6 November 1981
Remus stood in front of number four, Privet Drive, gazing up at the prim, perfect, peach-colored building, complete with its impeccably manicured front yard. Instinctively, he thought of James and Lily's cottage in Godric's Hollow—so unlike this Surrey house, with its ivy-covered brick walls and unruly garden—and he felt a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach as he realized that Harry would never remember any of it.
Swallowing, Remus walked slowly up the drive to the Dursleys' front porch. He hesitated for a moment. Then, he raised his hand and knocked twice on the spotless front door.
It was several moments before the door opened, and Remus found himself looking at a tall, thin, blond-haired woman in a frilly pink apron. She had a long, stiff neck that made her look distinctly horse-like, and her pale eyes were narrowed slightly.
She looked nothing like her sister.
"Who are you?" she asked sharply, her eyes lingering on his shabby traveling cloak.
"I—hello, you must be Petunia Dursley," Remus stammered, holding out his hand; Petunia did not shake it. "I—er—my name is Remus Lupin—I was a friend of James and Lily's…I-I hope you don't mind me looking up your address—I just—Professor Dumbledore said you were organizing the funeral, and…"
Remus trailed off at the look on Petunia's face—which, in the past thirty seconds, had turned maroon.
"How dare you," she whispered, her voice shaking. "How dare you—how dare you come here?"
Remus gaped at her, horrified. "I—I-I'm sorry, I didn't—"
"First Dumbledore, then that Bagshot woman, and now you? You're not welcome here—any of you," Petunia screeched.
"Mrs. Dursley—I—please—"
"You can tell your freak friends that the funeral is on Sunday at noon, in that—that freak town," Petunia said tremulously, glowering at Remus. "And don't come back here."
"I'm sorry—I won't," Remus said quickly. "Just—please, Mrs. Dursley, can I—can I see Harry—?"
The door swung shut in Remus's face.
26 November 1981
"Are you hungry? Did you eat supper already? I can heat up some leftover chicken for you—"
"I'm fine, Dad," Remus interrupted in a low voice, as he deposited a cardboard box full of his things onto the floor of his childhood bedroom in Shell Cottage. "I'll wake up early tomorrow to make us breakfast."
"Nonsense," Dad said at once, crossing his arms where he stood in the doorframe of Remus's room. "You've had a rough week. I'll take care of the cooking."
Remus opened his mouth to argue, but he closed it again a moment later. There was silence for several moments, as Remus and his father stared at each other.
Then— "I'll be out of here soon," Remus said quietly. "I…I've started looking for other accommodations—this is only temporary, Dad, I promise—"
"Remus," Dad breathed, shaking his head. "Son, this is your home—you are always, always welcome here. You know that."
Remus didn't respond, pressing his lips together. Nearly two weeks had passed since Remus had realized he could no longer afford the rent on his Diagon Alley flat without James and Lily's support. He had been forced to break his lease early, and his infuriated landlord had refused to return to him even a knut of his security deposit. Stunned, ashamed, and utterly demoralized, Remus had spent two nights in the Leaky Cauldron's cheapest, most rundown room before finally conceding defeat: The next morning, he had packed up his things and apparated to Shell Cottage.
It was a temporary move, Remus had told himself—and his father—repeatedly. Remus could not—would not—endanger his father's peaceful existence by returning to live with him for good.
"…absolutely sure you don't want anything to eat?" Dad was still fussing.
Remus blinked, looking at his father in the doorframe again—at the tired lines around his eyes—at his hair, which, once full and dark, was now receding and liberally streaked with white. Remus felt a dull, aching pang in his chest at the sight.
Shaking his head, Remus forced a smile and stepped towards the frame. "I'm fine, Dad. Really. Goodnight."
And he closed the door.
15 January 1982
"I can give you about twenty-five pounds for these," grumbled the scruffy-looking Muggle man behind the pawnshop counter, examining the vinyl records Remus had presented him with through a dusty monocle.
"Only twenty-five?" Remus asked, crestfallen. "But—sir—look, some of these are nearly thirty years old."
The pawnbroker lowered his monocle, glowering up at Remus. "I'll give you thirty, then. I'm not going any higher."
Remus swallowed, hating himself, but he nodded. It was barely a fortnight since the new year, and he was already out his first job of the month—he would have to take what he could get.
With a grunt, the pawnbroker reached into his dingy cashbox and withdrew three crumpled ten pound notes, slapping them onto the countertop. Then, he reached for the stack of records and began roughly tossing them one by one onto the shelf of odd objects behind the counter. Stomach clenching painfully at the sight of his mother's most prized possessions being handled so despicably, Remus averted his eyes and swiftly pocketed his money. He was just about to turn around to leave when he caught sight of the record that the pawnbroker was reaching for now—it was in a large, worn black record sleeve with no writing on it…clearly bought secondhand…
"No!" Remus choked out, lunging across the counter and snatching the record out of the pawnbroker's hands. "You—you can't have this one."
The pawnbroker glared menacingly at Remus from behind his bushy gray beard, climbing to his feet. "We had a deal, boy—thirty for all of them—"
"I don't care—here, take your money," Remus said in a strangled voice, fishing inside his pocket for one of the ten pound notes and flinging it back at the pawnbroker. "You just—you can't have this."
And without waiting for a response, Remus turned and stalked away, hugging his mother's record to his chest, his heart rattling almost as violently as the pawnshop door as it slammed behind him.
10 March 1982
Remus yawned, trudging into the dining room of his cottage, exhausted from a long evening of bussing tables at the village tavern. After nearly four months of sleeping in offbeat inns and subletting the odd basement or cellar, Remus had at last managed to secure a place of his own. The derelict, three-room cabin on the fringes of a poor Muggle village in Yorkshire was far from impressive, but it was, nevertheless, a consistent roof over his head.
Yawning again, Remus reached into his coat and withdrew the loaf of slightly stale bread he had bought from the village market on his way home. Setting the meager-looking loaf down on his kitchen counter, Remus stared at it for a moment.
His stomach gave a low growl.
Sighing softly, Remus pulled out his wand and charmed a kitchen knife to start slicing the bread. Then, wrapping his tattered scarf more snugly around his neck, he slipped out the kitchen door to his backyard, to see if he could forage some edible-looking mushrooms for his birthday supper.
2 May 1982
Remus strode up the rocky seaside path to his father's back door, rubbing his slightly throbbing forehead (an unsolicited reminder of the full moon in six days). But before Remus could so much as reach out to knock, the back door swung open and his father appeared in the frame, beaming.
"Remus," Dad said excitedly, ushering Remus into Shell Cottage's cozy kitchen. "Come in, come in—the pot roast is almost ready."
"Pot roast?" Remus smiled bemusedly, closing the kitchen door behind him. "Have you become a gourmet chef since the last time I was here?"
Dad snorted. "Hardly," he said, hurrying back to the stove to check on his cooking. "I just felt bad relying on Isabel Waterston's casseroles and kindness—I figured it was time I learned my own way around the kitchen."
Remus chuckled, shaking his head and taking a seat at the dining table—which was teeming with parchment, pamphlets, and heaps of half-opened mail. Clearly, Dad rarely ate in the kitchen anymore; Remus wondered if the room reminded him of Mum.
"Oh—let me get that cleaned up for us," Dad said from the stove, his eyes landing on the mess of paper on the table. "I'm sorry, I should have taken care of that—"
"Don't worry, Dad, I've got it," Remus said, already drawing his wand. "You worry about not overcooking that roast," he added lightly.
Dad rolled his eyes at Remus, but he turned back to the stove. With a flick of his wand, Remus set the clutter on the dining table organizing itself into piles and zooming up the nearby staircase to his father's study. Parchment rolled itself into scrolls, Ministry newsletters jumped into neat sheaves, and several maroon pamphlets flew into a large maroon file folder. Remus glanced at the front of the folder: The words 'St. Oswald's Home for Old Witches and Wizards' were emblazoned across the top in silver text.
Remus frowned, watching the folder close itself and straighten up. But before it could follow the rest of the parchment up to his father's study, Remus snatched it out of the air. Glancing briefly across the kitchen at his father, he flipped it open.
'Welcome to the St. Oswald's community, Lyall Lupin!' read the first pamphlet inside the folder.
"All right, Remus, dinner's ready—oh."
Remus looked up at his father. Dad was staring at the folder in Remus's hands, openmouthed. His face had turned pale.
There was a tense pause.
Then— "St. Oswald's?" Remus asked hoarsely.
Dad set the platter of roast down on the kitchen table. "Remus, I was going to tell you tonight…"
"Tell me what?" Remus asked, his voice sounding rather higher than usual.
Dad bit his lip, wringing his hands. "Son, it's not—"
"You're not old, Dad," Remus said, placing the maroon file folder gingerly on the table next to the roast. "You—you aren't even sixty yet—"
"Remus," Dad sighed, closing his eyes. "It's not…I just…I—I can't be here, in this house anymore. I…I'm tired, son."
"So you're going to sell it?" Remus asked, his voice catching. "Mum loved this house—this town—"
"Yes—that's why…well, I was thinking you might want it," Dad cut in, looking at Remus for the first time. "The house, I mean."
Remus stared at his father for several moments.
"Dad," he said in a low voice. "I could never afford this place."
"You don't have to buy it," Dad said immediately, eyes wide. "It's yours, Remus. It…it's what your mother would have want—"
"I can't do that. I won't do that," Remus said sharply. "Dad, I'm not taking anything from you."
Dad's expression filled with hurt. Remus looked away.
"Well," Dad murmured at last, his tone faint. "Then, I guess I'll have to sell it."
Remus's stomach clenched. "I guess so," he said numbly, still not looking at his father.
Another fraught silence fell over the kitchen, suffocating the room, broken only when Dad cleared his throat uncomfortably. "So—the roast is ready—"
"I'm not hungry anymore," Remus said quietly, crossing his arms and taking a step away from the dining table.
"Remus," Dad whispered. "Son, please don't be upset. I—I need this. My Healer is the one who recommended retirement—and St. Oswald's—"
"I'm not upset," Remus lied, shaking his head, hating himself for the broken expression on his father's face. "Really, Dad, I just—I just remembered that I have to work tonight."
"Remus—love, don't—"
"I'll come back another time," Remus said, heading in the direction of the kitchen door; Dad followed. "Maybe—maybe next week? We can work out how to sell the house."
"I—Remus—"
But Remus was already out the door, hurrying across the overgrown seaside yard, past the beds of sea lavender that his mother had spent years nurturing, past the little stone garden path she had paved by hand…
Holding his breath, he apparated away from Shell Cottage before the kitchen door had even closed behind him.
Author's Note:
This is the first of two chapters that encapsulate the "lost years" of Remus's life, between the end of the war and the beginning of his career at Hogwarts. These chapters are probably the two most hopeless ones in the entire fic.
Also, if you didn't catch it, there's a recurring theme in this chapter (and the next one): Every vignette ends with a door closing. It's meant to be sort of symbolic of what Remus's life feels like during this time period.
The next chapter will be posted next week. With that, we will be about halfway done with this story!
Hugs,
Ari