A/N: Passcod on Ao3 left this comment that left me laughing so hard I cried (literally, my fiance was actually concerned by the time I fell off the couch), and I absolutely had to share it with you all!
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Updates still scheduled for once per week on Mondays for the time being. Have a great week!
January 6, 1982
St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London
Remus Lupin leaned against the cold white wall of the hospital corridor, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. In the not quite three weeks that had passed since his investigation into what Remus was now calling the Death of the Marauders began, his world had been turned upside down once again.
Realizing that his ongoing investigation would be most successful if he remained discreet, but acknowledging that his extremely limited funds wouldn't pay for even the seediest London hotel for much longer, Remus had reluctantly determined that it was time to go home. It was bitterly cold on the Sunday before Christmas when he finally knocked on his parents' front door.
"Remus," his mother had breathed, pale as if she had seen a ghost- and perhaps, to her, he was one. It had been three years since Remus had risked going home, painfully aware that Dumbledore's request for him to spy amongst the werewolf packs placed his parents directly in danger.
"Hello, mum," Remus said politely, painfully aware of every new scar on his exposed face and hands as she took them in, still staring unblinkingly up at him with one hand on the door knob. "I'm, well, I'm home."
Hope Lupin's eyes shone as she stepped backwards to let him through the door, opening her arms wide as if he were a child again. "Sweet boy, I suppose you are."
A bit awkwardly- Remus was fairly certain that a man in his twenties had no place being coddled- he stepped into the embrace, only to find himself clinging as tightly as a child. Three years of struggles- fear, anxiety, and grief- felt slightly further away with each second that Remus embraced his mother.
It was several long minutes before they separated, Hope beaming as she shepherded him to the kitchen. "Lyall, where are- Lyall!"
Lyall Lupin glanced up from his paper- and promptly dropped it on the table. Unlike his wife, who could not quite stop repeating her only child's name, he was wordless- his mouth gaped open as he sat frozen, staring.
Remus and his father's relationship had been strained since Remus was found mauled in the back garden at six years old. Lyall's guilt had suffocated him- guilt for his culpability in the targeted attack on his son, guilt for his inability to separate the monster who attacked children from the creature his child would now turn into once a month, guilt for neither avenging or apologizing to Remus. The guilt seemed to grow every time he looked at Remus until he suddenly found himself avoiding eye contact, and taking longer hours at work, and excusing himself from conversation.
And, like nearly everyone who avoids the root of the guilt without resolving it, Lyall Lupin's guilt only increased.
Remus had known this growing up- his mother had considered it important that he understood that his father did love him, and would do anything to protect him, and as such was selfishly disappointed in himself that he had not. But despite knowing this, despite internalizing it completely and without question, Remus retained a mix bag of feelings towards Lyall his entire life.
"Hello, dad," Remus murmured, "Good to see-,"
Stopping abruptly, Remus' eyes widened dramatically as he stared at his father. His father, who, mouth still working, had burst into tears.
"Dad?"
Lyall pushed himself out of his chair, striding across the kitchen in four long steps to clasp his child against his chest. "Son. My son. I thought you were-,"
Tentatively, and a bit uncomfortable, Remus wrapped his arms around his father's shoulders and tried for a joking tone. "Right as rain as you can see, dad."
Lyall cried harder.
Behind them, Hope let out a breath that she'd been holding for nearly seventeen years and smiled.
The following days had been intense- after reluctantly explaining to his parents some of the atrocities he had experienced while he'd been gone, Remus had even more hesitantly explained that something did not sit right with him regarding the news being reported in the papers. To his shock, his mother had agreed.
"The whole thing is a mess," Hope stated firmly, laying her hand gently over her son's. "And if you're going to get to the bottom of it, you're going to need our help."
The following day, Hope (who was a social worker for the muggle government) broke out her husband's books regarding child welfare laws in the wizarding world. There were precious few of them- most seemed to have been created to ensure the continuation of the old pureblood lines- but she highlighted several regarding the legal requirements of the godparent bond.
Sirius couldn't have brought harm to Harry- if he had, he'd have lost his magic.
Not to be outdone, Lyall stopped off at his law practice on Christmas Eve and had a quick word with his two partners- one of whom had been tapped to act as the prosecution in the future trial of Sirius Black.
"Bertie says that he regrets taking the case- every single character witness has been pro Black with the exception of Severus Snape, and no one will want to listen to Dumbledore's pet death eater at a trial." Lyall tapped one finger against his tea cup. "He did mention an ace in his pocket, but otherwise his entire case is going to rely on Peter's finger."
Peter's finger. Something still felt wrong about that….
It was after New Years when Remus realized why the matter of a single finger being left in the street bothered him.
"If only a single piece of him was going to be left over, it should never have been a finger," Remus explained, stabbing his finger at a muggle biology book he'd pulled out of his childhood library. "Look- the femur is thickest bone in the body. It doesn't even break down all the way during cremation. Teeth are frequently the only thing to survive fires or explosions. Logically, it should have been either of these- or maybe a rib or something- that they found from Peter. They definitely shouldn't have been able to find a whole, intact finger when there was no sign of sturdy bones around. That's not how even dark magic works."
Lyall nodded, eyes scanning the skeleton on the page. "Dark magic- how do you know it was dark magic used?"
Brows raising in surprise, Remus frowned. "I suppose I don't- it was an assumption."
"We've no chance of getting a full written report at this point since the case is active, correct?"
"Based on my attempts to date- no. The bit of information I've collected has been second hand."
"Then son, perhaps it's time for a field trip to create a report of our own."
The pair spent the next morning preparing- in addition to needing appropriate disguises to safely and discreetly survey the scene of the crime, they needed a variety of magical and muggle forensic tools and investigation pieces for an appropriately thorough investigation. (Muggle items were attainable through a combination of transfiguration and a quick trip to their local shop, and magical items were, to Remus' surprise, an existing part of his father's office collection: "You'd be surprised how much ground work winning a case takes," Lyall had remarked dryly.)
At half past noon, they stood before their newly dubbed "adventure packs" and proclaimed themselves ready for an in-depth investigation.
"Right, car then?"
"Least traceable choice," Lyall agreed. "Go ahead and grab your boots- I'll meet you in the car."
Turning, Remus headed towards the boot bin in the front closet, only to be stopped by the sound of a sudden gasping breath. "Dad?"
"Actually, if you'll give me half a moment, I'm just going to take one second for a cup of tea before we go," Lyall murmured, an odd expression taking over his face. "I think… I think I just…"
The older Lupin sank slowly where he stood, clutching at his chest with one hand as he took shallow, panting breaths.
"Dad!"
It was good, according to St. Mungo's, that Remus had been there when his father collapsed. Heart problems required immediate attention- otherwise, even magic couldn't fix it. And it was good, according to his mother, that he and his father had spent so much time together over the few weeks Remus had been home- just in case. But Remus, who had lost his four closest friends, his honorary nephew, and his faith in the Order he had given up everything for over the past months did not see anything good about the situation.
It was all rotten.
All of it.
And as he leaned his head back against the cold, sterile while wall of a St. Mungo's corridor on January 6, 1982 and waited to be allowed to visit his father, Remus considered giving it all up. Going somewhere far away, and escaping the overwhelming tsunami of guilt and grief and anger that had been chasing him for sometime and which had, finally, caught up. He was halfway through an initial plan to leave for France, in fact, when he overheard two healers speaking in hushed tones at the other end of the hall.
"More than a bit disconcertin', I tell you. Imagine! Treating Professor McGonagall herself? I'm convinced she's as likely to tell me I've up an' butchered my grade as she is to say 'thankee Miss Cooper' for her treatment!"
Professor McGonagall?
"Oh, Shelly, you're being silly! The Professor has a reputation for being kind as can be- outside of class anyways. Even the Slytherins liked her!"
"They'd've had to, wouldn't they? Ambition can't go far without a passing grade in the core subjects, way I see."
"Fair enough- either way, treating Professor McGonagall for the dragon pox is quite the honor, I think. I'd trade you positions in a heartbeat, and never mind the consequences. If I have to listen to one more parent complain about the new vaccination schedule, I'm likely to lose my mind."
Dragon pox?!
A chuckle, and then: "Mary, you know we can't- even if Professor McGonagall's illness is non-contagious and non-fatal, her treatment is apparently going to be at least a wee bit out of the norm. I've had to swear more oaths regardin' this one patient than I have since we got the Minister's wife in for- well, best not be continuin' that statement."
Remus cursed mentally as the pair moved out of his range of hearing. He glanced from the door of his father's room (where Lyall lay in a magically induced medical coma to allow him to process the extensive repair work his heart had required) towards the corner the healers had turned around.
He strode off after them.
Disillusionment charms would not work in the hospital- wards prevented them entirely- and he had no clue where James' invisibility cloak would have gone after his death. If Remus couldn't rely on stealth, he'd have to rely on being clever. Casting two quick refreshing charms on himself and his robes, he hurried to catch up to the green robed healers he had been listening to.
"Shelly Conner?"
The Healer turned around, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Yes?"
Remus smiled as charmingly (a look that James and Sirius had insisted he practice in front of a mirror with them for hours) and made a careful half bow. "I'm not sure if you remember me, but-,"
"Couldn' forget, could I?" Shelly's voice was suddenly warm. "Little Remus Lupin, all grown up. You were a second year when I graduated, weren't you?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Mary, this is Remus Lupin. I doubt you'd have met him, you bein' in Ravenclaw, but he was a younger Gryffindor who I helped with herbology."
"Oh I know of him, alright," Mary said, eyebrow raising. "He was only two years behind me, after all, and no one could miss the Marauders or their pranks. Terrible what happened to your friends, Lupin."
Shelly shot her co-worker a censoring look (Remus supposed for her insensitivity) before smiling winningly at Remus. "What brings you here today? Anything I can help with before I start in on my rounds?"
"I appreciate the offer, but really, I'm taken care of. I wanted to say hi- my father had a massive heart attack, and is here recovering, and I thought a familiar friendly face would be a nice bit of distraction."
"Poor thing," Shelly murmured, "How long have you been waiting?"
"Since this morning," Remus' eyes fell to the floor, and he hesitated briefly. "I expect it'll be a lot longer. Induced sleep, you see. I've been… I have to say, its rather hard not to dwell when one has nothing to keep their hands busy, isn't it? I can't see how you stand to have blokes like me waiting and moping about."
"Most people just leave," Mary confided. "They ask us to lie and say they waited the whole time, like in a book or something, but rarely do they. You're sweet to have actually stayed with your father."
"Always was a hard worker," Shelly murmured thoughtfully. "Say, Lupin, what if I had something to occupy your mind for a bit?
In his mind, Remus crossed his fingers AND his toes just for good measure. "Anything I can do to be of service, Miss Cooper."
"Well, I've a certain professor we shared currently recuperatin'- totally safe, noncontagious and calm as can be- but I know she's bored as can be. Fancy cheerin' her up a bit for me? Entertainment for you both, see, and then I can come and get you if your father wakes up. I'll go ahead and add his name to my roster for updates either way."
Outwardly, Remus beamed gratefully.
Inwardly, he smirked.
"Miss Cooper, that would be wonderful- I can't thank you enough."
Minerva McGonagall was at the end of her rope- but, unfortunately, not even close to the end of her hospital stay.
She had thought Poppy dramatic when the Hospital Matron insisted on an immediate visit to St. Mungo's, and only Dumbledore's paranoid insistence had seen her through the floo. The hospital staff had been no better- even Miss Cooper, who had been one of her favorite Gryffindors and a prefect for three years, had not given in to her insistence she was perfectly alright.
Admittedly, she had been feeling a bit fuzzy- but there were students to teach, and lessons to plan, and an entire school to oversee. Minerva McGonagall simply did not have time for some rare, harmless strain of Dragon Pox.
Her flurry of owls to Dumbledore and the rest of the Hogwarts staff had included strict instructions for her classes, her house's students, and her normal duties for the next three weeks. Filius, her own deputy, had been the only one brave enough to write back and sarcastically note that thanks to her 79 page list of instructions, the school might still be standing upon her eventual return.
Minerva sent him 31 more pages of instructions.
As if being sick and away from school weren't enough to rile up Minerva's ire, Filius had sent in Madam Calderon- who he had willingly admitted was a close confidante of the new Black materfamilias- to somehow "help" her.
"Filius asked you to break me out of here?" Minerva had asked the other woman, half skeptical and half hopeful. She detested hospital food.
Madam Calderon chuckled. "I'm afraid not, my dear. You see, the dragon pox is the very least of your health issues right now. I'm afraid someone has been playing with your mind."
"Tosh," Minerva countered, "I would know."
"Would you? How?"
"I'd likely see changes in my grading patterns- or I would regrade the same things, and not know why." Though, hadn't that happened several times recently?
"There would be odd conversations with colleagues, perhaps where they seemed to be experiencing deja vou." Filius, Poppy, and Pomona have all looked at me askance during recent morning conversations.
"I wouldn't be able to recall certain events- and I remember the past two weeks in perfect detail." Don't I?
"And surely someone would have noticed." Filius did notice.
Madam Calderon surveyed her quietly.
"Morganna," Minerva whispered, "My memories have been tampered with."
"Never fear, my dear," Madam Calderon consoled. "As I said, FIlius has asked us to help you, and we've already ensured you have a full three weeks rest to figure out exactly who has meddled with what."
(Lost in her own shock, Minerva missed the gleam in the other woman's eyes.)
"There will be a few additional potions on your tray with meals- make sure you take them all. In two days, they'll have had a chance to start healing your mind, and at that point I'll be bringing in a Memory Specialist to help you recover whatever was lost."
"A Memory Specialist?"
"Certainly- you'll recognize the name. Andromeda Tonks, though she was Andromeda Black."
It was with no little shock that Minerva put the pieces of the puzzle together: she had been compromised, and Filius, in a bid to protect their shared secrets and she herself, had thrown in their lot with the Blacks. Lines were being drawn in the sand all around her. Minerva had barely managed to nod her way through the brief remainder of the conversation 'til Madam Calderon finally excused herself.
Her mother's daily note about Harry- written in code amongst long rants about the neighbors and her nieces and nephews and the struggle of re-learning proper wand movements after so long without magic- was, it appeared, destined to be the only bright spot of her days in hospital custody. (Barely bright because, as her mother had made clear, this arrangement would not last forever. Further dimmed by Isobel's exceedingly pointed commentary on how nice it would be to have an actual magical teacher around. Absolutely dull when Isobel included a long lecture on the bad health habits that surely must have led to the dragon pox.)
Yes, things were incredibly bleak, and when the hospital staff swore they'd attach her to the bed if she refused to actually rest on the morning of January 6th, Minerva had gone into a full pout.
The rapid knock on Minerva's hospital room door when she'd only just begun drawing up a lesson plan for a theoretical Animagus class (which Dumbledore would literally never approve of, but a witch could dream) was met with a sharp spike of frustration.
There was a brief moment's pause, and then the knock repeated itself.
"Come in!" Minerva said through clenched teeth, eyes rising from the parchment before her as if to burn holes through whichever healer was daring to interrupt her brief entertainment.
The door swung open gently, Minerva prepared a tongue lashing to top all tongue lashings, and-
"Mr.- Gracious me! Mr. Lupin?"
"Good morning, Professor. I hate to bother you, but do you have a minute?"
Remus Lupin was barely 21 years old but had the serious countenance of a much older man. Just as clean and tidy as he had always been (albeit a bit more scarred), Remus looked vaguely apologetic as he hovered in the doorway. For the briefest moment, Minerva was six years younger and waiting for a much less worn teenager to talk his friends out of trouble for some ridiculous prank.
But then the moment ended, and Minerva was hit with fresh grief for what had been lost in the war.
"I didn't- Mr. Lupin, are you aware most of us have thought you dead or missing for months?"
The brow under Remus' sandy bangs furrowed slightly. "I'm sorry ma'am- but Dumbledore was the one who assigned me to the- did he not…?"
Minerva's eye gave into another twitch. "No. He did not."
"Well then. Not dead, at least." Remus' smile was absolutely humorless. "Actually, maybe we could discuss that as well- you see, I'm here because I have several other questions I'm trying to answer."
Sighing, Minerva pulled out her wand and called for her assigned room-elf. "Tea, Mr. Lupin?"
