Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. Tilia and Merton are mine.
Thirteen: November 1, 1981
The calendar on the desk glared at the werewolf who sat in the interrogation chair across from it: November 1, 1981. It was a date Remus Lupin would never forget. He had spent most of the day in this chair, threatened with silver, forced to take far too much Veritaserum, and answering truthfully that he and Sirius had had a falling out and that he had had no idea that Sirius had been James and Lily's secret keeper. They had not believed him. The Ministry would never take the word of a werewolf.
It was a good thing, Remus dryly thought later, that he was so numb and shocked that he wasn't hungry, because he had not eaten since the night before; he had been rudely awakened by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that morning. He had followed, bewildered and not a little frightened, and as they interrogated him it all became clear, and he had grown increasingly numb, once the shock had ebbed.
They had not left him alone to grieve for his friends. They had kept a constant string of questioners in the room with him, as though a different hostile face would elicit the responses they wanted. The most recent of these questioners was Charles Merton.
Merton's questions lacked conviction, as if he thought it stupid to ask Remus the same questions for what felt like the hundredth time. While Merton was hesitating, Remus managed to blurt out a question of his own; why hadn't they brought in Tilia to corroborate what he said, or did he just not know that they already had?
Merton had frowned in confusion, picked up his half-hearted notes, and gone to ask.
Harry did not know any of this. All he saw as the scene materialized around him was Remus, sitting perfectly still, and the plain desk, clear of everything except the staring calendar proclaiming to any who went past that it was November 1, 1981. It was a date that Harry had been glad to know little about. His stomach clenched nervously, despite the fact that he knew nothing horrible happened to the Lupins. Well, he amended, nothing more horrible than losing all their best friends within twenty-four hours.
There were voices in the corridor, behind the door Merton had left ajar. Remus did not dare turn around to look in that direction, but he closed his eyes, listening.
"—bring Manoran in," Merton was saying.
"Why? She can't have had anything to do with it," an unfamiliar voice said.
"B-but—" Merton stammered, "she's his wife and Black's cousin. Don't you think…?" His voice trailed away. Remus could hear the glare in the other voice when she replied.
"No, I don't think that would help. All we would have to go on is that she's Black's cousin. The public wouldn't approve of the lack of evidence. Don't forget, she was a friend of the Potters, and of Pettigrew."
"B-but," Merton began again, "all the evidence you have on him is that he's Black's friend. He was a friend of the Potters and Pettigrew, too."
The other voice snorted. "And you think the public won't approve? God, Merton, I let you keep your job when I took office because I thought you were smarter than that. He's a werewolf. The public will be glad to see him dead. They'll know we're taking steps to bring down what's left of the Death Eaters."
Remus opened his eyes as his blood ran cold. Werewolves didn't go to Azkaban. The Ministry didn't want to be responsible for mauled prisoners. It was cheaper, easier, and generally more acceptable to simply kill a werewolf off. I'm a scapegoat, Remus thought, the werewolf who pushed Sirius, a pureblood, to do the evil he had done. So he would pay for Sirius' crimes more dearly than Sirius would, and Tilia would pay as well, though the Ministry, no doubt, believed they were saving her.
"I think we've done enough for today. I know it's late, but I want to talk about this. Put him in a holding cell for tonight." Remus' attention snapped back to the conversation beyond the door.
"Very well, Minister," Merton said. Remus sagged, the tension leaving him. If the Minister of Magic was going to frame him, there was nothing anyone could do. Tilia and Dumbledore hadn't forgotten him; there was just no way for them to help him. He stood when Merton prodded him to, and went quietly to the cell. It was no use fighting. It wouldn't make a difference.
Remus woke to shouting outside the holding cell. Slowly, he recognized Tilia's voice, and his heart leapt that she had come. When he understood her words, however, he went still in shock. She couldn't be saying that, could she?
Harry found himself standing outside the cell, behind Tilia. He edged around the shouting woman, and immediately wished he hadn't. It was obvious why Merton, a guard, and even the Minister were shrinking away from her.
Tilia's eyes were blazing, and she was shaking. Her face bore a madness that Harry found all too familiar: it was the look Bellatrix Lestrange wore in his nightmares. Never had Tilia looked more like a member of the House of Black. Though she was shouting, her words were coherent and understandable. Harry was certain that this was due to the Black family 'gift' and not to any great amount of control on Tilia's part. She looked too far-gone to have any conscious control.
Harry shifted his focus back to what she was saying as her volume dropped dramatically. She seemed to have realized she was frightening people. The mad look in her eyes did not fade with her volume, though, and it was now accompanied with anguish. To say that Tilia Lupin had reacted badly to the loss of her friends would have been a gross understatement.
"You can't do this, Minister," she said. "You can't."
"I think it is within my right to remove a dangerous—"
"He's not dangerous," Tilia interrupted, eyes too bright, her pale cheeks flushing. "He's never hurt anyone."
"He's a werewolf, Miss Manoran," the Minister said.
"He's also my husband, and a good man," Tilia said.
"A werewolf is not human, and is inherently opposite to all that is good, and all that we have fought for. When I entered office, I swore to fight the darkness in this world with everything I had. I continued my predecessor's reforms—"
"And made life hell for those who were most likely to join Voldemort," Tilia interrupted again. "No one is inherently evil, Minister. No one is born that way."
Both the Minister and Merton had shuddered at Tilia's use of the Dark Lord's name, and disregarded her argument in favor of asking, "How can you dare to say that name?"
"Because Voldemort has taken my life from me. I have nothing left to lose," she said, unshed tears glazing her intense eyes. "My best friends, those I consider family, are—are gone. The child I loved as a son is in the care of those who will only despise him. My cousin is their betrayer and murderer. You, almost worse, are going to kill my husband, all I have left, for a crime he did not commit, nor have knowledge of. You are no better than Voldemort; you're just as bigoted. Tell me, what should I fear? The name of a fallen dark wizard? Or a government that is no better than the enemy they seek to fight?"
Tilia's words were tumbling over each other in anger. She was flushed and shaking worse than ever.
Merton took a step back. "Y-you're mad," he stammered. "Sh-she's lost it. Don't l-listen to her, Minister."
The Minister was of a stronger will than Merton. She had taken the job a year ago at the peak of Voldemort's power, knowing that her life would be in danger. One woman, maddened by grief, would not sway her.
"I'm no better than You-Know-Who, is that right?" She was looking straight into Tilia's feverish sapphire eyes. Neither looked away.
"I could send you to Azkaban right now for that. I could say you were in league with Black. You and the werewolf," the Minister threatened softly.
"Go ahead. Then we'd both be dead and in a better place. Wouldn't that be something?" Tilia said, her eyes boring into the Minister's.
"You and your werewolf are going to whatever form of eternal damnation you believe in," the Minister replied.
Tilia laughed, a soft, mad laugh. "I don't believe in eternal damnation. I believe in a world beyond where everything is as it was meant to be."
"Miss Manoran." Tilia's glare darkened and the Minister sighed. "Are you trying to throw your life away?"
"I no longer have a life. You are bound and determined to take away the only person who could make me keep living," Tilia's voice was quiet, matter-of-fact, and that scared the Minister more than her anger. This was more than grief, it was despair, and that was just as unpredictable and dangerous as uncontrolled rage.
"Merton," the Minister said suddenly, finally looking away from Tilia. "Please release Mr. Lupin."
"M-Minister?" Merton asked uncertainly.
"All evidence shows that he is innocent. If anyone complains, say we feared for Miss Manoran's safety, and for the safety of those who might come in contact with her," the Minister said firmly.
"Yes, Minister," Merton said softly, fumbling to unlock the holding cell.
Tilia sighed, deflating. She wilted before their eyes, losing color and vivacity. She looked to the Minister with dulled sapphire eyes. "Thank you," she whispered. The Minister shied away from the dramatic change in the woman before her. They waited for Merton to finally get the door unlocked.
As soon as Remus was close enough, he pulled Tilia to him in a tight hug. "What was that about?" he said hoarsely. "Risking your life for me—"
She cut him off merely by looking at him. He froze at the look in her eyes. "When I got home, and you were gone—I went to Dumbledore, but he said not to worry, that they would have to let you go because they had no evidence. When you didn't come home last night—I had to come. What good would it do to be the last one? We all failed. Why live with the regret that I hadn't done anything?"
Remus closed his eyes and pulled her closer. "I understand."
Those were the most heart-breaking two words Harry had ever heard, and as he watched two very broken people leave the Ministry, clinging to each other because there was nothing else for them to hold onto, his respect for them increased. They had learned to live again in a world that had given them up for dead. They were stronger than he had ever imagined they were, and he loved them all the more for their sacrifice.