"We are striving after what is forbidden and coveting what is denied us."
-via Ovid
•─────⋅ ⋅─────•
Godric's Hollow, June 1982
When he mentioned lunch, Remus had assumed that he and James would kindly depart Grimmauld Place with his boxes and briefcase the way they had arrived—as a pair instead of a trio. The rather tense conversation held in the kitchen followed them during the journey to Potter's residence, Remus noticing the intense aversion Regulus and James had for each other. He glanced back now and then to check on them; eye contact was strictly prohibited, apparently, and Remus knew that entertaining either man while they acted like children would be futile.
"How about some music," he suggested, more for himself than anything, and turned up whatever station had been on.
Remus had inherited his father's old Ford Orion upon his timely return to Lupin Cottage just months previous. Lyall had told Remus there wasn't much use for it now that his premature retirement had begun; this withdrawal from the Ministry was hasty and unanticipated by many colleagues and friends, but mainly to Remus. His father had disappeared for all but a year, seldom giving his Mother a phone call to check in and reassure her that he was alive. In fact, Remus had seen his father so little that he operated under the pretense that the man had died, and no one knew where or when. It gave him a bit of solace, and his life remained functional without him around.
Life was excellent without him around.
The car was a pleasant surprise, however. The interior smelled of cigarettes and booze. The carpeting had old stains that looked fatal to the touch, and the right side-view mirror was cracked beyond repair. Of course, the heating wasn't functional, and there were days the windows refused to roll down to allow some fresh, summer air in. Remus didn't mind, though, considering it was better than walking everywhere.
"The Chain" throbbed through the speakers of the car, sending pulses of energy through Remus's chest. A tingling sensation flitted across his skin; goosebumps raised on his arms. His mouth refused to go along with the lyrics, each word and melody trapped on the tip of his tongue. The heart beating in his chest could shout each verse, yet his brain denied him the inclination. An endless cycle began as Remus tried forcing speech; he wanted so badly to scream the words, to remember.
But he just couldn't, and he knew it was because of him.
"Does Sirius like this song" Remus asked, his voice soft.
Reggie dared to spare Remus a glance; his gaze hardened. Perhaps his brother was a sensitive topic; Regulus was unwilling to answer the question. Remus didn't blame him, as his icy silence was enough to draw his own conclusions. It made the puzzle piece fit a bit more snuggly, and Remus found consolation in this. In a way, it was a slight connection to Sirius, another step to unlocking the past. Each step was important and needed to be calculated. One wrong move could undo all the progress.
"Sirius is about the biggest fan of Fleetwood Mac you'll ever find," James smiled ruefully, a glazed look taking over his aging features. "You took him to see them once in concert. Berk didn't shut the hell up about it for weeks. You should've seen his face."
Remus tried creating an image of the concert floor, the dim lights, and plumes of cigarette smoke. Sirius beside him overwhelmed with joy and singing boldly with the band. Remus tried and tried to picture this man, but he only ever came up with a generic, distorted blob of intangible ideas.
He couldn't stop himself from asking, "What did… erm. What does Sirius look like?"
"Oh, hell," Regulus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose in illy disguised annoyance. "It's a bloody Tuesday afternoon, James."
Remus couldn't understand Regulus's reluctance to speak about his brother. He didn't think he was asking for much in the moment; in fact, he felt a bit offended that Regulus wasn't willing to help him remember. What would motivate him to feel that way? The memories of the youngest Black son were jaded at best, but Remus hadn't sensed any ill-will toward the boy. Could it have been one-sided?
James just ignored Regulus, the pep in his smile quirking up an inch more as he said, "Sirius was… You used to call him elegant and whatnot. He's got long legs but hardly reaches up to your shoulders without his bloody heeled boots. His hair is long and black, and his eyes are blue—"
"Gray," Regulus snapped.
James waved him away, "Yeah, gray. Erm… I don't know what else to tell you about him. Don't you have pictures of him?"
Remus stole a glance at the world beyond his window, eyes glossing over the finer details of pedestrians crossing the way. Would he tell them that photographs were a blurred mess? Would he tell them that the signature scrawled on old polaroids and parchments was fragmented and unfamiliar? Would James resent him for not remembering, and would Regulus applaud him? Remus was hesitant to speak the truth, lest it led to an argument. A part of him yearned to see Sirius, to feel him—something deep within him, like an animal. But he knew that would never come to fruition.
"I don't," he mumbled, tapping the gas and surging the car forward.
"Yes," Regulus argued, "you do."
Remus's jaw clenched, a tick in his neck knotting around itself, "How would you know if I have pictures or not?"
"Don't be a berk," James warned, gaze dangerous. Remus was unsure which one of them the message was meant for.
"Because you two were practically obsessed with each other," Regulus said. "We would be stupid to assume there's not a single photograph of my brother in my house."
"Even if there was," Remus felt white-hot anger boiling under his ribs, threatening to melt his composure, "I can't see him."
Regulus opened his mouth to argue further, throwing his resentment haphazardly around the car, but Remus tuned him out. There was a dull hum in his ears, a buzz that vibrated down his neck. It wasn't anger or anything spiteful, rather frustration. If only they knew how it felt to not remember someone who was, according to everyone and their mother, the most critical component in his life. The deed had been done by yours truly in the act of desperation, so said Lily, and this was for the better, so said Lily. He could move on from all the pain and suffering as she'd mildly described and start a new life. Remember, Remus had turned his wand against himself to rid himself of Sirius—the pain had apparently been unbearable. There were pink, tender scars on his wrists to serve as permanent reminders.
But Lily said a lot of things these days.
There were always jokes and references that never stuck the landing, old memories that never came to fulfillment, and a hole that didn't seem keen on filling any time soon. Was this state of limbo any better? Was this awkward, gawky sidestep around Sirius the proper solution to coping with his loss?
"…is going to have a fucking cow," Regulus mumbled. "Your stupid plan is going to get her boot up my—"
James's face went red with anger, "I'll handle my fucking wife, thank you. Mind yourself."
"I would've liked to handle myself and my business," Regulus countered swiftly, "but considering your absolute stupidity keeps rearing its ugly head into my life, I can't do that. Not to mention the one person who doesn't even remember Sirius is the key to said plan."
Remus's eyebrows knitted tightly, the façade of oblivious driving fading with a sour expression. He didn't appreciate being on the other end of all these ideas, unaware of ulterior motives and moves, nor did he understand being spoken about as if he weren't right there. It wasn't that he didn't trust Lily and James or even Regulus; there was enough of his memory intact that he could award them the benefit of the doubt. Nevertheless, their behavior reminded him of his Mother during the weeks of recovery. Inadvertently underhanded and enigmatic, Remus was shoved to the outside of their circle.
Again.
Godric's Hollow appeared over the hill, houses aglow with afternoon sunlight and energetic bodies. Children played in their gardens and playgrounds, the neighborhood rich with laughter and squealing. Women tended to their petunias and tulips; men mowed the grass or washed their cars with hoses. It appeared as an ordinary place with ordinary people doing ordinary things. Yes, the three wizards, one being part Werewolf, sat right at home amongst the throng of human beings with nothing exceptional about them.
"I've never seen your house," Regulus said to James.
"Well, it's your lucky day then," he responded dully, uninterested in further conversation.
Remus was no social butterfly, but an itch in his brain told him to sit this one out; whatever had passed between Regulus and James was meant to stay there unless they unearthed it themselves. Besides, Remus had gotten his fill of drama over the last decade; it was time to live a quiet life for himself. Or at least a calm of a life a Werewolf could have in these times. Maybe he would take up antiques again at Mrs. Grimes emporium? It served as a peaceful getaway in times like this.
Lily and Harry were giggling on the front porch swing, her hair dancing in the cool breeze beneath a headscarf. Harry's size had doubled in recent weeks; the toddler could walk and crawl without any help from Moomy. His chubby little hands now rivaled Remus' thumb, grasping for toys and cups and spoons at every turn.
Much to James's frustration, his favorite thing to do was to nibble on the fingers of Daddy's Quidditch gloves. The horrible habit had been induced by James's forgetfulness after a quick game with mates; he'd the tendency to throw them on the coffee table after returning home. Little Hazza, with his extraordinary mind, found the taste of worn leather and wood to be exceedingly delicious, and no matter how high Lily hid them, they found their way back in his mouth. The magic of children, as Fleamont had called it.
"Home sweet home," James sighed, a wistful gaze aimed at his family.
Remus denied himself a glance at Regulus, already knowing that glare had situated on the boy's face.
"Remmy," Lily hollered, sitting upright and waving enthusiastically.
"Moomy," Harry followed, eyes enthusiastic and expansive.
It was a sight to lift the heart. Remus had visited recently, of course, but when the light seemed dim, and spirits were down, Lily was always the cure. Her smile had a way of hooking around you and pulling you up, even when all else seemed pointless. Lily was always there, always ready to heal and help. What would he have done without her?
Remus made a move to exit the car when a strong arm gripped his own, holding him back. He looked over to find James's eyes fixated on him, cautious and warning.
"Moony," he began, eyes flitting across Remus's features in a frenzy. What was he searching for? "I know you don't like to lie to Lils, but… Can we keep what happened today to ourselves? I don't want her—"
"You didn't tell Lily," Regulus hissed, panic taking over. "You're barking mad! We're fucked."
Remus remained calm and collected, confused as ever, but reserved. Some part of him wanted to demand answers, to see the truth of the day's visit to light. James was right: Remus didn't want to lie to his best friend when all she'd ever done was be honest and open with him in all regards. Lily had never lied to Remus.
But then he remembered. Julienne. Her face, young and unmarred, danced behind closed eyes. The laughter that swelled in her belly echoed in the distance, too far away to distinguish from the laughter of neighboring children. Their friendship, while it had been forged lifetimes ago, ended prematurely. The memory stung in his chest, piercing his lungs. Murdered—Julienne was murdered.
And they kept it from him. James, Lily, Peter, Fleamont, Dumbledore—they all lied. Remus wasn't one to harp on old mistakes, but one of that magnitude is always difficult swallowing upon recollection. Just when he thought he'd forgiven them, the wound festered beneath the scab. There wasn't anger or resentment within him anymore for the lie. He'd made his peace with them nearly. Why didn't he get to say goodby—
"Remus," James interrupted his thoughts with a jostle. "Promise me."
Remus wanted to make the promise for James. He hadn't the slightest idea why Lily didn't need to know of his visit with Regulus, considering he was with them now. There was something brewing inside that head of James's, and whenever there was a storm, destruction was sure to follow. Yet, something inside of him hesitated. Could he lie to Lily, disregarding the vast secret she had kept from him?
"Hullo," Lily cooed, pulling the driver's door opening and scooping out Remus. "Oh, Moony, I've missed you."
She smelled of strawberries and dirt, a typical scent to fill the air after her gardening. Lily had taken a liking to homegrown goods, her pantry filled with organic, fresh produce day in and day out. It was a way to take her mind off of work and war, something that required a gentle touch only she possessed. Remus knew it was a distraction from her thoughts; he often caught her staring at the ground aimlessly, eyes clouded with distant memory and fog. It was better than being stuck in a Ministry office, she said, but Remus went on with it. She could say the same for his books, but they allowed each other these simple escapes.
It was much better than the alternatives.
"I've missed you, Lily Pad," he groaned, hugging her.
"Hi, Reggie," she said, giving the boy a once over before returning to the shade and her son. Regulus grunted in response, his expression never softening for greeting.
"Be nice," James warned, placing a chaste kiss on his wife's forehead. "We've stopped in for lunch before business."
Lily rolled her eyes, "And I suppose I'm the one cooking it?"
"You've got Remus," James shot a look at his friend from behind his wife, the gaze heavy with undertones. "Right, Rem?"
Remus didn't appreciate being put in the middle of everything—whether it was the uncomfortable rift between Regulus and James or some plan to do whatever the fuck put together by James. In all truth, Remus felt more like a pawn than a friend, but saying so wouldn't do any good. Besides, it wasn't fair to assume anything of James without cause. For all he knew, James might be planning something for Lily and, knowing how close the two are, didn't want the secret to slip before it could be finished.
Damn his naivety.
"How about some lunch," James announced.
As usual, Godric's Hollow was illuminated and animated, Harry frolicking around corners and corridors with toys. Regulus and James secreted themselves away to James's office to discuss some important matters about Grimmauld Place; Regulus swore he would debrief them before his departure to the Ministry. Lily didn't seem to mind his absence. In fact, she seemed relieved and began cooking with her usual enthusiasm as they disappeared up the stairs.
Remus couldn't help but ask, "Is there something going on between you two and Regulus?"
Lily's hands never faltered with the knife as she sliced a pickle down the middle, "No. What makes you think that?"
"I lost my memory, not my sight," he teased, nudging her gently with his elbow. His job had been to slice the cheese, and he was doing poorly. Not that anyone would mind; a sandwich is a sandwich. "Those two were acting strangely in the car."
"How so," Lily asked, though she seemed detached from the conversation. Sort of like how his mother would speak to his father—light and unbothered. It was a ruse, of course, but she remained committed.
"They act like they can't agree on anything," he explained. "When we visited him at Grimmauld, they seemed fine, but when I came back from—"
"James took you to Grimmauld," Lily's hand stilled, her voice low. It wasn't a question, rather a statement—clarification. While guilty for breaking a promise never sworn to his friend, he was much more afraid of Lily's retribution than James's.
"Just so I could pick out some old things before Regulus threw them out," he was quick to defend James. It was stupid of him to expect the truth of the visit to be so plain, but it was better than ratting him out.
Brother to brother chivalry still stood. If there was no honor amongst men, then what did they have left?
"That isn't the fucking"—Lily inhaled deeply, her painted nails pinching the bridge of her nose—"I told him to leave you out of his idiotic plans."
"Plans for what," Remus said.
"It's nothing; just forget about what he showed you," she said, snatching the slices of cheese and making sandwiches for them. "I can finish up here. Go play with Harry or something…."
The faraway look in her eyes punctuated the end of the conversation, Remus not wanting to upset her further despite his festering confusion. He swallowed the urge to ask for elaboration, excusing himself to the den where Harry played. There were unanswered questions and an array of suspicions flowering in his mind. All of this secrecy and ambiguity had stressed him out. Harry was in a world of his own, playing with old toys of James's to pass the time.
Remus lowered himself to the floor, smiling at the toddler and watching him create the world before him. Oh, to be young and oblivious once again. The memories that swallowed him were glossy and elusive, hardly discernable from the more prominent ones that followed like a shadow in the years. Seeing Harry this blissful, this ignorant to the tension and chaos ensuing, in reality, made Remus's heart shatter.
He could only hope he didn't end up like the rest of them: battered, vacant, and yearning for more.
"Play with me?" Harry asked, pulling on the lace of Remus's shoe.
Remus was pulled from the looming darkness of his own mind, resurrected by the anticipation of a playdate with his shining star: Harry. He scuttled over more, glancing around at the array of toys—muggle and wizard—that Harry had gotten over recent months. God, it was a wonder the Potter's had any money left; James intended on spoiling their child, but even this was extensive. It was better than nothing, Remus thought ruefully, smiling at the boy.
"Of course," Remus said. "What will we play?"
Harry, overjoyed with this news, grappled the edge of the couch to pull himself to the position. His balance wavered only momentarily, and he made his way to the pile of action figurines aligned in battle formation.
"Who do you want to be," Harry asked, showing Remus different toys. "You can be… Bananaman! Or…"—Harry dug around—"Paddington! Who? Wait, I have more."
Remus had never been faced with so many choices in his life. Harry handed the man toy after toy, ignoring Remus's pitiful pleas for a single second to look over all the options. He didn't mind, frankly, and even laughed as Harry explained Bananaman's superpowers. Instead of interrupting him and getting on with the scene, Remus listened intently to the boy ramble on and on—missing syllables in the heat of the moment and catching his breath just barely to introduce another character. In the moment, it didn't matter which character he'd picked. At the end of the day, he was still Moomy.