Chapter 124: May 1998
"The difference between the impossible and the possible lies in a man's determination."
-Tommy LaSorda
Remus laid on the bed where she had slept—No, he thought, where they had slept—staring up at the ceiling. His body still ached from the aftermath of the battle as it settled heavily on his arthritic joints. His muscles tight and knotted from overexertion and exhaustion had made a home in his brain, carving him out to hollow him completely.
The days passed in a blur of tears and laughter as Moony continued to feed him memories from his past. All of the things he'd thought he'd forgotten through trauma and sheer willpower, unearthed from the deep corners of his mind.
He could see it all so clearly now. But, it was the end—the last memory he had of their relationship—that he kept playing on repeat.
Her hand had tightened around Harry's as tears fell from her face, splashing against the dirty floor of the cabin in Yorkshire, and he hadn't worked out what was happening. Her wand pointed at him while she sobbed her apologies, begging for forgiveness in broken breaths, and he still hadn't suspected a thing. He had been so fucking stupid. His mind latched on the moment, watching her lips curl around the word that would wipe him clean. She would never have let him return with his mind intact. She would never have allowed him to change things in the way he wanted to. He felt betrayed and angry. But, most of all, he felt broken.
Remus had spent the better part of seventeen years alone. There had been flings and one-offs; sweaty nights spent with women, and even a few men, he'd met in pubs or worse—werewolves he'd met in travel. He'd had Tonks for a while, though their relationship was laughable at best. He couldn't have loved her, not properly. Not in the way Tonks deserved. He was emotionally unavailable for so long and he'd thought he was just built that way. That he wasn't meant to find someone to love. That the empty ache in his chest was never meant to be filled by another.
Merlin, he had been so completely wrong.
The space ached because it had been filled—completely, overwhelmingly filled—and then, separated. It wasn't as if it had been a neat and clean surgical separation—It had been torn from him. Ripped from his very being. Hermione had been so woven into the fibres of his muscles, into his magic, that he spent years missing her without ever really knowing why.
He'd been drawn to her, of course, that much was glaringly apparent, now. He'd found himself in a room with her in the late hours of the night at Grimmauld Place more than once. He'd never thought anything more about the girl then than how bright she was. How if anyone could change the world one day, it would be this curly-headed witch fussing over the Ministry's Underage Magic Laws at one in the morning. Had he known somewhere deep that she was his? Was that why he felt compelled to talk to her? To mentor her?
Remus groaned, scrubbing his face with his hands. It was unbearable to think that he had inadvertently had some strange attraction to a student. It had never felt like that to him. Just more of an intellectual pull—respect for Hermione's intelligence and ideas. Had it always been more? The very idea of it sickened him back into a spiral of horrible thoughts about what type of monster he must be. Thoughts that Moony vehemently fought against.
It was exhausting.
He had so many questions that he couldn't answer. So many things he wanted to ask her, to reach out and beg for her to explain them all. Every time he made the decision to go look for her, wracking through his mind to try and remember the details of after the Battle she had told him, Moony would stop him.
Not yet.
It was incredibly infuriating for a beast who barely contained itself to tell him to wait. What the fuck was he waiting for? For things to get worse?
But then, if he found her now, he'd sound insane. He'd scare her off. Not to mention she would never have a reason to go back to 1981 in the first place. He shuddered at that thought. That was somehow worse than dealing with the strange numbness he felt in her absence.
Numbness he was used to. He was intimately familiar with the feeling of not feeling; with shutting off his emotions and pushing through because what else could he do? He could handle it a while longer. At least now, he had his memories, he had a way to breathe when he felt suffocated by the weight of his despondence.
Remus pulled himself from the sheets and made his way to the shower. He still hadn't had a proper wash since the battle and there was only so much a scourgify (or five) could do. He needed to think. He needed to drown his thoughts out and loosen his stiff muscles.
He flicked his wand toward the shower, mumbling a heating charm for the water while he stripped off layers of stiff, blood-heavy clothes. He slowly peeled his trousers and socks off, kicking them to the side before shoving his pants down his legs. He stared at himself in the mirror.
Fuck, I'm a mess.
His body was already home to a roadmap of twisting strips of scar tissue well before the Battle at Hogwarts, but now he was covered in a galaxy of fresh bruises. His chest was now split in two by a gnarled, purple scar that cut across his right collar bone, ending a few inches below his left pectoral. It stood out stark against the other thin gouges of silvery pink. And, worse than the new scar and bruising, his eyes hadn't gone back to the murky green they had been before. They were still a bright, shining amber gold and no matter how hard he blinked or tried to shift them back, they remained that way.
He didn't know what this meant. There were dozens of books on werewolves and none of them mentioned anything about this. None of them was meant to prepare an actual werewolf for the side effects of your lycanthropic infection overrunning your body. He sighed and shook his head, looking away from his haggard appearance, before stepping into the hot shower stream.
On the shelves, built into the tile, sat a few bottles of shampoo and conditioner. An array of washes, moisturizers and shaving potions sat unused and probably well past expired on the ledges. Remus conjured a single bar of soap, feeling odd about disturbing the contents of the bottles, despite the fact that judging by the scent and what he knew to be the price point, they were definitely his to disturb.
He scrubbed at his arms, stomach, and legs. He tore his fingers through his hair, roughly massaging suds against his scalp, letting out a long breath of satisfaction as he watched the dirty water swirl down the drain. He felt almost human again by the time he was done. Like he'd washed the past two decades of confusion and uncertainty away with the blood and grime.
Remus stepped out and summoned a towel, drying himself fully, before bundling his battle-worn clothes into his arms, making his way back into the bedroom. He threw the clothes down in a heap on the floor and opened the wardrobe, laughing lightly at the sight of at least fifteen Beatles t-shirts hanging inside. He reached out, gently running his fingers over the fabric of the shirts. He had forgotten about them, too. How much of his life, how many small things, had been taken because they were so deeply tied to Hermione?
He pulled a faded, grey shirt off the hanger and slipped it on. It fit a bit tighter than he typically preferred, but it didn't matter. No one would see him in it, anyway. He stepped over to the chest of drawers, going for the side he knew his own items would be, and opened the top drawer. He pulled a pair of pants out and stepped into them, before looking back down to the inside of the drawer. His brows pulled together as his eyes landed on the corner of a picture poking out from beneath his underthings. He pulled it out and stared down at it, blinking furiously against the tears that clouded his vision.
The picture was of Lily and Hermione, sitting on the sofa at Potter cottage, looking to be deep in conversation. They were pressed shoulder to shoulder, heads nearly touching as they smiled and whispered secretively to one another. At the last second, both of their heads snapped up and Remus felt his breath hitch at the smiles on their faces. His best friend's wife who, for all intents and purposes, was more of a sister to him than anything. And Hermione. The love of his life, his mate, his soul, his fucking heartbeat. Both smiling and laughing at whatever had caught their attention.
He thought he'd been done with grieving.
He'd spent so many years processing and working through the pain of losing his friends. And then Sirius returned, only to be taken from them again, and he was thrown right back into the pain of losing someone he loved. But, this type of grief—this ache of want—knowing that what he's missing isn't actually gone…
It was stifling.
I need to see her.
Not yet.
I can just look at her, find her and—
She will be surrounded by those who survived the Battle, you idiot. How do you plan to find her? How do you think we can show up without ruining everything? You will see her in due time. Now, we plan.
Plan for what? Remus wanted to shout, but he thought it instead, hoping the anger was still noticeable though it was not said with his voice.
To end this all.
Remus set the photo on the chest, digging around for a pair of trousers. He found a worn-out pair of jeans and pulled them on, frowning slightly when he couldn't get the button to close. He used his wand to enlarge them a notch and yanked a massive cardigan off a hanger, slinging it over his shoulders.
He needed some air. He needed to feel the sun on his face. He'd been shut in the cottage for too many days and he needed to get out.
Remus found himself wandering the tiny village of Godric's Hollow aimlessly before he finally made his way over to the cemetery. The grass was still damp from the morning rain, but it was plush and green beneath his beat-up trainers. He ambled up and down the aisles, eyes scanning for the names he was seeking.
When he finally located the marble slab carved with Lily and James' names, he dropped to his knees in front of it, placing a hand against the cool stone. He sighed.
"I'm sorry it's taken me so long to come back," he began, settling on his backside with his legs folded up to his chest. "I don't have a good excuse. I can't say that life got in the way…it's not as if I really moved on, you know? I couldn't. Not properly, anyway." He took in a slow breath, trying to organize his thoughts.
"James, I...I want to say I understand why you did it. I'm not angry with you. But, knowing the truth of the situation doesn't make it hurt any less. And I remember everything now, by the way. Moony saw to that, the clever wolf."
He could feel Moony preen under the praise and Remus let out a dry, mirthless laugh.
"I was killed," Remus closed his eyes for a moment, wrapping his arms around his knees. "That's strange to say out loud—to admit that I was almost free from this all. Almost able to come to be with you both. With Sirius. And Peter, though I doubt he's wherever the three of you are."
He swallowed, he adjusted his position again, folding his legs in a pretzel shape. His fingers plucked absentmindedly at the blades of grass as he continued his confessions.
"I was ready to die. Although, I think I've been ready for a long time. You know, it's funny I think, in some strange, fucked up sort of way, that I'm the one that's left here. Hermione is my mate. But, of course, you already knew that. Everyone is always three steps ahead of me in that respect."
Remus' shoulder sagged forward, his elbows digging into his thighs as he cradled his head.
"And you know what really sucks? What is just the absolute worst thing about all this..? It isn't even over. It's going to continue for years, even without Voldemort to call any shots, though it doesn't seem like he was ever the one in charge. Not really. I think it was more a...a conglomerate of bad principles and power-hungry purebloods—but, that's beside the point."
He trailed off as an elderly woman passed by, muttering to herself and wiping her eyes on a handkerchief as she searched the cemetery for her loved one. Remus watched as she disappeared to the back corner, clutching her cane with each step.
"Point is, it feels like everything we've done is for nothing. Well, maybe not nothing..Harry is still alive. He fought his arse off against Voldemort and finally took him down. And, from what I can remember he's very happy. Or, at least, he will be. Well, as happy as you can be while leading the Order."
Remus' eyes felt hot and he blinked a few times, clearing his throat.
"He's smart, Lily, gets that from you, I reckon. But, he's funny, too. And incredibly kind and understanding. Although, when I see him again I think I'm gonna have to wallop him. Sorry, mate. But, he did kind of urge Hermione to wipe my memory."
He let out a wet chuckle, wiping his face with the backs of his hands.
"I don't think he urged her, really, as he gave her the strength to do what they both knew needed to be done. But, still...not ideal. I was a Professor for a year. Put that bag you all got me for Christmas that year to good use. Though, it's a bit beat up now."
He fell silent, allowing his thoughts to unravel while the birds chirped and the breeze rippled across the grass. Remus sat for several minutes, staring blankly at the tombstone and tried to figure out what he was even doing here.
"I think I just needed to talk," he surmised. "I think I've really just missed having someone…" he sighed again, clearing his throat. "I have to do something, though, you know? I can't just wait around while our people get picked off again. I can't watch what happened before keep on repeating itself…again. I need to find the Fountain of Fair Fortune. It's real, I think. Could really use your help with that, Lils."
His voice broke and he bit down on the inside of his cheek, trying to get his emotions under control.
"But, I'm going to find it. And I'm going to end this. Too many people have died...you died for this to end. I won't let you down. Moony is starting to call some more of the shots now, and I think it might not be a bad thing. I think…"
Remus quieted again as he tried to work through the issues, trying to figure out what to do, what the next steps were. He was never great without a plan. Even petty pranks in his school days came with some sort of organization, some sort of mission. He didn't even have a starting point for this. Well, not past Moony turning his pathetic life on its head and…
Moony.
"I think I need to go to the werewolves," he whispered. "I know it's mad but I think...I think that's where I need to start."
Remus placed his hand against the stone once more, using it to hoist himself from the ground. He pulled his wand from his sleeve and conjured a bouquet of flowers, resting them on the grass in front of the marble.
"I love you both and I miss you every day. But, I'm going to stop this—I have to stop this. Even if it kills me again," he pushed out a puff of laughter at that. "I'm going to make sure this ends. I won't let anyone's deaths be in vain."
Remus stalked from the cemetery with a sense of purpose burgeoning in his gut. If he had to wait six years to see Hermione again, then he would wait. He'd wait all of eternity for her if he had to. But, he wouldn't sit idly by and do nothing. He'd make the most of this time. He'd make sure the extra years he was spared mattered.
You're finally catching on, about bloody time.
.
.
a/n: Heads up, upcoming chapters are going to start having broader time jumps, so pay attention to those time stamps kids. 3
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xoxoxo
Mimi