The Eve
Remus Lupin watched the number of patrons that crossed the threshold of the Leaky Cauldron increase as the night grew older. Every swing of the pub door sent a not-entirely-unwelcome rush of cold air towards Remus' seat at the bar. He wrapped his hands around his warm mug of hot chocolate and idly surveyed the crowd. Witches and wizards in shimmering attire decorated with tinsel and rosy cheeks piled onto seemingly full tables with demands of firewhiskey and butterbeer and roasted ham. Even the rougher patrons at the table near the back had a glow about them, making the usually sketchy gambling seem homey.
Remus sighed.
On the cusp of a new year and he felt nothing. No joy. Not even regret. Remus Lupin felt nothing.
Nineteen years old and he feels like a fucking old man. Looking over the crowd, he did not feel envy or hate. He was alone and empty for reasons he could understand but not understand at once. Perhaps he should be angry, but he felt better being resigned.
A kindly old couple came up to the empty stool on Remus's right. The man held a shaky hand to the small of his wife's back as he helped up. Remus jumped a bit ready to offer his seat to the man.
"Here - "
"No, no." the man said with a small dismissive wave. "It's alright. We're waiting for Tom to get our room done up."
Remus plastered his face in a polite wide-eyed stare. The man's accent was foreign- one Remus could not immediately place.
"If you're sure..."
"Yes."
Remus dipped his head in accession and sipped his hot chocolate, turning towards the bar. From the corner of his eye, he watched the man adjust his wife's shawl when the gust from the door made her shiver. Something stirred in Remus - a longing.
He sighed again.
"Surprising, eh?" the old man said.
Remus stiffened, wondering if the old man were talking to him, but the wife let out a short chuckle.
"Well, you can't expect people to be shut in when nothing's really happening." The old woman's voice was scratchy and deep compared to the old man's shaky velvet.
"It is a lull. That's for sure."
"Hmm... "
Another blast of cold air hit Remus's back and he knew it had to be him. The mousy haired man looked back at the pub door to see the lanky form of Sirius Black. The young man brushed the light dusting of snow from his dark hair and furred shoulders before scanning the crowded room. Remus studied the Black heir. Sirius' face was devoid of the shadow of any dark thoughts that Remus had come to associate with his friend's countenance.
"Hubers?" called Tom from behind the bar.
The old couple rustled with slow movements. The werewolf placed his mug on the bar and swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Thanks, Tom." said Remus, dropping a few sickles on the counter. He hopped off the stool and made his way towards his friend, who was now scratching his head in thought.
The open expression Sirius wore instantly turned guarded once the man spotted Remus in the crowd. Sirius Black was always an open book and Remus wished it were not he that was the subject of his friend's suspicion stare. Again, a flash of anger towards Sirius – and the others – tightened around Remus' heart. The meet-ups had stopped long before the letters did, but he supposed the obvious curtness and lack of engagement grew with each sparse letter. No reason was given, yet Remus knew it had something to do with his once conspiratorially dubbed, "furry little problem" and the reputation of those like himself in the war.
"Oy, Padfoot..." he greeted with what he hoped sounded like enthusiasm.
"Lo, Remus..."
"Glad you came!" Remus gestured with his hand. "Outside?"
Sirius narrowed his eyes slightly, but turned out the way he came nearly knocking over a portly patron with his swiftness. Remus followed into the cold.
"It's just a touch too loud in there," Remus said, taking in the night. Flurries danced in the glow of streetlamps. Too happy. Too suffocating. But that would be too melodramatic for even him.
Sirius' silence added to the silence of the alley. A few stragglers strolled the street. Although people were more willing to go out during the lull in the war, perhaps they were not willing to be caught out of doors. It had been close to eight months since the frequency and brutality of the raids had slowly tapered to nothing more than the political propaganda exchange that it had been when You-Know-Who first emerged. Not that Remus would know – he'd been a child then.
The duo had walked quite a way from the Leaky Cauldron. Remus saw the sign for Flourish and Blotts' in the not so distance. He stopped walking.
"Why?" the werewolf asked, voice low. "Why did you come if you aren't going to talk? Are you really going to make me ask what's been going on with you all? Why you've cut me out of your lives?"
"We haven't done that…" Sirius looked slightly ashamed, but Remus could sense him clutching his wand harder in his sleeve.
Remus' anger grew.
"I am not an idiot!" He stepped closer to Sirius. "You think just because I am… what I am… that I'm dark? That I follow him? After everything we've done for each other. Just fucking why?"
"It's… Dumbledore thinks there's a spy…"
"So it must be the werewolf…"
"No –"
"Well, who else has been excommunicated, as it were?"
Remus crossed his arms and watched Sirius look down. He knew the man was not going to say anything, but he probably already knew the answer. The snow flurries were thicker. A gust of wind blew a dusting of snow down the street.
"So Dumbledore said this…" Remus continued when Sirius still had not said anything. "Why haven't I been obliviated or something? We weren't privy to much, but I still remember Order things. Or does Dumbledore or god-forbid Moody not care about old intelligence that I, the monster might have."
Sirius' face was pained. Remus would have wanted nothing more than to assuage the worries of his friends – to acknowledge their fears, to reassure them and to disappear from their lives if it took that. However, Remus was not in a giving mood – he had not been for months. He did not know where this cantankerous side of himself had emerged; however, he would use it. He felt betrayed and alone, and he did not want to simply get over it.
"Or perhaps it wasn't Dumbledore…" he asked, gauging Sirius' face for a reaction. "Perhaps it was the good old Marauders once more passing judgement like the Right Hand of God."
Remus' tone was harsh and he unnerved himself with how much negative emotion he let colour his words. Sirius stood stiffly. Snow had coated the hair and shoulders of the two men. Again, silence enveloped the alley, except for peals of laughter coming from the ice cream parlour down the street. Suddenly, Remus did not want to talk anymore.
"Look, Remus – " Sirius reached for Remus' shoulder, but the werewolf moved out of the way.
"You know what, forget it. Happy new year." he pushed past Sirius, continuing down the alley.
Next: In Which Snape is Drunk