"Memories are the latent trappings of experience. In a single memory, we capture both event and meaning, all emotion and sensations. They grow and change with us, as our understanding of them grows and changes. We can hide them, or from them, but they are forever a part of us. They shape our futures as much as the events themselves have shaped our pasts.
"Like a beaded string, each builds upon the memory before it, emphasizing and strengthening our assurance of who and what we are. Many have found that a sudden smell or familiar view can stimulate a resurgence of a memory, even one long hidden."
"Isn't it amazing?" Julius exclaimed. "I found these old recordings in a closet of the archives, a closet of all places!"
"Yes," Iggy said, dismissively. "You'll find the oddest things back there."
"But, man," Julius asked, incredulous, "do you realize who that is?"
"Some old scoffer, I'd guess," Iggy answered, snickering. Another man, across the table, laughed aloud.
"It is none other than The Charles Tithbom!" Julius continued, ignoring the others.
When neither expressed their astonishment, Julius went on, "He's only the leading Legilimency authority of the last century! He investigated further into the reaches of memory and the mind than anyone."
"Oh," Iggy said, sarcastic smile waxing on his lips, "of course. How silly of me."
Their companion did not share in this bit of amusement. He had gone a little quiet, as though trying to remember something. After a moment, he brushed it off, and smiled serenely. It was a beautiful day.
The sea air swept through the streets accompanied by the early Monday morning sun. The cobbled streets hadn't been changed in over a hundred years. Only pedestrians passed through the Wizard town. The streets were thin, but people walked about with ease. Pairs of runners slipped past them, dashing along over the bumpy street floor. The three of them sat at a table of a cafe called Le Rêve Magique.
"Well," Julius said, haughtily, "I'm sure there are others who will understand the importance of this discovery."
"I'm sure they will, Julius," Remus said, chuckling. "But our research is a bit different."
"Yes, yes," Julius said. "I just assumed that with the full moon so far off yet, you'd find some other area of study more interesting."
"We do have a lot to do before then," Iggy retorted.
"Professor Damocles," Remus began.
"Please, Remus, for the last time, just call me Iggy. Everyone else does."
Remus laughed. "Alright, alright."
He was about to begin talking when a wizard of about twenty-five ran off the street and into the cafe. He was babbling something hysterically, but all the customers ignored him. Mad wizards walking about and rambling were not unusual in this town. At the edge, a Wizarding Asylum had housed wizards for hundreds of years in various states of mental illness. Other research disciplines, such as Julius' and Iggy's had taken root alongside.
His cries grew louder, though, and more coherent. It interrupted conversations. Remus thought he distinctly heard, "It's over! You-Know-Who is dead!"
"Over?" he whispered. His head hurt. "What does that mean?"
His companions heard part of what the man was rambling. They exchanged darkly significant looks. Julius stood up. "I suppose someone should deliver this patient back to the asylum. I need to visit Monsieur Martel, in any case."
He moved over to where the man was shouting the news at a young couple in a booth. "Rejoice! We are no longer in danger! The Wizarding World is safe! He killed so many."
"Come with me, sir," Julius said, smiling forcibly.
"But," the man said, looking a little confused. "I just came to tell you all the news! The Dark Wizard is no more!"
"Yes, and that is great news," Julius said soothingly. "Can you step outside with me for a moment? Please?" he added with some earnestness.
"Oh, fine then," the man said. As he went outside, though, he said in a carrying voice, "It is a shame about the Potters, though."
"Yes, I'm sure it is," Julius said.
When they had gone out of doors and down a block or so, Remus could see the pair carrying on a heated conversation. His mind, however, was not with them, nor with the crepe and tea before him. He did not seem to see Iggy in front of him trying to make small talk. His thoughts were far away, straining against something he could neither see nor touch.
Iggy realized what was happening. "Oh goodness!" he cried as he watched Remus' face contort with strained effort. Iggy watched in shock as Remus sat twitching in front of him. He knew, though, that he would not need a Healer, this was always an eventuality. Iggy felt sad, though, knowing what this would mean. Remus had been a great patient, a great friend.
Remus had met the barrier. The names 'the Potters' and the references to 'You-Know-Who' had stimulated something deep within his mind. It was as though an ignition had turned and an engine deep in his mind had caught. He couldn't quite make out what it was trying to tell him. That was when he knew the wall. It was well constructed, but not impenetrable, as though the builder had constructed it to crumble when it was discovered. After a moment, he remembered that he knew Occlumency well, and he put it to work. The wall began to crumble at the force.
Like dam waters long withheld, a flood of thoughts, memories, and emotion poured over. The serenity of the past year's time evaporated. The turgid waters of remembrance struck him, and he was consumed. At this moment, he fell out of his chair, striking his arm against the foot of another table. The pain burned the truth of this reality into his mind. It was then that he saw everything.
The world swirled. The Order, his days of spying, the Death Eaters, his friends, the deaths, and all the pain around it suddenly became clear. One more thing was added to the mix, 'It's a shame about the Potters' echoed in his mind with a force to mute the other thoughts. They fell silent in subdued pain, as their terrible reports seemed as nothing next to this new thought. His friends, dead? Who else had died? Whom could he have saved?
Confusion and pain were rapidly replaced with anger. "Dumbledore!" he heard himself shout with inhuman force. He realized his voice echoed especially in the quiet around him. A dozen or more people had surrounded him, Julius, the newcomer, and Iggy foremost among them. He glared around at them, pulling back out of his mind enough for this moment.
"Why?" he asked no one aloud.
Iggy tried to console him, "He...he never said, mate."
"What did he tell you?" Remus asked, his voice a growl.
"He said he needed to hide you, and that you would love to help with my research, and...and not to let you hear about the war, that it would upset you."
"We never thought he had blocked the memories, though," Julius added. "We just tried to keep you in the dark about it, for your sake."
"I figured it out," Iggy admitted, his face long and drawn. "You never said anything about the war or your past, not even in passing. I just...I didn't know what it was that he had had to hide, but if he had gone to such lengths, it must have been too much."
Remus' face grew darker. "I want my wand."
"What are you going to-"
"I want my wand back, Professor Damocles," Remus said, eyes flashing.
"Yeah, sure," Iggy said. "It's in the lab, I'll get it for you." He looked imploringly at Julius.
"While he's getting it," Julius said, sounding nervous, "Just sit here and have your tea."
He offered a hand to Remus, but Remus refused it, standing on his own. Ignoring the tea, he bore down on the man who had entered with the news. "What did you hear? What happened? Tell me everything!"
The man fell back in fear, jostling a table and then catching himself on it. His eyes were wide and staring at Remus. Julius stepped between them. "Remus, sit down," he said, voice stronger, more commanding. When Remus looked like he would say something, he added, "Let him have a moment. He is bringing you news, after all."
Reluctantly, Remus assented, sitting on the edge of the chair, and facing the man. Julius pulled Iggy's chair out for the man, and resumed his own seat at the table. Remus could feel that the interest of the other patrons had waned. They had all resumed their conversations, only glancing his way occasionally. Perhaps they were waiting for another outburst.
"I was in the village owlery," he said, looking between the two, "about to send a letter to my Aunt in Toulouse, when this young girl gasped. She had just opened a letter and read it to us. There was some bit about her boyfriend in England loving her and such rubbish, but the part that mattered was about the war. Hearing the news, that I'll never forget."
He had the look of a man who would soon embellish this tell and was in the process of testing it out on a few strangers. Remus saw this, but ignored it. He wanted the details. The truth mattered.
"What did it say?" Julius asked kindly.
"I made a copy of it, so that I would remember. It was so remarkable as news, you know!" the man said, pulling out a slip of paper to read. "It said:"
Oh, dearest, the greatest news today, and so sad. Yet, greater mostly. He-Who-Must-Not-Be- Named is gone! I am so happy I could almost write his name to you, but I won't. Shocking, I know! They're saying he killed the Potters. They were such a kind pair, you know. I saw James at times in the Ministry.
There is such a mystery about it, though! They don't know how he was defeated. Yet there he was, when the Ministry came to investigate the house. It exploded, you know? Exploded! But there, and this is all part of the mystery of the thing, there in the rubble was one still alive! Who do you think it was? No, but you would never guess! The child, James and Lily's, Harry. He lives!
Such miraculous and mysterious goings on are in these tidings that I know you will doubt me of playing you a falsehood. I assure you, it is not so. Emily Bagkirk, your old dear cousin, spoke with Cornelius Fudge just after he left the scene, and this is all true! Everyone is in a right state about it. I will send you more when we know all the news. It is so remarkable, indeed!
"Then he continues on for a paragraph or two more on how pretty she is in his recollection. Such rubbish, but there it is."
"Harry," Remus breathed, feeling the taste of the word in his mouth. He had never heard the child's name, never congratulated the parents. He hadn't been there. Dumbledore had seen to that. Anger seethed beneath the surface, threatening to overtake him again. The man was saying more, but Remus' only thought was getting his wand back and returning to England at once. He had been away for far too long.
Iggy arrived before long, looking scared, but holding two wands in his hand. Remus saw his own wand, so long absent from his grasp. Here he hadn't needed it, here he had surrendered it as part of the study. For the last six months, the study had involved reducing his exposure to ambient magic. If he did not use magic, and was not directly around it actively, would this inhibit or improve the strength of the potion they were developing?
This was one of the several studies that he had participated in. Despite his new knowledge of the past, Remus was glad he could have helped. Volunteers from the werewolf society were difficult to come by. Many would rather hide their condition, others abhorred any attempt to stop the transformation. These were a difficult bunch for the Ministry. Here too, he had met wizards and werewolves from all over the world. The premier Healers in the area came to study the methods of Damocles and his team. Some stayed on, others took home some new thoughts and techniques.
Remus had no anger to spare for these two for their part in the deception. Even Damocles, who admitted he had realized something was wrong, did not deserve even a small share of the blame. Dumbledore had much to atone for. Remus would see that he did.
Remus stood and held held out his hand to Ignatius Damocles, and said, "Thank you for retrieving my wand."
"Are you, are you going to go, then?" Iggy asked, holding out the wand part of the way.
"Yes," Remus said, "I have missed much, too much."
"Will you come back?" Julius asked.
"I might," Remus answered. He took his wand from Ignatius. "Thank you for your kindness, both of you. I … have to go, though. There are things I have to do."
He shook hands with both of them and gave them a sad smile. It took all of his will to hold back his emotions. It would become too much in a moment. He stepped away from them and concentrated hard with his eyes closed a moment.
Ministry official guidelines advise Apparition to distances of no more than three hundred seventy-five kilometers in a hop, with a thirty minute delay between hops of the maximum distance. From Southern France, it was nearly 1200 kilometers to London. He would have to delay for an hour or more, if he followed the rules. Remus didn't have time for that.
With a point in mind, a spot he had spent much time admiring as a child, Remus spun into darkness. The point seemed a pinprick of light in the great distance. His chest was compressed, as always in Apparition, but he held on. Apparition over a long distance was not as swift as short hops. It took time. The compression worsened as the seconds ticked away.
Remus' muscles began to twitch. He mentally struggled against the impulse to leap out of the Apparition, to spare his lungs, to allow himself to breathe. Just a little further. The pinprick had grown to the size of a softball. Everything burned, and he felt a sudden lethargy. The light began to shift upward, as he descended out of the stream. 'No!' his mind screamed, dragging himself back into the midst of it. The pain increased tenfold. The light was larger, nearly there.
He hit the ground, and staggered to his knees. Air flooded his lungs suddenly, and he gasped. He felt the blood rushing suddenly to his head. Dizzy, he fell onto his side and coughed, painfully. Closing his eyes, he grabbed his head with his hands and held it, hoping to stop the spinning feeling. After a moment, it subsided, but he couldn't move. Everything ached, and he felt sick.
When he lay there for some time, he began to feel the world around him. His side was hugging up against the rough cobblestone ground but the light salty, sea air licked at him from above. He chanced opening his eyes. There was a long path before him, cobbled and winding. It ran along the edge of The English Channel. He had Apparated over the height of France in a few seconds. However, he did not think his body could stand another immediate attempt. He would be stuck in France if he couldn't come up with another way to proceed.
"Hé! Etes-vous bien?" someone called out.
Remus muttered, "I'm okay."
"Oh, un Anglais," the man said, coming up on him.
Remus stuck his wand into his pant pocket while rolling onto his knees. He had no idea if this was a magical or Muggle person. How did one even say Muggle in French? Remus just needed somewhere to rest up and think for a few.
Remus could see him better now. He was an old man, dressed simply, and with a pleasant face. He had the skin of a lifetime laborer, gnarled with excessive sun and wrinkled with age. The man gave him a hand up, saying in simple English, "I am Jacques. You good?"
"Yes, thanks," Remus said. "Just tired."
"You need rest?" Jacques asked. He pointed at a cabin along the beach.
Remus shook his head. "I have a long way to go," he said, pointing down the path. Really, he only wanted to be alone, for now. The old man shrugged and began walking back towards the hut. Remus turned his back and walked his own way. A rest would be good, but he had no time. His blood was still hot. He needed to see Dumbledore...to...to what? Demand his time back? He had lost that, and two of his friends.
Just moments ago, he had pictured himself appearing before Dumbledore, angry and condemning of the old man. Now, all he wanted to do was sag into himself in misery. The road before him elongated, winding through longer stretches of country than before. Remus didn't try to move too quickly, yet. He had to think. Maybe Dumbledore would have a reasonable story, a good reason. He was always so thoughtful and had a long strategy worked out.
Remus calmed, a little. He wasn't happy. Far from it. He could breathe, now, and the walking had brought down his anger. Some of that familiar coarseness, the resistance to pain, clicked into place. Numbness followed. He hadn't taken time to think. Lily and James Potter, two of his best friends, were dead. Who else had died? It had been so long. These were the deaths of the day. How could he be sure they weren't the last of many?
Determined to find out, and soon, Remus looked around. All was empty and quiet. He had passed far out of sight of the old man's hut. Grabbing a small rock from the side of the path, he pulled out his wand, concentrated, and said, "Portus."
A calmer mind had reminded him of a much easier method of travel. Portkeys had unlimited range around the world if created properly. Remus had only one place he wanted to be. In a moment, he would arrive. Then, he would learn the truth.
Clutching the Portkey rock, he counted down, "Five...four...three...two...one." On one, he felt that sudden tug and was spinning through a vortex of light. He touched down immediately on an old hill. It felt almost like yesterday he had been here last. Remus could see the house, this time, though. Had the protection been lifted already?
He tossed the rock aside, and walked up the slope. No one greeted him or came out to stop his entry. It was eerie, like death had come to this place, too. 'Come to think of it,' Remus noted, 'they never said where it happened. Where were they when He...?' He shook his head. They could not have been here. The letter had spoken of an explosion. Nothing here looked so damaged.
Remus opened the door and stepped into the foyer. It, too, was deserted. He heard nothing, no sounds of conversation, no steps upon the tile. Desperation began to set in. 'Where is everyone?' He ran from room-to-room. No one was on the ground floor. When he reached the office, the meeting place where he had met Dumbledore twice now, he found nothing. The home was truly deserted.
Frustrated, Remus ran out of the house, preparing to Disapparate, somewhere. Perhaps he could learn something at the Ministry. 'No,' he thought, 'I'm probably still wanted.' Still, as he did not know where anyone could be, perhaps a public place wouldn't be too much trouble. You could never tell, especially after all the time that had passed. Maybe headquarters had moved.
"Where are you running so quickly, Lupin?"
Remus stopped dead. That voice, it couldn't be. He turned, and there he was, Severus Snape, in the flesh. "How...Why?"
"Why am I here?" Snape asked for him, sneering. "I suppose Dumbledore found a better spy than you could ever prove. Today, I was checking in at HQ. A few people still stop by to leave reports for Dumbledore. Might be more after today's events."
"Today?" Remus asked. "You mean after the Potters...?"
"No, no," Snape said, frowning. "That is yesterday's news."
Remus shook his head. He had thought he was arriving quickly, but he had already come a day late. News had traveled slowly to that sleepy town in southern France. What else had happened?
"You haven't heard?" Snape asked, looking a little brighter. "Let's just say, your little gang from Hogwarts isn't doing so well."
"What?" Remus asked. He ran to within a foot of Snape, glaring at him hard. "What did you mean by that? Tell me!"
"Tut tut," Snape said, savoring the control he had. "Is that a way to ask for news? I know you're a beast, but surely you've learned a few manners over the years."
Snape's snub barely registered. Remus only wanted to learn what had happened. He stepped back, restraining himself. "Fine," he said, in a calmer voice. With an effort he added, "Please, tell me what happened."
The old familiar smirk appeared on Snape's face. "Turns out that your old friend Sirius - a friend's friend, I'm sure - happened to be a traitor for the Death Eaters. He turned over the Potter's location to the Dark Lord, and poof, they died."
"No!" Remus cried. "He couldn't, he wouldn't! I don't believe-"
"Believe it," Snape snapped, holding his own temper in check. "Dumbledore says the Potters made Sirius the secret keeper for their whereabouts. Your other little ratty friend, Peter, caught up with him and confronted him. Great friend that he is, Sirius blew him up along with twelve Muggles on the street, in front of many witnesses."
"No...no..." Remus moaned, his hand shaking.
"Oh," Snape said, "but I haven't gotten to the best part. Sirius, your old mate, when taken in by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, what do you suppose he said?"
"What?"
"Nothing whatsoever," Snape said, voice icily cold, "he laughed. He laughed like a madman, enjoying the pain he had caused, the deaths he had wrought."
"No," Remus whispered. "No..."
He ran, leaving Snape where he stood. Remus would have felt more comfortable if he had heard laughter behind him. That, at least, would have left him some shred of hope that Snape had lied, had decided to play a joke on him. The silence that followed his retreat felt so final, so damning. At the safe border, a dozen yards from the door, Remus turned in place.
Remus appeared before the gate. An empty expanse of the grounds lay before him. It was a weekday at noon, everyone would be in the Great Hall. As though drawn forward by a pair of strings, Remus crossed the old familiar grounds. The lakeside, where so many sweet afternoons had passed, long ago. The Whomping Willow, remaining symbol of his time at Hogwarts. It was still a blight and dangerous monster, like himself.
His anger had exploded in his gut. He felt drawn by its force, in toward the man who had sent him away. All of these things, couldn't they have been prevented? Couldn't he have helped? Why had this been done to him? Everyone else had remained and fought. Maybe many more had died, but they lived or died as heroes. What was he, a child, to be sent away when the fight became too hard?
Was it because he was a werewolf? Did his escape from the Ministry attract too much negative attention? Maybe Dumbledore didn't want to associate the Order with such a creature. The only place he had felt true acceptance, except with his friends – and he did not want to think of them now – was with the researchers in France. They had treated him like an equal. The Order and the Death Eaters had both treated him like an outsider. The Ministry had treated him like a criminal and an outsider. At school, he had his friends, but most others avoided him. It wasn't because of what he was, there; they must not have liked something about him or his friends.
He crossed the Entrance Hall, not seeing if anyone was there. All he saw was the door before him. It loomed, large and heavier than he had ever thought. It gave at his touch, though, as always. Hundreds of students appeared before him, happily chatting and laughing, their cares lightened, in fact, removed, with the death of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Remus knew this, picturing the party they must have had in the Gryffindor Tower the night before. The celebrations there, and all over Britain, so joyous and happy. It made him sick and he hated them for the easy price of happiness and peace.
They had only lost names, a few more or less than any other time during war. Names are meaningless next to faces and memories. Remus had lost three, no four of his greatest friends in the last day. He had lost them forever. Worst of all, he had never been able to help, he never even said goodbye. That last evening, the one before he and Dumbledore had spoken that fateful morning, that was it. That was their farewell, though they had not known it. Three dead, one imprisoned. Why had of this all fallen on him?
A few people had noticed him, including one or two teachers, but no one had spared him more than a casual glance yet. He looked past the students, to the center of the Head table. There, gold-rimmed glasses shining over a flowing beard of white. There as calm as could be, sat the man.
"DUMBLEDORE!" Remus felt his lips utter. Only the utterance sounded more like a barbaric cry than even a shout. The name echoed in the magnificent hall and ended with a deafening silence. Every head turned as one. The staff at the Head table stood, looking alarmed. Dumbledore, alone, remained seated among them. He looked across the space between Remus and himself, his hands arched in front of him, a contemplative look on his face.
Remus realized that the numbers were far too great against him. In physical strength alone, a handful of the older students could tackle him. Why had he barged in like this? What could he hope to achieve? Just as he began to feel completely foolish, Dumbledore stood. With a gesture down the row of professors, he had them sit.
"Excuse us, everyone," he said, his voice, though a whisper resounding easily across the hall in a calming, casual way. His voice couldn't have sounded more different from what Remus' had sounded like a moment before. "I believe Mr. Lupin needs a word with me."
A couple professors moved to stand, but he waved them down, cheerfully. Everyone watched him cross the hall, walking solemnly towards Remus. Remus merely scowled and stepped out into the Entrance Hall. In the moment or two he had, waiting for Dumbledore to open the door and join him, Remus saw that he was alone there. No one had dawdled in the halls. Everyone was beyond those doors.
Remus stood in the middle of the Entrance Hall. It was the meeting point of the stairs to the upper parts of the castle with the door to the Great Hall and the foremost door to the castle. He was at a pivot point, too, in his mind. What did it matter, anyway? Whatever Dumbledore might say, whatever explanation, it would not undo the past. Hurting Dumbledore could hardly help, either, as much as he felt the urge to do so.
Dumbledore opened the door. He shut it quietly behind him, and Remus saw the appearance and disappearance of students' heads craning to get a glimpse of them. Muttering something with his wand at the door, Dumbledore nodded in satisfaction.
"There," he said, pleased, "no one should hear us."
An awkward pause fell. Remus felt that he should begin, but did not know where to start. Dumbledore stood, observing him fairly. He had a sad, comforting expression on his face that made Remus' gall rise again. Dumbledore meant to be a comforter, he, he who had done this. Could this be?
"Remus," Dumbledore said, softly in introduction.
"How could you?" Remus asked, bitterness thick upon his tongue. He could not muster the strength he had thought he would have, the strength to berate. From the look on Dumbledore's face, Remus saw that he had done worse than an attack, worse than any yelling. He had undone Dumbledore's composure with a question. "How could you have done this to me?" He repeated in the silence.
"I..."
"They were my friends!" Remus cried, not in anger but in pain. "My only friends..."
"That's not true, Remus," Dumbledore said, holding out his hand as though to put it on Remus' shoulder. Remus stood yards away, so this felt like nothing more than an empty gesture to him, a gesture across space and time.
"They were," Remus said darkly. "No one else accepted me so easily, despite it all. Even James, with all our problems, still cared. He never showed concern like Lily, not the same way, but he felt it." Remus had a vision of James catching him running headlong towards the burning tower and leaping, with no thought or worry, at the chance of helping him make a difference. Remus' heart burned.
"They, each of the four, James, Sirius, Peter, and...Lily, they were all I had to keep me going," he whispered. He saw them all, gathered at the wedding. He saw them each in their days as children at school, in this very Hall, at times, enjoying the freedom of youth, the beauty in life. Remus felt his face grow hot. "How could you...?"
"Remus, I know this must be hard on you," Dumbledore said, softly, voice closer than before. He had taken a few steps towards Remus.
"What do you know?" Remus exclaimed. "You send people on missions for the cause! People live and die, and you send them to it. If they don't come back, you send someone else."
"Oh, I know, Dumbledore," he said, scathingly, cutting off the reply, "you're doing this for us. You wanted to make the world safe again. Well, so did I! I wanted to fight. I would have fought and died on one of your missions, had you asked. But this! Casting me aside, sending me away like a worthless child. What could be gained in it?
"I went on your mission. I infiltrated the Death Eaters and tried to help. I failed, and you send me away. That is what you do with failures, you toss them aside. As I was worthless in this matter, surely I would only fail you in some other, right? Right? Was I not strong enough for you? Was I a danger? Was I a monster in your pristine, spotless eyes?
"I was a monster when I arrived at your school. You let me in out of the goodness of your heart, as a charity case. Look! Dumbledore the Great has looked down with his goodness upon this stricken thing and given it a chance! How wonderful he must be! With his same greatness, he directs the effort against Voldemort and his Death Eaters! He knows everything that should happen, he has the insight. Trust him, it's for the greater good!"
Remus seemed to have struck a nerve. Dumbledore visibly winced. He felt a sick sense of enjoyment from seeing this pain in the Headmaster. That turned into a bitter distaste in a moment. His body was shaking from the effort. A sudden wariness hit him, a part of him that didn't want to go on. "Why?" was all he could manage to utter.
"Remus," Dumbledore said. Remus looked up abruptly on hearing his voice. This was not the strong, willful voice he had always known, the power that often resonated in such a reassuring fashion had gone. Here was a frail, tired, scared old man. Remus had thrown everything he could in his face.
"I'm sorry, Remus," he said softly. "I have been most unjust to you. I have something to tell you that I have not told to another soul."
Remus looked at him, hopeful in his heart, but doubtful in his mind. Could he have had cause for anything that would justify what was done?
"I trusted you as much as anyone in the Order, more than many, Remus," Dumbledore said, a soft smile on his lips. "I had seen you grow up under adversity. You faced pain and suffering in your young adult years such as no other student in Hogwarts history. You bore this pain, and more continually, without bowing to it. You did not crumble as so many would have.
"More remarkably, even, you kept yourself, despite it. Always, you remained Remus, Gryffindor at heart. I saw your mind, both with the Occlumency lessons, and that day more recently. The Occlumency lessons were a final test. I wanted to know your heart in all that had happened. Despite the pain from all sides, especially that the Ministry had callously created, you held fast to yourself. I had hoped only you could keep yourself while burying yourself into the deeps of the Death Eaters."
Remus looked up at him meaningfully. "No," Dumbledore said, "you did not crumble the Death Eater organization from the inside. I had never imagined it would be so simple. From your actions and memories, over a dozen Death Eaters were captured and passed into the Ministry's custody. You may think your actions were in vain, but let me tell you, no one Order member has brought about the capture of so many in such a short time frame."
Dumbledore beamed at him, but Remus remained stony-faced. Dumbledore went on, "Still, your concern is with our last meeting. I do regret it. I have had few duties that were more repellent. I discovered something, though, when I scanned your memories, that terrified me."
Remus looked alarmed, searching his memory for something that would have scared the Headmaster so much. "It was not," Dumbledore said, "something you had done, rest assured."
"It was Him. Voldemort had left a part of himself within your mind, the day he met you. He is the most powerful Legilimens of our age. He did not penetrate your defenses, but he is skilled enough to see when he is being blocked by an inexperienced Occlumens. I postulate, and, mind you, this is only my assumption, that he wanted to keep a closer eye on you.
"I was never sure there was a leak on our end. I could not conceive of it at the time, but somehow Voldemort knew about the assassination prevention mission. As I had bolstered our force, so did he. You saw the result of it."
"But Dumbledore," Remus broke in, "if Sirius..." He could not finish the sentence. It pained him too much to think of it.
"Sirius' later actions aside," Dumbledore said, "I cannot place the blame for this on him. Neither he, nor any of your friends were involved in this matter. The four of them were embroiled in a mess in Wales, at the time. This was intentional on my part. I did not want to make them fight you."
"But then," Remus asked, feeling a terror wash over him. "If you saw that Voldemort had...?"
"Why didn't I extract him, and free you from it?" Dumbledore asked for him. "It was dangerous, Remus. In the tussle to free your mind, we might have killed you. In hiding your memories, I protected all of us from his later perusal, and made your mind worthless to him by sending you far away. In France, doing something of great value for the world, I had hoped you would be safe from him until he had, at least forgotten about you."
Remus saw the reason in it, and felt cold shame begin to fill him. He had exploded at this man for things he did not fully understand. He had vented an anger, unkindly, on a man with his best interest in mind.
"Sir," he asked, addressing Dumbledore with a calmer voice, "is Sirius really a traitor?"
Dumbledore looked dark for a moment, answering simply. "I wish I could tell you he had no part in it. I cannot see how he could not."
"Why not?" Remus asked.
"Because, he was the only person who could have betrayed them."
Remus felt the silence fall heavily upon him. "How, sir?"
"He was their Secret Keeper. He was the guardian of their location," Dumbledore said, voice almost harsh with bitterness. "Only he could tell someone their location."
"Why did they need guarding?" Remus asked, suddenly aware of the oddity in it. "They were great fighters, and had as much to lose as anyone."
"Voldemort had singled them out for death," the Headmaster answered. "He made his plans known, and we took every precaution we could. With their son new son, Harry, the two of them went into hiding, as much as you did, Remus."
"And Harry?"
"I have delivered him to his Aunt and Uncle to raise," Dumbledore said, sadly. "They can care for him better than anyone, I fear."
A thought occurred to him. "Was this what Snape wanted to meet you for? Is he in the Order?"
"Severus Snape did indeed tell me the intentions of his old master," Dumbledore said. "He is in the Order, as a spy against the Death Eaters."
"And how can you trust him?" Remus asked, suspicious.
"I have my reasons," Dumbledore said with finality, "as I have my reasons to trust all of you."
Remus reflected on this, and it did not give him comfort. After all, Dumbledore had trusted Sirius, too. They had all trusted Sirius. The thought of Sirius betraying them, the renewed thoughts of his friends' deaths, and the sudden emptiness within, the loss of a constant fire of anger over the last several hours struck him then.
He cried, tears pouring freely down his face, and his shoulders heaved. Remus cried as he had been unable to do for years. Dumbledore did not stop him, but put a comforting arm on his shoulder. Remus stopped only when the door clanged open, and students began to walk past them, some looking disappointed that there was nothing more to see.
"And, Remus," Dumbledore said, leaving his hand lightly on Remus' shoulder. "You never were a monster. If you need proof of it, you have just given it. Could a monster cry so over the death of his friends? Would a monster have felt love and friendship so deeply as you have?"
Remus watched the passing crowd, the flow of friends chatting, the joy of youth. A soft ball of warmth grew in the center of his sadness. 'No,' he answered to himself. 'No.'
