Chapter 87: Friday, January 1, 1982

"Being human means losing everything we love best in the world."

-Alice Hoffman

It looked the same.

The cottage stood as it always had; red brick facing the street, a large cream coloured door with a brass knob. A window that overlooked the front garden, shrubs and flowers overgrown and dead from the cold. The shutters, a horrible puce colour, hung outside the window, providing a place for the finches to build their nests in the summer.

The walk into the house couldn't have been any more different than the last time he had stepped foot into it.

Her scent still lingered, trapped by the rugs and the curtains as he stood alone in their living room. The moment the hint of coconut and vanilla smell invaded his nostrils, his knees buckled, sending him to the floor. Needle-pin pains shot up his thighs as his weight nearly cracked the floorboards. His shoulders shook as he took gasping breaths, tears streaming down his cheeks, blazing wet paths of salt water into the wood boards beneath his knees.

Remus had always known it was too good to be true—too good to be his. From the second Hermione burst into his life in a halo of wild curls and chocolate eyes, he knew she would be the end of him. He didn't know why he decided to come here today, of all days. Happy fucking New Year, he thought, bitterly.

If he was being honest with himself, he didn't even know how it was possible to shed any more tears. Maybe it was the evidence of her everywhere he looked—the unfinished tea on the coffee table, the scattered books in the kitchen, the blanket thrown over the arm of the sofa…

A painful sob tore through his already raw throat, and he wept into his hands, his shoulders shaking violently as he tried to breathe. Breath never came easily anymore. Not since James and Lily died. Not since Peter died. Not since she left. Not since Sirius…

Sirius.

The thought of one of his best friends, his brother, betraying them all so deeply…

Remus yelled out in anger, bringing his fists down to the floor before his aching knees. Everything was such a fucking mess, all because of Sirius. He couldn't make sense of it. They had known there was a spy and he, himself, had felt distanced from Sirius at the end. But, none of it made any sense! James and Sirius were thick as thieves, had been since childhood—Sirius was the Godfather of James' child for fuck's sake.

Remus shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the thoughts that plagued him. Terrible, evil things he would do if he ever got his hands on Sirius, if he ever got the nerve to make a trip to Azkaban. He'd kill him, he was sure of it. He would give anything to spit in his face and wrap his bare hands around his throat, to watch him suffer the way he had been the last few months—unable to breathe.

A wave of nausea rolled through him, the violent thoughts heavy in his mind, and his stomach lurched. The acrid bile burned the back of his throat, splattering over the tips of his fingers. When he finished retching, he pulled his wand from the holster on his arm and cleared the mess—a force of habit at this point.

The January air was freezing inside the house and cold against his sweat soaked skin. Remus pushed himself up from the floor and made his way further into the house, looking for any evidence of why she left. Her notes on the table left little to be desired, just an elephantine stack of scrawled formulations surrounded by books about the Dark Arts.

If he tried, he could almost see her sitting there. Her hair twisted up with her wand shoved through it, tapping absentmindedly on her chin as she muttered the words of whatever passage she was reading under her breath. When she would finally realize he was standing there, staring at her as he often did, she would look up and smile…

That fucking smile.

Remus would burn down cities to see that smile again—the way her lips curled, nose scrunched up, tiny wrinkles in the corner of her eyes. And when he'd smile back at her, she would sink her teeth into her bottom lip and the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks would stand out against the flush that would rise. He tore his eyes away from the spot at the kitchen table and stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet.

The hall to their bedroom felt longer than usual. A small space he could normally cross in four long strides felt like it took an eternity before his hand rested on the doorknob. He turned it, attempting to take in a breath, to loosen the knot that resided in his chest.

The right side of the bed was still ruffled. The blankets thrown back as if she'd just peeled herself off the mattress moments before. As he stepped into the room and turned away from the bed, his stomach churned again. When he looked up from the foot-worn path in the carpet, his own reflection stared back at him.

He didn't recognize the man.

His face was sunken, eyes protruding from their sockets. He looked sharp and angular now, features he had never had before, from lack of a steady diet. The bags beneath his eyes were stark against the sickly yellow pallor of his skin and the raggedy facial hair he'd managed to grow. He snorted, a sarcastic sound. It had always been the butt of a joke—Remus' inability to grow a proper beard despite his 'furry little problem'. If only his mates could see him now…

They would be embarrassed.

His hair hung limp around his face, unwashed for...how many days had it been? He sighed, turning back to face the bed. He had come here for a reason and it was not to stare at his unpleasant appearance.

The drawer squeaked when he opened it and he wondered if it had always done that, or if it was something that had developed from lack of use. Inside laid the blade she used and the two journals that Hermione constantly worked in. Every bit of her life in this time scribbled into pages of bound parchment, in deconstructed formulas of evil curses and scribed notes from meetings where they accomplished nothing.

Remus opened the thicker of the two journals, his fingers lingering as he flicked through. His eyes stopped on a page with his name at the top, a line drawn under it and a little doodle of a crescent moon drawn next to it.

Remus Lupin

Rather quiet, apparently doesn't like cats. Or maybe, they don't like him. Still uses Welsh words, he didn't do that before. Blasus means delicious. Very jittery before the moon, doesn't sleep well. He bakes—incredibly well. Wears argyle socks, they never match and I think they're probably in the best condition of any of his clothing. Uncomfortable around me, but I think everyone is…

He hadn't realized he had begun crying again until a tear splashed against the page, soaking into the ink and blurring the next words. The journal was full of notations like that—snippets of days and observations about them all. She had been cataloguing her entire life here, and Remus wondered if she had still planned on leaving even though she'd promised she wasn't.

Find her, growled a familiar voice in the back of his head.

Don't you think I'm trying?

Not enough. You're wasting time pissing and moaning.

I've lost everyone! I'm…

"Alone."

The word slipped past his lips and he sat on the edge of the bed. He had always felt alone—being a Dark Creature tends to isolate one from the rest of humanity—but he had been sorely mistaken. He had always had his mum and dad, even if they weren't outright affectionate toward him, they had been there. Then he turned eleven and Dumbledore came to tell him he could go to Hogwarts like the other magical kids his age; even then he had expected to be cast aside. But, James, Peter and Sirius had fallen into his life. Lily had always been a friend, even before she and James became an item and during summer holiday, he was either at the Potter's or baking with his mum.

He had learned, over the years, how to suppress the feelings that came with being an outcast. He had made his peace with the fact that he would never have what his friends had, how could he? He couldn't offer a place to live when times were tough, he couldn't offer unyielding support in the middle of the night if the moon was full, he could barely offer to pay for butterbeers during a night out at the pub. He was content to watch his friends succeed, to be as present for them as he could manage. Remus had vowed to be a good friend to the people who had risked so much to be mates with something as grotesque and unnatural as he was. They had tried, of course, to understand, to be good to him. And they had been, really. He had felt included most of the time, had felt loved, even. But, still, the cycle would repeat and the closer the full moon became, the further away he fell from them.

As the thought of his friends and the full moon entered his head, Moony growled from the recesses of his mind. God, he was fucking trapped, now. The moon would rise again in a little over a week, and again he would tear himself apart as Moony mourned the loss of his companions.

I should have died instead of them. I should have disappeared instead of her.

Find her.

She's gone, you bloody moron. What don't you understand about it? There is no finding her. She's back in her own time, where she belongs.

Whinging will get us nowhere, you pillock.

Yes, he had felt lonely in his life—but he had never been alone.

His mouth was dry when his eyes blinked open, the morning sun blinding as it danced across the walls. He was on the floor, sprawled out on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He hadn't planned on sleeping here, but his legs were too heavy to move and the thought of going anywhere that wasn't filled with the scent of her made him sick. He had fallen asleep reading through the journal, his eyes raw and burning. Remus didn't know how he could afford anymore tears. Certainly, at some point, they would stop coming.

He heaved himself into a seated position, folding his legs up and pressing his elbows into his thighs. Moony had been insistent all night, whispering thoughts in his head as he tried to sleep. Sleep was so rare. His mind never stopped looping through what little information he had at his disposal—cycling through the articles he had read from the Prophet, trying to piece together when Sirius could have turned on them, trying to remember the exact pitch of Hermione's voice, the way James would ruffle his hair or the direction Lily's eyes would roll when she found something stupid, amusing. And poor Peter, who had apparently tried to apprehend Sirius on his own…

Nothing made any damn sense anymore.

He stared down at a patch of worn carpet, the fibers coming loose from the padding underneath. How often had she stood in that very spot, complaining about the state of her hair as she attempted to weave it into some delicate pattern of knots that hung over her shoulder. God, he could see her everywhere he looked, could smell her.

He couldn't fucking breathe.

He sucked the air in through his teeth and pushed off the ground, the scent that had been so comforting the night before suddenly choking him. He needed to get out, he needed the fresh air, something that wouldn't stifle him with the smell of coconut, vanilla, jasmine and lavender. His feet carried him to the front door and he shoved it open, stumbling over the rug. The winter air bit at his skin, slipping slightly on the frost covered ground, but he kept marching forward. It wasn't until he was in the graveyard that he halted, falling to his knees as his shaking hands reached out to brush the stone that had their names carved into it.

James and Lily's funeral had been a massive affair.

The service had been held in the small church in Godric's Hollow. The structure had nearly burst at the seams from the amount of witches and wizards that had shown up to pay their respects. Remus had sat in the front row meant for family.

He'd sat alone.

He had remained stone-faced and silent as Dumbledore delivered the eulogy. It was full of accolades and flowery words about how kind and compassionate Lily was. How tenacious and determined James had been. How their deaths would not be in vain, and they would be remembered for the sacrifices they had made for the Wizarding World, for The Greater Good.

He sat, glued to the uncomfortable wooden pew, as every person approached their caskets. He could hear whispers of thanks and gratitude for their sacrifice. He could hear strangers with broken breath telling them they were heroes. He stared ahead, his vision blurring, unable to get up and pay his respects. He ignored the sorrow filled looks of the old women in outlandish dress robes, of the men who wore top hats and black cloaks and nodded in his direction. He felt numb, empty, as he listened to the people who didn't know them talk as if they did.

The sun had fallen below the colourful stained glass windows when he had realized he hadn't yet moved. He had been broken out of the trance he was in when a warm hand wrapped around his, squeezing it lightly. He turned his head, his neck stiff and tense, and saw Minerva McGonagall sitting next to him. Her eyes bright with unshed tears, her mouth pressed in a tight line.

"Everyone else has gone, Mr Lupin."

"I know," he croaked.

Nothing else was said, but she didn't drop his hand. She sat next to him until the chapel's room had gone dark and the only light came from candles that lined the dais. Everyone else has gone. He knew she meant that the church had cleared out and people had said their goodbyes, but he couldn't help but hang on to that statement. Everyone had gone, but him. He pushed back the urge to laugh. Of course it would be him remaining. Out of everything right and pure in the world, it would be the splotch of chaotic darkness that remained.

"Where's Harry?" Remus finally asked, his throat aching from the scratch of his voice.

"Safe," McGonagall assured him.

"Can I see him?" He didn't know why he asked the question, he already knew the answer would be no. Sirius was in Azkaban, it only made sense that Remus be the one to take the small boy. But, then again, how would he raise a child? He'd only just managed a shower for the first time in a week, how could he care for James' son when he didn't even have a place to live?

"Albus has decided it's best to keep him away, for his safety."

Remus nodded stiffly and pulled his eyes away from his one time Head of House and Transfiguration Professor. A woman who had walked him down to the Whomping Willow the first five years of his time at Hogwarts, who had been stern in her punishment, but always amused by the antics they had gotten up to. He wondered if she felt as empty as he did, but then, Minerva McGonagall had seen many students pass through her halls. Surely, she had attended many funerals.

"Remus."

He looked up and saw Dumbledore standing before him. He looked tired, Remus thought, older than he had the month before. Perhaps, he felt the weight of their loss as well.

"They've been lowered into the ground, you should say your goodbyes."

Remus managed a bob of his head and slowly pushed himself up from the bench, his legs felt unsteady as he followed McGonagall and Dumbledore out to the graveyard, passing rows and rows of stone. He stared into the holes in the ground, the wooden caskets adorned with runic markings to ensure safe passage to the afterlife. Dumbledore's hand fell to Remus' shoulder for a brief moment before leaving him alone to stare at the vessels that held the bodies of two of his best friends.

"It should have been me," Remus whispered. "You should have had more time. And now Harry… I'm sorry."

Finally, the haze of emptiness that had sunk into his very bones, wavered. He felt the emotion in his throat swell, and he couldn't contain it any longer. His body pitched forward as a violent sob clawed its way from him, a sound he had never heard come from his own throat. He bent low to the ground and sunk his hand into the fresh pile of dirt that laid beside the deep pit. He held the soil in his hand for a moment, willing the trembling to stop. As the tears dripped off his chin, he watched the dirt fall from his fingers to land on the mahogany below.

"It should have been me."

Remus stared at the headstone that marked their grave. The soil had yet to pack fully down, still lumpy and raised in spots under the layer of snow. The flowers that had been left the day they were buried were brown and dry, brittle from the frozen air. Remus used his wand to vanish them, conjuring in their place a bouquet of white lilies.

Find her.

Remus sighed. He wanted the stupid growling in his head to stop, to give him some goddamn peace for five minutes. He couldn't grieve the loss of his friends without Moony insulting him or growling orders at him. He just needed to fucking breathe for a second. To get his barrings in this new world without his friends. To mourn the loss of the family he loved more than anything. To grieve the loss of the witch he wanted nothing more than to spend his life beside.

And just like that, with the knees of his patched trousers soaked through with frigid water that melted under his heightened body temperature, his mind had gone back to Hermione. He would give anything to see her again. Just once more, press his lips to hers and he could die a happy man.

Find her.

But, he was not a man, he was a beast, and he had only known happiness so briefly.

.

.

a/n: aaaaaand were back!

New "book" new POV, who dis?

also, please don't eviscerate me but yall should know by now that it had to hurt. Would I even be mimi if it didn't?

In addition for begging for your forgiveness for hurting you, I would like to take a moment to let you all know that I have a new alpha/beta team who will be working with me on EVERY CHAPTER from here on out. They are a lovely pair of women who I literally can not live my life without. DrunkenWinky and TakingFlight48 have taken this story and shaped the rest of it from an amorphous blob to an actual story and I could not be more thankful for these humans. I can not stress enough how utterly amazing they are and while they aren't really on ffn, they do post their own work to ao3, so if you read there as well, I would encourage you to check them out.

DrunkenWinky writes the most amazing "snap shot" moments of RARE pairs and characters. She gets inside their heads and Jesus it's lovely.

TakingFlight48 writes an array of Dramione and Sirmione and some SPICY HOT smut. She also has a few pieces that will annihilate your heart... if you're into that kind of thing...which you're here so I think you are.

Anyway, next post will be up on Tuesday.

xoxo

mimi