PART IV
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Christmas of that year, 1982, Remus buried his mother. She had a tombstone right next to Remus' father and he couldn't help but feel grateful she was finally gone. He wasn't grateful for his own sake, but for hers. She was finally free from the prison her addled mind had been in and now she could join his father at that secret place everyone goes after death.
Remus packed all of his belongings. He kept a few things that belonged to his parents as mementos, but the rest he sold. He put the house up for sale on the Muggle market. A nice couple with three small, towheaded children bought it above the asking price. With a decent amount of money, Remus converted it into Galleons, stuffed it all in his Gringotts vault, and found a small flat closer to school. The flat was tiny, but he only needed room for himself.
He took the box full of things from his and Sirius' house and pushed it back underneath his bed. One day he'd look through it, but not today. He wasn't ready.
His friendship with Dahlia lessened as she spent more of her time with Marcus, her boyfriend. He was a decent man and tolerated Remus, even though he didn't seem completely comfortable with the idea of his girlfriend being such good friends with another male. As Dahlia began the pull towards Marcus, Remus began spending his empty hours with Rhys.
Since Dumbledore still wanted Remus to teach at the Muggle school, some of the time with Rhys was spent with schoolwork. Rhys was short and thin, but his personality overpowered him. Whenever he had a book open in front of him, Remus knew he wasn't to be disturbed. They made love with their hands and their mouths, but Remus wouldn't take it any further than that.
It was strange being with Rhys. They never discussed their relationship, never used the words "boyfriend" or "lover." Remus didn't have a telephone and couldn't imagine getting one, so when Rhys wanted to see him he'd knock on his door. It wasn't that Remus didn't enjoy being with Rhys, because he did. He had the natural physical responses when Rhys touched him and he welcomed the open affection. Rhys was far more affectionate than Sirius ever was, but it felt empty. Something was lacking and Remus knew it was love. He fancied Rhys, he liked him, respected him, but he'd never be in love with him.
Around the end of May, Rhys came over with two sacks of groceries, raw ingredients that needed cooking. Remus didn't tell him that his kitchen had never been used to cook food the Muggle way; he always heated everything up with his wand.
That was another problem: Remus was a wizard and he had zero inclination to tell Rhys about it. He figured one day it would have to come up, especially since Rhys seemed very skeptical when Remus told him he went to The Albus Academy in Scotland. It was a school Rhys had never heard of, for an obvious reason, and Remus hated lying to him. In general, Remus didn't like lying. His excuse that once a month he went back to his old school to visit was becoming more feeble as Rhys somehow realized his monthly partings coincided with the full moons. Of course, being a Muggle, Rhys would never guess werewolf was an actual possibility, so Remus was thankful for that.
"What are you going to make?" Remus asked, looking through the sacks of food.
"You'll see."
Remus' flat had a kitchen, one bedroom, and a living area. There wasn't room for a dining table so they always sat on the sofa with their plates in their laps. Rhys didn't seem to mind and Remus didn't care. He was on his own and school took up too much of his time to get a job without a Time-Turner. The money from his parents' house would get used up fairly quickly if he didn't finish his classes and get the teaching position.
Sitting on the sofa, Remus grabbed his copy of Sherlock Holmes mysteries and opened it up to where he left off. He read several pages before Rhys came in with two plates full of hot food. One thing that Rhys had in common with Sirius was that he was always telling Remus he wasn't eating enough. Remus ate; he ate a lot. It was just that he had to force himself to do so. Before Sirius was arrested, Remus was happy and ate several meals a day, but he simply never gained much weight. After Sirius was gone, Remus felt physically ill for several months. Eating became a chore. There was a constant taste of bile in his mouth. Food began to taste better and better the more time went time. Remus felt less ill, less depressed, but he was still miles away from happy.
"Thanks. It smells brilliant. You've never made me dinner before."
"I need to ask you something."
"Oh, and you needed to butter me up to do it?"
"You're such a secretive sort of fellow that I wasn't sure what you'd say."
"Go on, then," said Remus, "ask me."
"At the end of the term there's a literary conference in Cornwall, Penwith to be exact. We all stay in the hotels we choose and gather at a meeting hall to discuss the latest publications and new theories of old works. The purpose is to continue to educate the educators, but since you want to be a professor you could come. I think you'd enjoy the talks."
"There's no way I could—"
"I'd want you to stay with me. In my room."
"Oh."
"I'm offering the full extended weekend. I wouldn't want you paying for anything. You're a student without a job and I've nothing but extra money to throw around."
"This is a really big step, isn't it?"
Rhys shrugged. "It could be, for couples, but we're having fun here, aren't we? We can have fun here or we can have fun by the seaside. We've never spent the night together and I'm going to venture a guess and say that would most likely be fun, too."
Remus nodded slowly. "Where does the bit about my secrecy play in?"
"If you stay with me, you stay in my room. People would talk."
"You're not afraid of being outed?"
"Not particularly," said Rhys. "Of course, I could always get a room with two beds to keep up appearances if it really bothers you."
"That's very nice of you."
"So you'll come?"
"I . . ."
"I leave next Thursday evening and come back Monday afternoon. Term will be over, so you won't have to miss any classes. If you want to go – and I hope you will – meet me at my house around three o'clock. I'll drive us there."
"All right," said Remus, but he didn't say any more and stuffed his mouth full of food.
When the next week came, Remus packed a small bag and zipped it up. He put it next to his front door and went to sit on the sofa. His watch read half-two. He didn't get up.
"What is wrong with me?" Remus leaned over and put his head in his hands. The Sirius he knew would have wanted him to be happy, to have sex freely and loudly, to not be tied down by the moons. Unfortunately, Remus wanted those things too, but he didn't know how to get them.
It was very confusing because if Sirius was dead, Remus would be able to be happy, for that's what Sirius would have wanted. But Sirius wasn't dead. He was locked up in prison and the Sirius Remus thought he knew wouldn't have fed information to Voldemort. Something about Sirius' imprisonment didn't sit right with Remus, but there was really no other explanation. Sirius was Secret-Keeper; it had been planned and decided. He was the only one who knew where James and Lily were. If Sirius wanted to switch sides, fine, but why kill Peter? That was the piece of the puzzle that didn't fit. But it came down to the facts: Sirius was Secret-Keeper and the Potters were dead.
So why did Remus feel so guilty about Rhys? Really, he had wanted to try his hand at girls. They were pretty and soft and he never got much of a chance to appreciate breasts – which were very lovely, especially when pushed up by undergarments and peeking through low-cut shirts. He was twenty-four now and that really seemed too old to just begin physical relationships with women. And he really did like men, so being with Rhys wasn't terrible. Except he wasn't with Rhys and now it was 2:47 and he was still in his flat and not putting his suitcase in the boot of Rhys' car.
"What is wrong with me?" Remus groaned again. The hands on his watch hit the one and the five and Remus officially felt like the world's biggest prick. "Just Apparate over there," he told himself. "Just . . . do it. Now . . . now . . . now . . ." He didn't get up; he sat on his sofa for another couple hours, his mind in shambles.
Remus let out a growl of frustration. Rhys was patient with him and he had stood him up. Remus didn't want to be that kind of man. There was only one thing to do. He Apparated to Diagon Alley and ran straight to Gringotts. He barely got there before close and went to his vault quickly to gather some money. He had no idea how much the Knight Bus would cost, but he needed it to get him to the hotel in Cornwall.
The ride was bumpy and fast and Remus got off the bus an hour later feeling rather sick to his stomach. When he looked at his watch this time, it was past nine o'clock. He had waited for the Knight Bus for nearly two hours before it showed up in front of the Leaky Cauldron. Still, the Bus was cheaper than a Muggle taxi would have been and Remus wasn't daring enough to Apparate someplace he'd never been.
The hotel was white and looked like an old mansion. He went inside and inquired about Rhys' room, explaining that he was running late. Then he asked if the room was a double. When the lady shook her head, Remus swore for good measure, asking if she could send up a cot bed for him.
"Professor Ackers must've thought I wasn't coming, otherwise I'm sure he would've asked for a double room."
The lady directed him up the stairs towards room number twelve. The door was locked and Rhys didn't answer when Remus knocked so he took out his wand and opened the door with magic.
After turning on the light, Remus saw that there was a rather large bed in the middle of the room and a small suitcase on top of it. A desk was crammed against the wall near the floor-to-ceiling window and on it was a briefcase Remus immediately recognized as Rhys'. Deciding he should just wait, Remus took out the same copy of Sherlock Holmes mysteries that he was trying to finish and sat down in the armchair on the other side of the window.
He read the same paragraph twice without realizing it, but it didn't matter because just as he was about to read it for the third time, the doorknob opened and Rhys came in – with another man.
"Er," said Remus, jumping out of the armchair. He felt oddly like a teenager caught reading dirty magazines by his father, which was silly because Rhys had invited him so there was no reason why Remus shouldn't be in his room.
"Oh," said Rhys, looking very surprised. He turned to the man who came into the room with him. "This is Remus – my best student. I invited him this weekend, thinking he might find it useful. He's finished all his classes and will begin teaching secondary school in September."
"Right, well . . . I didn't know I could make it until you had already left. I, er, asked the lady at the desk for a rollaway bed . . . she said all the double rooms were full and seeing as I'm living on a student's salary, which means I've no money . . ."
"Quite all right," said Rhys. He went to the desk and opened up his briefcase. "I thought I brought it – ah! Here it is!" He handed his copy of Alice to the other man. "We were discussing the Jabberwocky at dinner. It seems as though I'm the only one who had a copy of it."
"Marion and I will see you at breakfast – Marion's my wife," the man added, looking at Remus. He nodded his head in a goodbye and left.
"I'm sorry," Remus said immediately, as soon as the door clicked shut. "Was he really here to borrow your copy of Alice?"
"I didn't think you were coming."
Remus shrugged. "I'm sorry," he said again uselessly. "I came, though."
"Why did you?"
"I wanted to."
"You wanted to spend the weekend with me or you wanted to make sure I wasn't angry?"
"I wanted to spend the weekend with you."
"Is that the truth or the answer you think I want to hear?"
Remus swallowed. He didn't even know any of the answers anymore. "I don't know."
"You worrying all the time takes away part of the fun."
"I'm tired of that word," said Remus. "I'm not having fun with anyone else, are you?"
"Are we only supposed to have fun with each other?"
"We never said, but that's what I'd like."
"Then that's what we can have."
"Did you . . . have fun with other men?" asked Remus, not sure he wanted the answer.
Rhys laughed. "Why would you ask me that? You know I'm going to say no, but you're not going to believe me."
"You're right," said Remus. "Though I wouldn't necessarily blame you. I haven't let us do the things most gay men do."
"But you're not gay."
"Right. That's neither here nor there. I'm saying that right now, I wouldn't blame you. After this weekend, I will."
Rhys nodded and opened his mouth to say something, but Remus swallowed his words. They kissed and Remus steered them towards the bed, taking off their clothes. This was the ultimate attempt at happiness, right here, right now. Remus needed this to work out, to prove he could overcome the past and be a new man. He pressed himself against Rhys' back and took him, grateful that when he opened his eyes the hair he saw was blonde and the shoulders broad instead of narrow. There was no way he could pretend this was anyone other than Rhys.
As he came, Remus and Sirius' relationship was officially severed. There was no more past; there was only now. As he breathed in the breath of a new man, Remus swore he could almost hear Sirius' cries from Azkaban.
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Their last Christmas together was spent at Remus' parents house. His mum cooked dinner and pies – apple, Sirius' favorite – while his dad tried to beat Sirius at wizard's chess. Remus' father was being especially nice this holiday. At least twice a month, Remus and Sirius came over for dinner. Remus would help his mum clean up while Sirius smoked cigarettes outside with Mr. Lupin. While he wasn't openly hostile, Remus' dad constantly looked for things wrong with Sirius. He asked him question after question, trying to find something he didn't like or approve of. That last Christmas, however, he seemed to have been poisoned with Christmas cheer and had laughed at Sirius' jokes on several occasions.
Somehow, Remus' mum had talked them into staying for a couple days, which meant they were both sleeping in Remus' old bedroom. They didn't dare fool around, but it was somehow nice being wrapped up in Sirius with layers of clothes between them.
On Christmas night, Sirius kissed Remus' neck and ran his hands underneath his shirt. He fingered a row of scars on the left side of Remus' chest, over his ribs. Suddenly, he sat up and sat on Remus' middle, yanking up his shirt.
"Sirius! What're you—"
"Shut it, I'm counting. There's eight."
Remus looked down at his chest. "Eight what? Have you a fever? You're not making any sense."
"I know your body, Moony. I've kissed those scars practically everyday since we were eighteen. There were seven of them, but now there's this one" – his fingers were cold against Remus' chest – "and it's new. Where'd you get it?"
Remus pushed Sirius' hands off his body and lowered his shirt. "I don't know."
"Don't lie to me, Remus, don't fucking lie."
"You're going to be so angry . . ."
Sirius visibly paled. "Why?" He looked panicked. "Did some other bloke give that to you? Did a girl?"
"Shove off, Pads, I didn't cheat on you. A werewolf gave it to me."
"When did you meet another werewolf?"
"Dumbledore asked me to scout for new potential Order members. I didn't do much, but tried to convince a couple of lycanthropes I met in Scotland that the Ministry wasn't all that bad, really, and we could live normal lives, but they didn't believe me. It was right before the moon so we all ran together, way out in the woods, and one of them fought me. It was like a challenge."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I don't know."
"It was only the one time?"
"Yes," said Remus, then after a pause he added, "in Scotland."
Sirius pushed his hair away from his gray eyes. "How many times in other places?"
"I don't know. I've been going all over, though. I use the Floo Network and find rouge werewolves. The first attempts were to make lycanthropes from here or Scotland or Ireland come to our side, but that wasn't working and there really wasn't enough time. Something big is going to happen with Voldemort soon, I can feel it."
"We all can," said Sirius. "So what've you been doing instead?"
"Oh. Near the full moons I've been going around Europe – all over, everywhere – and asking to join rouge packs during the transformation. I make up stories, like I was kicked out of my house or my girlfriend broke up with me and I haven't found my bearings and I need some help during the change. They've all been very understanding and it's really quite amazing being around people who understand."
"What's the point of being around them?"
"We don't know where Voldemort is, do we? But we know he has some werewolves on his side. I try to initiate conversation and talk to them and see if they know anything. It's been really difficult with loads of language barriers, but a surprising number of lycanthropes from other countries speak English."
"Why didn't you tell me?" asked Sirius. "I would've understood. I thought it was odd that your mother suddenly wanted you to start transforming here. She lied for you, didn't she?"
"I asked her to tell you that I was coming here if you asked"
Sirius shook his head. "All these lies, Remus. Why?"
"Because they're animals – I'm an animal. It's disgusting the way these lycanthropes act. They see their transformation as a time to be free. I think of it as being trapped. I feel as though I lose a bit of myself every time I change, but them . . . they transform and love it. They count down the days until the full moon in anticipation, not dread. I didn't want to tell you about it and have you think I was anything like that."
"You're completely gormless, you know that?"
"I didn't like them and I'm glad I have people who don't care I'm a werewolf. Still, it was nice knowing there were people who understood the pain of changing – the physical pain. Don't get me wrong, some of the lycanthropes hated being werewolves. I really was able to identify with them, but I couldn't convince them that they didn't have to let being a werewolf control their lives. Though, I see their point. Sometimes I feel like that. Just when a moon is over the next one is just around the corner."
"It's only for one night and the rest of the month you're with me, aren't you?"
"You don't understand, Sirius. The moon will never end."
"Neither will I. You act like this is some fucking passing phase sometimes and I don't like it."
"This isn't a phase and I do not act as though it is!"
"Then why didn't you tell me?" Sirius grabbed Remus' hand, the one that had the ring, and touched it. "If this meant something to you then you would've told me."
"I'm telling you now. I could've come up with another excuse, but I'm telling you the truth. I'm telling you now. No more lies, Sirius. I'll tell you everything you want to know about the werewolves from now on. I'll tell you everything you want to know in general. No secrets."
"Really?"
Remus nodded. "Really. I promise."
"Then I forgive you. But you got to stop, y'know, thinking you're like them. You're not. You're human – even if the bloody Ministry says you're part-wizard or sub-human or whatever their classification for werewolves is. I don't think like that and neither do your parents or our friends. Right?"
Remus nodded again.
"D'you believe me?"
"Yes."
Sirius got off Remus' middle and laid down next to him again. Their arms and legs tangled together as usual. It took them a while to get to this place, where they were comfortable enough to be affectionate with one another all the time. They used to go to sleep on their own sides of the bed, but now they liked to sleep together, as one.
"How much longer d'you have to do this? With the werewolf groups I mean?"
"Until I've seen them all, I suppose. There're more groups out there than you'd think. Every region has one. Some of the bigger countries have two or three and I can only see one every full moon."
"Next time you go, I want to hear about it. No more secrets."
Remus nodded and kissed Sirius, briefly, but soundly. As far as Remus knew, there weren't any more secrets after that. He was an open book and he thought Sirius was, too. October 31, 1981 made him realize just how many secrets they must have truly had from one another. Luckily, that Christmas they were still together and Remus was blissfully ignorant of what was going to happen in the future as he let Sirius' hands slip into his pajama bottoms. He covered his mouth with his pillow to muffle his moans so that his parents wouldn't overhear.
Somehow, being in his parents' house made the act dirtier and somehow it made him love Sirius even more.
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In autumn of 1983, Remus began teaching at a Muggle preparatory school. The boys all wore gray trousers and wine-red blazers, the girls in red and gray plaid skirts with pleats. Everyone wore ties, including the faculty, and black shoes. Remus was instantly the favorite. He was the youngest employee and none of the other professors quite trusted him.
The student Dumbledore wanted him to watch was already seven years old by the time Remus got there. He didn't have much luck with the boy, though Remus suspected that by accepting Dumbledore's request to get a proper Muggle education over how to teach English grammar and literature was an attempt to draw him out of his depression and save him. When Remus realized this, he knew he owed Dumbledore his life and his loyalty. He'd do whatever the man needed him to do.
When the boy turned eleven, he went to Durmstrang and Remus was promptly sacked for taking too much time off of work.
"Once a month," said the Headmaster, shaking his head, "I didn't realize how often it was, but really – this is unacceptable."
Remus took the rejection and ran a couple ads in the Daily Prophet and the Muggle newspaper. He had the skills and the knowledge to teach Muggle children literature or wizarding children history of magic. Many magical parents wanted their children to learn about British history and wizard literature and those were the people who employed Remus first. Unfortunately, the jobs were never consistent and Remus was poor.
The relationship with Rhys lasted until Remus lost his job. Remus was poor and he could hardly pay for his flat, but he wasn't a charity case. He didn't want to move into Rhys' house. Sirius had done everything to turn his house into their house, but Remus knew he would never think of Rhys' house as his own. Rhys began to pick up the bill at every dinner, began to offer to buy him new shirts, a new coat. Remus didn't want any of that. He wanted to do it on his own.
The money from his parents' house had dried up, leaving Remus stretching his last pound (or Galleon, as the case may be) until it could stretch no more. Rhys couldn't stand back and watch Remus wear himself down; it became too much for him to handle. So he left. Remus didn't stop him from going and almost welcomed it. He had allowed himself to be happy for a while and his thoughts of Sirius were far and in between.
He stopped looking for relationships after Rhys. When the urges became too overwhelming he gave into them, one night at a time. It didn't happen often, but he was only human, flesh like any other man, and his hand could only offer him so much relief.
Remus celebrated turning thirty with Dahlia, who was happily married to a man named Edward Vreeland. Somehow they had kept up with their friendship by having lunch once a month, always on a Saturday at the same café where they first met. She brought pictures of her two children and Remus felt a sudden pang that he had never experienced before.
When he watched Sirius play with Harry he got that similar rush of emotion, but nothing this powerful. Perhaps it was because he was getting older and the realizations that he would never have a family were beginning to become more real. Dahlia and her husband looked so happy with the kids – and the children themselves were beautiful. Remus never knew how he wanted that, but he did. Not just the family, but the relationship, the love. But he'd forgotten how to get those things and it had been so long, Remus wondered if it was too late.
Four years later, Remus told Dahlia he was moving away to get a job, but he would write to her and hopefully they could get together over Christmas when he had a break from work.
"Where are you going?" she asked at their last lunch date.
"Scotland. There's a school there."
"Oh? What's it called?"
He fingered the broken Hogwarts seal on the letter from Dumbledore in his pocket. "The Albus Academy," he answered, his lips turning up in what was the first genuine smile in months.
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To Be Continued . . .
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