DISCLAIMER: This story is in no way associated with, or makes any claim to, Harry Potter, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or any other fandom/celebrity/anything else you may recognise. It all belongs to their respective owners. No money is being made from this story which is purely written for entertainment.
TIMELINE: Part 1 in Roads Travelled. Post BTVS season 2, and during the Marauders last year at Hogwarts.
18 February
James entered the Quidditch changing rooms stiffly, his face pale as he closed the door behind him by leaning against it and sinking down to the floor.
Michaela, Nick and the rest of the team exchanged nervous looks. What was James playing at? Their game began in less than ten minutes and he chose now to have a breakdown? That was not like him at all! Usually, by this time, James would be pepping them to do their best, and if that did not work, intimidate and threaten them so they wouldn't even dare not to - unless they wanted to face his wrath.
"James, are you alright?" Amanda Lorne asked, placing a hand on his shoulder worriedly. "Did you eat something bad at breakfast?" James let out a strangled whimper, and Amanda backed away slowly, hands in front of her as a shield, rather frightened by their Captain's out of character behaviour.
Sam Bryant cleared his throat. "Did the Hufflepuffs curse you or something?"
James slowly rose to his feet and took a deep breath, wiping of his robes. "I just became aware of something I didn't know before – " he began.
"Obviously, or he wouldn't have become aware of it in the first place," Gregory Morgan hissed at Ryan Samuelson theatrically, and James glared.
" – I don't want you to panic," the Quidditch Captain continued – a sure way to make them do exactly that, Amanda thought morosely, and from the looks Gregory and Ryan threw at her, they thought the same. "Just play as you usually do and everything should be fine. No showing off, unless you're absolutely certain you won't make a fool of yourself in the process. It is important we, and especially Micha, Nick and I, make a good impression."
"Good impression on whom?" Michaela questioned.
"The Quidditch Scouts," James said, and the team froze as one.
"Y-you mean Quidditch Scouts recruiting for professional teams?" Nick stuttered out with wide eyes, his voice unnaturally high.
"Yes. But like I said, DON'T PANIC!" James yelled out, as everyone on the team began talking at the same time, each trying to shout down the other. "Please. Just do your very best and try not to think about the…very important audience."
"Easier said than done," Michaela said faintly, fanning herself with the tail twigs on her broomstick. "I mean…Quidditch Scouts," she hissed at Nick and James.
"I never would have told you if I'd known you would react like this," James muttered. "For Merlin's sake, Micha, pull yourself together," he added when he realised the Chaser was beginning to hyperventilate. "It's more important than ever that we focus."
"Wasn't he the one panicking just a couple of minutes ago?" Sam muttered to Gregory out of the corner of his mouth in an attempt to lighten the mood. The Keeper only managed to force up a weak smile that looked more like a grimace.
Taking a deep breath, James straightened his shoulders, grabbed his broomstick from where it stood leaning against the wall, opened the doors, and walked out onto the pitch. The rest of the team followed, looking tense, but determined.
Gregory, Sam, Amanda and Ryan exchanged looks of unspoken agreement. They had to play at the top of their game: better than ever before. Their performance could determine whether or not they'd get a chance to see the three graduating members of the Gryffindor team play at a National Level come autumn.
James mounted his broom, and immediately caught the Quaffle, passing it to Michaela, who headed towards the Hufflepuff goalposts. His mind was in turmoil. He'd been so certain he wanted to become an Auror – but Professional Quidditch… His heart was beating in his ears. If a position was offered him, could he really turn it down? It had been a childhood dream of his since the first time he flew…
"MICHAELA DUNCAN GIVES GRYFFINDOR THEIR FIRST TEN POINTS. NICE JOB, DUNCAN," Sirius' enhanced voice droned out over the pitch, for once sounding professional. It seemed the audience too knew there were important people watching.
James flew back towards Gryffindor's goal to intercept the Hufflepuff Chaser heading that way. Diving, he caught the Quaffle from above and threw it backwards over his shoulder – right into Ryan Samuelson's waiting hands, as planned. The newbie Chaser fumbled a bit with the ball, but managed to keep his grip long enough to pass it back to James when he turned around.
"AND JAMES POTTER EXECUTES ONE OF HIS MANY MIRACULOUS PASSES," Sirius commented. "IF I DIDN'T KNOW BETTER, I'D SAY HE WAS BORN ON A BROOMSTICK."
James smirked a little to himself. Of course, Sirius wouldn't be able to keep sounding 'professional' for long, not when he could make the Scouts watching pay more attention to his best friend. Though the bragging about his talent was obvious, it was nonetheless welcome – it couldn't hurt his chances, anyway.
James scored Gryffindor's second goal: the Hufflepuff Keeper went in the opposite direction of his throw even though James hadn't even feinted and it would normally have been easy to catch. It seemed the Badgers were suffering from nerves.
"POTTER SCORES! TWENTY-ZERO, GRYFFINDOR'S FAVOUR," Sirius yelled. "HUFFLEPUFF SEEMS TO BE SLEEPING!"
Ryan, who'd caught the Quaffle seconds before it was about to land in a Hufflepuff's waiting hands, threw it to Michaela. The female Chaser easily slipped by Hufflepuff's defences by flying in an eight around their Chasers and gracefully ducking the Bludgers coming in her direction. Then, she pretended to pass to James on her left, only to twist her arm around - right before the Quaffle left her fingertips - and scored in the right goal.
"AN AMAZING FEINT BY MICHAELA DUNCAN," Sirius enthused. "SHE AND JAMES POTTER ARE WHAT HAS BROUGHT GRYFFINDOR FROM THE PIT AND BACK TO GREATNESS. THIRTY-ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!"
James and Michaela exchanged high fives in the air before they flew back towards their half of the pitch. The Gryffindor Captain felt a sort of serenity enter him and all his worries faded into the background. All that mattered now was this game, not what happened after. If he got an offer from a team, he'd worry about it then, but for now, all his focus lay on the Quaffle and his fellow two Chasers: Ryan still had two years left to go, and since this was James' last year, it was up to him to groom him for the future. And for Michaela, professional play would be a dream come true – James saw it as his duty to make her look damn good to the Scouts who were watching. Looking up, he gave Nick Vandom, who also dreamed of playing Quidditch professionally, the thumbs up.
The seventh-year grinned at the encouragement and slammed his bat into a Bludger instinctively, without even watching. The Bludger neatly forced the Hufflepuff Chaser currently holding the Quaffle to drop the ball – and straight into Michaela's hands.
"NICK VANDOM, LADIES AND GENTLEMAN," Sirius shouted. "THE GRYFFINDOR QUIDDITCH TEAM IS FILLED WITH UNDISCOVERED TALENT, AND THE BEATERS ARE NO EXCEPTION."
Michaela passed the Quaffle to James and raised an eyebrow at him as they turned back towards Hufflepuff's goals. James blinked, recognising the sign as one they'd agreed on when they wanted the other's help in executing a spectacular, but difficult trick. Well, if Micha was sure she could handle it… Shrugging, James threw the Quaffle in the air, boxing it with his fist like a volleyball in Micha's direction.
The female Chaser narrowed her eyes in concentration, before she twisted her entire body, pushing her hands down on the broom handle. The motion made the back of Michaela's broom elevate – like a horse kicking out with its back legs – where it swung and hit the Quaffle cleanly, slamming it hard and fast in the direction of the goal posts.
The Hufflepuff Keeper threw himself to catch the Quaffle…the ball hit the tip of his fingers, and he screamed. Everyone in the audience winced as they heard the snap of bones breaking. The Quaffle continued past, undeterred, neatly entering the middle goal.
"FORTY-ZERO, GRYFFINDOR! DID YOU SEE THAT?! UNBELIEVABLE! THE FORCE OF THAT QUAFFLE – THE WAY DUNCAN HIT IT TOWARDS THE GOAL – I, SIRIUS BLACK – AM SPEECHLESS!" Sirius hollered.
James looked towards the teachers' stand through the corner of his eye, and he could see his teachers gawking in their direction: McGonagall's hair had fallen out of its bun. A group of people he didn't recognise – the Qudditch Scouts – were chattering excitedly, waving their arms around to emphasise whatever they were saying. Sometimes they pointed in his and Micha's direction, and one of them gestured upwards wildly to where Nick was soaring, obviously impressed.
James' eyes glittered with satisfaction as he raced back towards Gryffindor's half of the field, the wind buzzing around his ears, adrenaline racing through his veins. Slowly, he allowed himself to smile.
"Great game," Lily smiled as she sat down beside James on a bench in Gryffindor's locker room: everyone else on the Quidditch team had already left and gone back up to the castle to celebrate. James, however, had decided to stay awhile longer to think. "You all played really well. I bet those Quidditch Scouts were impressed."
"They were," James confirmed, remembering the conversation he'd had, along with Michaela and Nick, with the Scouts after the game. All three of them had been given prelimnary offers, and from the look of things, both Micha and Nick planned on signing for one of the current British teams, if nothing unforeseen occured. James, however, even though the Scouts had seemed to be most interested in him, was far from certain.
"What teams offered you a position?"
James wordlessly handed Lily a pile of papers. "A lot," he shrugged.
"These are really great teams, James," Lily said quietly, flickering through the papers. "I mean, I don't know that much about Quidditch, but even I can tell that much. I recognise the names of all of these teams. And they're really good spots, too. At least two teams are willing to put you in their starting line-up."
"I know." James sighed. "I'm wavering, Lils," he admitted. "I was so sure I wanted to become an Auror, but…Quidditch…"
"Well, all of these are only preliminary offers," Lily pointed out logically. "No one is forcing you to make up your mind and sign a contract right away."
"But they still want a preliminary decision before they leave the castle," James sighed. "So they'll know whether to waste any more time on trying to recruit me."
Lily put an arm around his shoulder. "I can assure you, Potter," she said, "that the teams who want you don't see this as a waste of time. You are a fantastic player, James, and Britain's professional Quidditch League would be lucky to have you."
"Do you want me to accept?" James asked.
"It's not my decision," Lily said calmly, standing up. "I can't make up your mind for you, James. But whatever you choose, make sure to follow your heart." She left the locker room, leaving James alone once more. Closing his eyes, James lied down on his back on top of the bench, breathing in deeply through his nose. Remembering.
Flashback
"Harold!" Lorraine Potter yelled from the front porch, "don't let him up to high!" Harold Potter let out a rumbling laugh. "You worry too much, darling," he said, lifting up a two-year old James Potter on the child's broom he was holding in a steady grip with his other hand. "Jamie is a Potter, after all! He was born to be in the air." Lorraine huffed, walking inside with a shake of her head. "Stupid, stubborn "Whatever you do," Harold whispered conspiratorially to James, who was kicking his legs back and forth on both sides of the broom, giggling madly, "don't marry a redhead." "Wed!" James yelled, smacking a fat little fist against the broom-handle. "Mawwy wed-head!" Harold sighed. "But then again, I have a feeling you're probably a lost cause already. Alright, kiddo – want to fly?" "Fy! Fy!" James shouted, spit flying from his mouth. "I thought so. Here we go!" Harold slowly let go of the broom which immediately rose slightly in the air. "Hmm…where did I put that manual…ah!" Harold leaned down and picked up the wizarding guidebook for the child's broom, taking his eyes off James as he flickered through it. "Safety measures…automatically installed. Good, good," he muttered to himself. A loud cry from somewhere far away made him look up, eyes widened. "No, James, no! Get down!" James giggled madly from where he was holding on tightly to the broomstick, hovering several feet up in the air. "Fazzer, fazzer!" He yelled, rocking back and forth on the broom, which suddenly shot forward several feet. James squealed with joy, letting go of the handle to clap his hands together in delight. "I fy! I fy!" "HAROLD! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" Lorraine yelled, racing out on the porch, first-aid kit in hand, having spied James from the bathroom window. "GET HIM DOWN!" "Right away, honey," Harold panted; dashing after the racing broom through the garden, saluting his wife with what he hoped was a comforting gesture. "Now, where did I put my wand…?"
"HAROLD!"End Flashback
James smiled to himself. He had loved flying from the start. Something about soaring around in the air, surrounded by nothing but clouds, the wind and an occasional bird, made him feel impossibly free, as though nothing was too much for him to handle.
And Quidditch - the shouts and applause from the crowd, the danger from the spinning bludgers, the feel of the large leather Quaffle in his hands, the pride he felt whenever someone on his team scored or managed a tricky manoeuvre… He knew he was an amazing flyer, and a great Quidditch player: it came as natural to him as breathing.
Being an Auror, on the other hand... James knew it wouldn't be a walk in the park: he knew he wouldn't get away unscathed - he was not invulnerable. It would be bloody, hazardous and difficult. He would be pushed to his limits and beyond. It was the right thing to do and a way he could help people – something he'd always wanted, especially now, with Voldemort out there…but the truth was, he was scared. Terrified, even.
What did he know of war and fighting? Visions of glory, of being a hero, catching the bad guys and dealing out justice, with danger and adventure waiting around every corner - James knew that was crap. Dreams never prepared you for the real thing.
The question was, could he do it? Could he put away his fear and take a chance, take the leap into an uncertain future as a life as an Auror? Or should he go for the 'safe' option, Quidditch, where he would never be faced with doubt, where he knew he could shine?
Looking down at the Quidditch offers, James sighed.
Puddlemere United. Appleby Arrows. Caerphilly Catapults. Chudley Cannons. Montroes Magpies. Tutshill Tornados.
And he jumped.
"Ah, Mr Potter!" One of the Scouts, a tall, grey-haired man with a large moustache and a beaming smile, clapped his hands together when James entered the Headmaster's office. "Have you made up your mind? Your team-mates, Miss Duncan and Mr Vandom have already expressed their interest in several offers from various teams, and have accepted further correspondence over the rest of their time here at Hogwarts to finalise their eventual contracts."
"Yes." James took a deep breath. "Professional Quidditch, for a long time, has been a childhood dream of mine. I am very honoured by your remarkably generous offers," he said, and the Scouts all nodded, pleased. "But I'm afraid I have to turn them down."
Dumbledore, sitting behind his desk, let a thoughtful eyebrow rise, and most the Quidditch Scouts spluttered in surprise and indignation. The tall, grey-haired man only frowned, however. "Are you absolutely certain? Sometimes, dreams do come true."
"And some dreams should stay dreams," James said strongly. "Yes, I am certain."
"I am sorry to lose such a potential to - what is it you plan to do instead, Mr Potter?" The man asked.
"I'm going to be an Auror, sir."
"Ah, you're a danger seeker," the man's lips twitched slightly now: clearly he found James' answer amusing, "looking for the thrill of battle, for fame and glory. Are you quite certain you know what you're getting yourself into? Reality, after all, is quite different from fantasy."
"I know," James said calmly. "And that's why I have to turn you down. The way reality looks right now…I couldn't in good conscience play a game, even if it is one I love, when I know I could do something more to help. I'm not doing it for the glory, sir, if there is such a thing to be found in war. And if I wanted fame, there are safer ways to get it – playing professional Quidditch being one of them. I'm choosing to fight because it's the right thing to do," James finished, conviction shining through both in his stance, the tone of his voice, and the determined glint in his hazel eyes.
Behind his desk, Dumbledore had straightened, and he was now staring at the young Potter with an inscrutable expression.
"Maybe after you've had a taste of the reality you speak of, you'll change your mind?" the Scout suggested, and James shrugged.
"Maybe. But I doubt it. Call it foolish, if you'd like, but I'd rather follow an uncertain path than one where I'll always wonder 'what if'," James said, voice filled with passion. "I can't base my decision on what might happen – I have to choose the road which seems right in this moment."
"And you are, of course, aware that offers like these are unlikely to come again?"
"Yes. I am," James answered, nodding firmly, once. "And I thank you again for your consideration, sir, but I think I ought to get going. I've already occupied too much of your time. Headmaster." James nodded to Dumbledore before he left the office, never once faltering in his steps, despite the eyes boring into his skull from behind.
"Ah, Dumbledore," the Quidditch Scout said with a small smile and a shake of his head once the office door closed behind James, "if there were more young men like Mr Potter out there, we just might win this war."
"Perhaps, Eric, perhaps," Dumbledore agreed, fingering his long silver beard, blue eyes lost in thought.
24 February
Remus woke up to the blinding light of the hospital wing. Groaning, he began to sit up, and was met by the Headmaster's grave face. One look into his blue eyes, untwinkling, and Remus knew that whatever Dumbledore wanted, it couldn't be good. "Headmaster Dumbledore," he croaked out, coughing, gratefully accepting the glass of water Poppy gave him from the other side of his bed. "What's going on? What are you doing here?"
"Remus," Dumbledore greeted somberly, patting the werewolf's hand in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture, but it only made Remus feel even more ill at ease. "I am afraid I have some bad news."
The foreboding sensation in Remus' stomach magnified and crept up along his spine like a cold chill. Why was the Headmaster calling him 'Remus,' and not 'Mr Lupin?' What bad news? Looking around, he realised none of his friends were here, like they usually were the morning after a full moon. Only Buffy was there, looking incredibly downtrodden where she stood on the other side of the bed beside a worried looking Poppy. Remus gulped. "Just tell me what happened," he asked, clencing his fists.
"There was an attack on your home, last night," Dumbledore said, voice grave, and Remus suddenly felt faint. The room was spinning. "Greyback and his pack."
"W-what are you trying to say?" Remus said, voice hoarse. Spots of coloured light danced in front of his eyes. "Is my mum alright?"
"Your mother is fine," Dumbledore assured him. "But your father…"
Remus paled, and he closed his eyes. His heart beat wildly, erratically, against his ribcage. "Is he hurt?" he asked, after he had gathered enough composure to get the words out.
"Remus..." Buffy whispered, pain in her voice as she placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Did he get bitten?" Remus asked, ignoring his girlfriend. "Is he at St. Mungos? Can I see him? How – "
Dumbledore interrupted him by raising a hand, looking sadly at Remus above his half-moon spectacles. "Your father is dead, Remus. I'm sorry."
Remus' heart stopped and he blinked in confusion, shaking his head back and forth as he tried to make sense of what Dumbledore was saying, the Headmaster's voice buzzing in his ears: "Help came quickly…His death was swift…Funeral this Sunday…I have arranged for you to leave school…"
The buzzing came to an abrupt stop and the cold sensation squeezing his chest disappeared and a smouldering anger took its place, rising up like bile in his throat. "It's your fault," Remus heard himself say, staring blankly straight ahead.
Dumbledore looked taken aback and the calmness on his face was disrupted for a second, as his eyebrows rose in complete surprise. "Pardon?"
"It's your fault," Remus repeated coldly, as he turned to look at the Headmaster, his eyes blazing and his jaw clenching in anger. Buffy's eyes widened as she looked from Remus to the Headmaster, in shock at Remus' accusation.
"You're understandably upset," Dumbledore said soothingly as he rose to his feet, his hand leaving Remus'. "I will leave you to rest."
"Didn't you hear me? IT'S YOUR FUCKING FAULT!" Remus yelled, burying his nails into the mattress, and the bottom sheet was shred to pieces as he ripped it apart, some of the mattress' stuffing leaking out from the destroyed fabric.
Buffy could only stare wide-eyed, incredibly shocked by Remus' very uncharacteristic action, even as Madam Pomfrey let out a gasp, backing away from the bed. "Remus!" the mediwitch exclaimed, shocked. "What – "
"IT'S HIS FAULT MY FATHER IS DEAD!" Remus shouted, pointing at the Headmaster with a shaking finger. "His and all his stupid missions against Greyback! You increased his need for vengeance, fed it until he could hardly see straight! You could have stopped it! If you had, he never would have gone on that last mission! He never would have hurt Greyback, and then Greyback wouldn't have killed him in revenge!"
Remus could feel his wolf rising to the surface as he began to lose control of his emotions, and for once, he let it, too tired, too upset, too enraged to stop it – and a part of Moony got free with a howl. Remus' blue eyes turned into burning amber as the wild canine broke loose inside his body, wreaking havoc. Remus could feel the part of Moony that he'd let free try escape the prison that was his host's human body – that, however, was a cage he would not manage to break out of – the full moon had passed.
"Re, calm down!" Buffy said, trying to keep calm as she saw the change in his eyes and felt his body tense beneath her hand. Gripping both his shoulders hard, she tried to make him focus on her, but Remus only had attention for the Headmaster.
"I HATE YOU!" Remus screamed, Moony's howl present as a background echo in that piercing cry of sorrow, rage and grief. The curtains burst into flames and the windows shattered into thousands of pieces, along with every other piece of glass or porcelain in the hospital wing, as Remus lost control of his magic. With a gasp, Poppy dived for cover behind one of the beds, right in time, as the lamp behind where she'd stood a second ago exploded in hundreds of piercing, deadly shards.
"Ah!" Buffy gasped as shards from the lamp pierced her back, ripping her tank top. For a second, the amber in Remus' eyes seemed to sputter and die out. "Remus, listen to me," she told him. "Look at me, please."
"This has nothing to do with you," Remus hissed, his voice a deep growl, more animalistic than human, as he tried to shrug off the grip she had on his shoulders, but the Slayer was too strong. Enraged at her interferance, he growled, his hands grabbing hold of her upper-arms, hard, his nails digging into her biceps, gouging deep scratches into her skin.
Buffy hissed at the pain. "Remus, you're hurting me," she whispered. Remus faltered, the amber in his eyes flickered again and his grip loosenen, allowing Buffy to twist away. She was astonished that he had hurt her. He hadn't been in his right mind but he had still done it. She hadn't thought their bond would allow it, but apparently she'd been wrong.
Dumbledore quickly took advantage of the temporary lapse in the Gryffindor's fury. "I do not deny that I inadvertently might have played a part in Jonathan's death, and for that, I am sorry," he said quietly. Remus, who had opened his mouth for yet another long rant, but Dumbledore quickly continued: "However, I also believe you are focusing all your anger at me because you don't want to admit to your own guilt."
Buffy closed her eyes. Depending on what Dumbledore said or did next...it would either help Remus – or break him.
Speechless, Remus gawked at the Headmaster in disbelief, silent, his amber eyes flickering blue for a second before they reverted back once more, burning even brighter and darker than before. "My fault? You're saying my father's death is my fault?" he hissed, his entire body quivering with rage.
Dumbledore stared calmly back at the despairing boy, motionless and unflinching, even as pieces of shattered objects raged around them, twisting and swivelling, like a rampant Tornado. Some of the yet unshattered objects soaring around the room broke apart, the pieces raining down on them both, causing scratches on their uncovered skin that neither seemed to notice.
"No," the Headmaster corrected. "But I think you feel that way. After all," he continued, "if you hadn't ventured outside as a child during the full moon, you would never have been bitten, and your father wouldn't have felt the need for retribution in the first place."
Remus clenched his jaw. "Stop it," he said, closing his eyes and turnins his head away.
"And," Dumbledore continued, undeterred, "I think you are also angry at your father."
"Stop it."
"After all, it was his choice to come on the missions, even if it was at my suggestion. It was also his choice to insult Greyback in that newspaper article that led to your bite in the first place."
"I SAID STOP IT!" Remus yelled, his eyes – blue again; the wolf had reverted back into its prison - flying open, tears streaming down his face. The shattered pieces spinning around their heads fell to the ground, the flaming curtains turned to ashes, and the furious wind in the room caused by uncontrolled magic settled down. "I don't want to listen anymore," he said weakly, sinking back down against his pillows. "Just go away."
"We can play the 'blame game' and reflect on every 'what if' there is in the world, but nothing will change," Dumbledore said, placing a grandfatherly hand on top of Remus' head, and the werewolf flinched. "What is done is done. All we can do is move on." The Headmaster left the room leaving Remus and Buffy in silence.
"I-I will be in my office," Poppy muttered weakly, standing up from where she had dived for cover, seemingly rather twitchy, and even a little frightened.
"Re..." Buffy slowly approached the bed again, and Remus turned to look at her, at last.
"I hurt you," he whispered, his face scrunching up in self-disgust as he caught sight of her bleeding shoulders. "I can't believe I did that..."
"You were upset," Buffy said and sat down on the side of his bed, touching his arm gently, ignoring the way he stiffened. "You just found out something horrible – "
"That's no excuse!" Remus exclaimed, pulling his arm away. "I hurt you," he repeated again, voice softer this time and filled with self-loathing.
"I'm the Slayer," Buffy said quietly. "This is nothing."
"It's not nothing," Remus' eyes blazed. "It's everything. Don't you see that? If...if I'm capable of that - of losing myself like that – hurting someone I love... I'm a monster."
"You're not a monster!" Buffy insisted, trying to wrap him into a hug, but Remus pushed her away, causing her to almost fall off the bed.
"Maybe not yet," Remus said, voice choked. "But I can easily become one." He turned his head away, closing his eyes. "Just leave, Buffy. Before I hurt you again."
Buffy stood up, looking at his still, grieving form in sadness for several seconds. "You're hurting me right now," she whispered. "By acting this way. Just talk to me, Re, please." Remus didn't react at all, and Buffy's shoulder slumped in sadness, and she sighed. "I won't let you ignore me forever," she warned, before she slowly left the wrecked hospital wing, her head bowed.
26 February
"Has he said anything to you?" James asked Buffy worriedly, two days later, and the Slayer shook her head sadly.
"Not a word," she sighed. "He's still pushing me away. I've tried to talk to him, but...nothing. It's like he's catatonic or something."
Sirius grimaced. "Damn," he muttered. "I'd hoped he would have at least opened up to you, because he hasn't said a peep to me or James either. Or to Peter. And when I say 'not a peep,' I mean 'not a peep.' He doesn't even react: he just sits on his bed and stares into space." He shuddered. "It's scary, not to mention alarming and a real cause for concern. He doesn't even eat or sleep, as far as I know."
"The funeral is today, isn't it?" Lily asked, her green eyes dulled and void of a spark. "Didn't he ask any of you to go with him?"
Buffy shook her head again. "I asked…but he just…looked at me, you know? His eyes were completely empty. Blank. He left this morning with the Headmaster."
"Merlin, I don't even want to know how his mother must be taking it," Mandy muttered sadly, shaking her head. "I mean…she was there, wasn't she? When it happened?"
"You mean she saw it?" Peter piped up, his eyes wide in fright, and Samantha squeezed his hand. "She saw Jonathan…die?"
"Not to mention, she's pregnant," Samantha added, voice low. "She must feel awful."
"All we can do is to be there for Remus," Lily said. "I think he's going to really need his friends, once the shock has worn off. His girlfriend, especially, even if it might not seem that way, right now."
"I know," Buffy sighed. "I know Remus is pushing me away because he's gotten it into his head that his father's death was his fault, and he doesn't want me to end up the same way. And after what happened in the hospital wing, he's even more convinced that he's dangerous." She crossed her arms, letting her fingers linger on her biceps as she remembered the scratches there – gone now, of course, her Slayer healing having taken care of them almost immediately.
Unfortunately, the scars on Remus' psyche from what he had done couldn't be so easily fixed: not only did he believe himself dangerous, but he also thought that Buffy was better off without him. And why now, when everything had finally gone back to normal after they had gotten over the soulmate-obstacle? It just wasn't fair. "I just don't know how to get through to him. How do I make him realise that there was nothing he could have done - that he's not to blame?"
"Remus has always been great at blaming himself, it doesn't matter how irrational the reason behind it is," James muttered. "And at pushing people away."
"Fortunately, we're a stubborn lot, and not that easy to get rid of," Sirius put in, remembering how they'd always been there for Remus, even becoming Animagi for him, despite the fact that the werewolf had done his best to keep them at an arm's length after they had figured out the truth. But Sirius had no idea how they were supposed to help him this time.
"The Lord is my shepherd; therefore can I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters. He shall refresh my soul and guide me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me…"
Remus tuned out the words spoken by the Muggle pastor, his mind feeling strangely numb: the only noise penetrating it were his mother's loud sobs in his right ear as she leaned on his shoulders, trembling, her arms clutching him desperately. He knew she was probably making a right spectacle of herself, if the looks sent their way were any indication, but he didn't care – what did they know, anyway?
They had no right to judge. It wasn't their father, their husband, being lowered into the ground. What were they doing here at all? It wasn't like they'd known him well – Hell, most of them were co-workers, previous bosses, from Jonathan's earlier jobs in the Muggle World – none of them were magical. Nor were they were truly saddened by his passing. A couple of them had probably fired him, once upon a time, when his father's absences became too many, and the explanations for them too weak.
'It's my fault. You gave up so much for me, for mum…so we'd be safe. And for that, you get…what? Nothing! You're nothing more than a rotting corpse in the ground…what did our family do to deserve this?'
Suppressed fury sparkled in his blue eyes, the iris flashing amber for a moment. 'Why this mockery of a show? Why a Muggle funeral at all? To keep up appearances? Dad's dead, it's not like it matters anymore… He was a wizard for Merlin's sake! He should have a wizarding burial...'
A hand clutched his left shoulder and Remus flinched. Looking up, he realised he had everyone's attention. Blinking in confusion, he stared at Dumbledore, who was the one to have startled him. "You're supposed to throw earth on the coffin," the much older man said in a low voice. "They're all waiting for you."
Remus throat constricted painfully and he desperately wanted to yell out a sharp retort, but something held him back. Instead, he walked stoically forward, grabbing his mother's hand, pulling her along. Bending down, he picked up some of the earth with a grimace, throwing it onto the coffin, before helping his mother – who had finally stopped sobbing in favour of staring blankly at nothing, which was somehow worse - do the same.
"In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to almighty God our brother Jonathan, and we commit his body to the elements; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust…"
Dumbledore stepped forward and bowed his head, after everyone had finished throwing earth onto the coffin, his wizened voice quickly capturing everyone's attention without even trying as he slowly spoke: "Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the softly falling snow. I am the gentle showers of rain, I am the fields of ripening grain. I am in the morning hush, I am in the graceful rush. Of beautiful birds in circling flight, I am the starshine of the night. I am in the flowers that bloom, I am in a quiet room. I am in the birds that sing, I am in each lovely thing. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there - I do not die."
Tears welled up behind Remus' eyelids, but he refused to let them fall. He had to be strong. What right did Dumbledore have to speak at his father's funeral, anyway? He tried to bring forth that familiar rage – anything was better than this emptiness – but came up with nothing. He couldn't find it in himself to be angry anymore.
The words spoken by Dumbledore had pushed it away. Somehow, that poem had made him feel more at peace with things than the pastor had managed to. Made this so-called funeral feel like less of a travesty, and more like his father would have wished it: a wizard's soul couldn't be destroyed, after all – his body might rot and crumble, but his soul was believed to become one with magic, with all that surrounded them… The poem really seemed more befitting wizards than Muggles…was Mary Frye a witch?
People were leaving now. Dumbledore was speaking silently with the pastor, who also took his leave. Remus and his mother remained alone by the grave.
"I shall help your mother home, Remus." Dumbledore said from behind him. "I have a portkey back to Hogwarts…"
"I'm not going back to Hogwarts," Remus heard himself say, voice strangely void of all emotion. Had he really just uttered that phrase?
Dumbledore jerked back as if slapped, actually surprised. "Remus…your education…"
"Like it matters," Remus muttered bitterly. "It's not like anyone will care what grades I get – the second they spot my Godforsaken werewolf ID, I'll be thrown out head first anyway."
"I never took you for a cynic," Dumbledore said.
Remus snorted. "Then you really don't know me that well, do you?"
"Your father wouldn't want you to throw your life away – "
"Don't you dare to even mention my father," Remus snapped. "He's dead. And does my mother seem to be able to take care of herself in this state? She's beyond devastated, not to mention pregnant, for Merlin's sake! And we live out in the middle of nowhere!"
Dumbledore sighed. "I will have someone check on your mother – "
" – I really don't trust anyone other than me with my remaining family's welfare, Headmaster," Remus said coolly. "If you'll excuse us." He walked towards their car – a large buckle was still on the front; they never had repaired it, or gotten it sold. That day before Yule seemed so long ago – had it only been a couple of months since they'd been so carefree? – and the car looked more rundown than ever. He was more than aware of Dumbledore's eyes staring sadly at him as he helped his mother inside, before he heard the familiar crack of Apparation. Remus didn't know whether to feel sad or relieved that he had left.
"Johnny?" Dana Lupin said crookedly, blinking up at Remus in confusion as he helped her with the seatbelt. "Are we going home?"
Remus swallowed down another lump in his throat and he smiled shakily as he realised that in her grief, something must have snapped inside his mother... 'She's mistaking me for my father…' "Yes, we're going home."
Dana nodded sleepily, leaning further back in her seat. "Good. It's soon time for Remmie's nap…"
A strangled sob escaped Remus' throat, despite his best effort to hold it back. 'Oh, dear God…can I really do this?' "Of course."
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, HE'S NOT COMING BACK?" Sirius exclaimed, standing up from his seat, glaring at his Head of House. Professor McGonagall looked decidedly flustered where she was standing, in the middle of the common room under close scrutiny from every member of her house, Remus' worn trunk floating beside her.
"Like I said, Mr Black, Mr Lupin has decided to withdraw from Hogwarts."
Whispers broke out - none of the students could believe Remus had just quit school like that: Remus Lupin, Prefect, always buried with his nose in a book, was the last person they'd believed would end his education on a whim. But he had, and his closest friends all looked extremely upset. It was clear they had had no warning.
"He can't do that!" James exclaimed, still in shock. "Can he?"
"Indeed he can, Mr Potter," McGonagall said. "Hogwarts' education is completely voluntary – there is no law or rule that says you have to study here, nor is there a law that says you have to finish once you've begun. All students at Hogwarts are well within their rights to leave, whenever they wish it, as long as they have either their Guardian's permission or have come of age."
"But what about his N.E.W.T.s?" Lily broke in, close to tears.
McGonagall's lips became a thin line. "I am not recommending quitting one's studies, like Mr Lupin has done," she said. "But we do not have any right to judge or disagree with his decision. It is unfortunate, but due to circumstances beyond anyone's control, Mr Lupin's priorities have changed, which, taking into consideration what has happened, is more than understandable."
Buffy still had not said anything, and was simply staring at the floor, her brows furrowed, not sure what to think. On one hand, she felt abandoned and forgotten – Remus hadn't even told her he planned on leaving. But she could also understand his decision – she would probably have done the same if she were in his shoes. But she also knew this was yet another manner in which he was pushing her away, still convinced he was no good for her. She inwardly bemoaned the fact that she always fell for the troubled ones. Though Angel's angst had nothing on Remus'.
"But what about his friends?" Sirius said hotly. "What about us? He's just going to leave us behind?"
"Oh, do get a hold of yourself, Mr Black!" McGonagall snapped, her nostrils flaring. "Are you really that selfish?" Sirius flushed; no one was sure whether it was because of anger or embarrassment. "I believe it is in everyone's best interest to accept Mr Lupin's departure, and move on," McGonagall continued. "I do not envy the decision he has been forced to make – continue his studies and ensure his own future, or leave and take care of his remaining family at the cost of his own happiness? I for one find the choice he has made commendable, and very Gryffindor. Whether it was the right one, remains to be seen. Miss Duncan?"
"Yes, Professor?" Michaela stood up on shaky legs, still unable to believe the events that had just transpired. She caught the item McGonagall threw her on pure reflex, blinking at the badge in her hands.
"With Mr Lupin gone, Gryffindor is missing a seventh-year Prefect," McGonagall said. "I believe you will do a fine job in his stead."
"Yes, Professor," Michaela mumbled, not feeling very happy over her new 'promotion' in the least.
Professor McGonagall left the common room under complete silence.
"I can't believe Moony'd just up and leave like that," James said, upset.
"Well, I can," Sirius said bitterly, feeling betrayed for some reason. "It's what he does, isn't it? Running away, instead of facing his problems?"
"Sirius! How can you say that?" Lily exclaimed. "If Remus was running away, wouldn't it have made more sense to come back and continue his studies, leaving his mother's care in someone else's hands?"
"Lily's right," Peter said, looking down at his hands. "I mean…he's going to live on the same spot his father was murdered, for Merlin's sake!" He shuddered.
"Are you saying you're alright with this?" Sirius hissed.
"Of course not!" James huffed. "But there's no use arguing about it! It's out of our hands, anyway!"
Sirius' eyes flashed. "So we're just going to let it be? What about you, Buffy? Remus is your boyfriend, and he didn't even consult you before he made this decision – are you alright with this?"
"Of course I'm not alright with this!" Buffy exploded. "For fuck's sake, he's more than just my boyfriend and we just came to terms with that!" Ignoring the confused looks from her friends, she ranted on: "But what right do I have to question his decision? All I can do is accept it, support it, and hope Remus won't push me away forever! But my unhappiness is nothing compared to the pain he must be feeling, and while I hate that he won't let me help or comfort him, I'm sure as Hell not going to sit here and mope about it, because that's not helping anyone, least of all him!" Buffy finished hotly, standing up so forcefully that her chair fell over and smashed into the floor, breaking one of its leg in the process. She stomped up the stairs, slamming the doors to the girl's dorm loudly, with such force that all of the portraits that hung in the common room fell down.
"…Hear, hear," James mumbled weakly.
Published: 01/12 -09
Edited: 15/10 -11