagrin.
It's not magical, but they can't cure it. They've been trying everything they know, but nothing's worked so far. We're not out of options yet, but we're getting close. I still have hope, though. It's a hard thing to come by, these days, but you and I always talked about hope being its own little kind of magic.
Petunia is seeing red. She thinks that I'm killing them by having them there. She thinks that someone is poisoning them or spelling them to keep them ill. She's furious with me and she wants them taken back to a 'proper' medical establishment. I think I'm going to lose her forever, Remus.
She blames me for them being so stressed out before they fell ill. She wanted me to decline their invitation to the wedding so that our parents wouldn't get mad at her. She was afraid of us being evil wizards, or bringing Death Eaters, or just being followed by Death Eaters. I was so stuck in my own head and life that I refused.
For some reason, I thought that she would just give up and let me come. Instead, she and our parents had a huge row. She hated me even more after that. She thinks that the stress took all the fight out of them, and that's why they're sick. I think she might be right.
She doesn't understand why magic can't just fix them. She thinks that I'm holding out, or that everyone else is holding out on me. She doesn't understand why this is happening to her, or my parents, and the worst part is that neither do I and you're not here to help me because you're the only person I know who would understand what I'm going through right now.
I can't help wondering if maybe a regular doctor could help them in a way we can't. Or if there is something that can be done, but isn't because of the risks. I know you can't answer those questions, Remus, but I need someone to talk to. Can we meet somewhere, soon? It's late, and I'm rambling and can hardly remember anything I've written just now.
I hate Petunia so much for what she does, but I still can't stand the thought of losing her. I feel like I'm going mad, Remus.
We're supposed to go mad together, you and I.
Lily Evans
2, Spinner's End, Cokeworth, Great Britain
Tea left his mouth dry and tasting of ash, no matter how much or fast Remus drank.
Remus had told himself he didn't know the right words (and it was true). He'd escaped away to a boring cabin and a forest in the Pyrenees because he'd had his own demons to deal with (and he had). He'd called his friends children many a day, oftentimes more than once a day, and said—in that terrible, lecturing tone of his—that he'd help clean up their mess (and he had those left children alone).
Three more.
Remus reached for the first letter.
Lupin, Remus John
Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
June 13th, 1977
Mr. Lupin,
It is the Ministry's obligation to inform you that sixteen minutes past nine o'clock this morning, June 13th, 1977, Aurors apparated to 18 Junction Lane, Wickham, Hampshire, after reports of that the Dark Mark had been seen above muggle domicile. The structure on the property had suffered great damage, and, inside its remains, our operatives discovered Lyall and Hope Lupin, both unconscious. They were transported to and are currently at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, both in critical condition.
While records show that you are currently not of age, you are the only living relative of Lyall and Hope Lupin; as a result, you retain full control over their medical treatment. For this reason, it is advisable that you arrive at St. Mungo's in a timely manner.
The majority of the destruction of the property itself has been reversed; if you require additional services from the Ministry with reference to your property, please do not hesitate to contact us. If you require assistance, or are otherwise unable to transport yourself to St. Mungo's Hospital or the Ministry, please contact us and arrangements can be made.
Best regards,
Rufus Scrimgeour
Auror Office, Ministry of Magic
No stopping. Two more.
Remus picked up the second letter.
Lupin, Remus John
Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
June 15th, 1977
Mr. Lupin,
We regret to inform you that fifteen minutes before four o'clock this afternoon, Lyall Lupin succumbed to his injuries sustained two days prior despite the best efforts St. Mungo's staff. Eighteen minutes later, Hope Lupin succumbed in similar fashion. I have been assured by St. Mungo's staff that they did not suffer unduly.
You have our sincerest condolences, Mr. Lupin. As you have not yet responded to our letter or visited St. Mungo's Hospital in person, we will be sending a representative to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to guide you through the processes following the death of Lyall and Hope Lupin.
If you require additional information or services from the Ministry, please do not hesitate to contact us.
Best regards,
Rufus Scrimgeour
Remus made a neat pile from the seven read letters. With practiced hands, he lifted the fourth letter from the table. With unpracticed hands blindly reaching out for the bedside table, he managed to overturn his tea mug onto the rug beside his bed.
Lupin, Remus John
July 30th
Dear Remus,
I do hope your stay with the Matriarchs has been enjoyable so far. I imagine that the wounds are still fresh for you, so I will not pry, but I must express again the sorrows I felt when I became aware of your circumstances this past June. I can only hope that the time away in a safe, secure location has brought you solace and time to reflect, if not peace.
The Den Mothers were most kind when they allowed you to stay with them this summer, and I expect that you've been affording them the utmost respect despite your circumstances. I implore you to make the most of your time there, as this is an opportunity that many wish they had but very few could ever hope to entertain. Should you have already accomplished what I have asked you to do, then I encourage you to enjoy the rest of your summer holiday however you wish.
If not, then please do consider the limited time that you have remaining. It is imperative that you follow my instructions exactly, as well as those of the Den Mothers, as a second opportunity will not be available until the following summer. In such ephemeral times, it would be wise to grasp what one currently has within, else lose hold of it it forever. It is, I imagine, entirely possible that the Den Mothers will not be receiving guests, should times take a further turn towards the dark. Please do make haste, Remus.
I expect you will reply in your own time. Simply pass your letter onto one of the Den Mothers, and I should receive your response in a few days. If I do not reply immediately, do not be distraught; I find myself with less and less time to spare with each passing day, and yet conversely more and more a need for it.
Yours,
Albus Dumbledore
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Remus stood suddenly and made for the door. Swinging it open, he doubled over, dry-heaving, panting, sweating uncontrollably—the panic wracking his body and adrenaline flooding his veins was a feeling Remus never grew used to, no matter how many times he'd been in this same spot. One hand on the inside of the frame where his nails had dug grooves, one on the outside where he'd cracked the frame, he held onto the doorway for dear life—like a broom in a thunderstorm.
The drone of the crickets numbed Remus to time. Yet, still, an eternity later, he straightened his back and did small arithmetic in his head until his breathing matched his back—even and steady, if somewhat shaky. Every instinct he had compelled him to run into the forest, to find someone in town and forget about the letters until sunrise. He could even just come back, lay in bed, read a good book, and forget about them until tomorrow.
Remus slammed the cabin door—followed instantly by a murmured apology.
He wasn't being fair to the cabin.
He wasn't being fair to anyone.
At a snail's pace, he crept towards the desk. His muscles tensed with every pace forward. His unblinking eyes watched the stack of letters the intensity a mother watching her child play with a large hound.
The scraping sound of the chair legs against the floor were panicked screams in Remus' ears. He set out a blank length of parchment. The quiet skritching of his quill was oddly soothing.
Minutes later, he stared down glumly at his lame work. He'd cheated. They'd probably prefer if he'd done nothing at all. Crumpling up the parchment or burning it would be so easy.
Remus pushed out his chair, carefully rolled up the letter (his letter) and tied it up with a bit of string. He strode out the door.
A few seconds later, he backed up into the cabin. Flicked his wand. Shards of (now cold) porcelain floated back together until a re-formed mug sat on Remus' bedside table. He gave the mug a slight nod before departing once more.
Evans, Lily,
Whom I Don't Deserve as a Friend,
2, Spinner's End, Cokeworth, Great Britain
August 25th, 1977
Dear Lily,
Am the worst friend. Don't even deserve to be called your friend anymore. Am an unfriend.
Was, too, stuck in my head for a lot of the summer. Had things that needed to be done. Am not making excuses, but admitting fault goes hand in hand with explanation. Will be back at the start of the term, and if we both haven't lost our minds by then, I promise the first thing I'll do is help you figure out what to do about your parents and sister.
Even though it wasn't really your intent, Lily, you've no idea how glad I am you wrote me. You have this uncanny way of helping people, even when they don't expect or deserve it. I'm sure that if there's one person who can make the best of the worst, it's you, Lily.
Hope is magic, after all.
Cheers,
Remus
South of France