1 January 1972
Dear James,
I'm so sorry that I couldn't make it to your parents' party yesterday. My mum's health took a turn for the worse, so my dad and I ended up spending the evening at the local hospital. It wasn't the cheeriest end to the holidays, but at least my mum's all right for now.
I hope you, Sirius, and Peter had a good time. I'll see you all on the train in two days.
Happy New Year,
Remus
Remus scanned the letter several times, his chest tightening painfully with each read. Then, before he could allow himself to feel any guiltier, he slipped the parchment into a spare envelope and tied it to the ankle of Sirius's gray screech owl, Felix, which had arrived earlier that morning with a letter from James and Sirius, demanding to know why Remus hadn't been at James's house the previous night.
It was the first day of the New Year, and it was already filled with lies.
4 February 1972
One chilly Friday morning, a month after the start of the new term, Remus stood beside Sirius in the Owlery tower, waiting for him to finish sending a letter to his younger brother. Remus had already written and sent off a quick response to his parents' latest letter, letting them know that his classes were going well and assuring them that he had survived the full moon on Monday with nothing worse than a few more scars.
Once or twice while composing his letter, Remus had glanced up to find Sirius staring intently at him rather than writing his own letter—but then, each time, Sirius had immediately returned to his parchment as though nothing had happened. It had been rather unsettling.
At last, with a final flourish of his quill, Sirius finished his letter. Then, with a lilting whistle, he hailed his owl down from its perch.
"How's your brother doing?" Remus asked Sirius, leaning back against the Owlery wall and watching Sirius fasten his letter to Felix's talon with a spare piece of twine.
Sirius shrugged, picking up his owl and walking over to a nearby window; Remus followed him. "All right, I suppose. He doesn't give my parents much trouble."
"No, that's your job, isn't it?" Remus asked dryly, and Sirius shot him a sly grin.
But then, as Sirius threw Felix into the air, Remus saw his friend's grin fade. Crossing his arms, Sirius gazed out toward the distant horizon with an inscrutable expression.
"Poor kid," he muttered, after several moments. "That house is foul enough when it's the both of us. I can't imagine what it's like alone."
Remus stared at his friend, slightly openmouthed, unsure of how to respond. He didn't think he was in any position to be giving sibling advice.
Sirius was silent for a few more moments. Then— "I should've gone home for Christmas," he said quietly.
"You'll see him over the summer," Remus said at once. "It's just a few months away. And he'll be at Hogwarts next year, won't he?"
Sirius smiled a little. "I hope he's in Gryffindor with us."
"Of course he will be," Remus grinned.
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, staring out the window together.
Then, suddenly, Sirius turned to face Remus. "How's your mum?" he asked unexpectedly. "You went to see her on Monday night, didn't you?"
"Yeah…yeah, I did," Remus murmured, feeling his cheeks redden slightly. "She's all right…same as last time."
Sirius hummed understandingly, and another silence stretched out between them. Remus released an inaudible sigh, relieved that Sirius had abandoned the topic of his mother's health. But then—
"Where d'you go when you visit her?"
Remus stared at Sirius, nonplussed. "I go home, of course."
Sirius's eyebrows furrowed. "But then, why didn't you already know your address at the beginning of the holidays?"
It was as though the air had been sucked out of Remus's lungs—he couldn't breathe. "What?" he managed, praying with every fiber of his being that he'd misheard.
Sirius's eyes narrowed, ever so slightly. "When we said goodbye at the platform in December, you said you didn't know your address yet because your parents had moved a few weeks after school started," he said slowly. "But you went home twice that term to see your mum. How could you not know your address?"
Remus's mouth was so dry that it felt rather like sandpaper.
"I…" he began hoarsely. "I just…never memorized it. It's this cottage—in Cornwall, by the ocean. I…honestly wasn't even sure if it had an address."
Sirius's face relaxed—but Remus's heart did not. And as the two of them began to make their way down the Owlery staircase, it hammered heavily against Remus's ribs, and he couldn't help but feel, with a sidelong glance at Sirius's profile, that he hadn't dispelled his friend's suspicions quite as thoroughly as he'd intended to.
19 May 1972
It was a scorching summer day. The sun blazed, hot and dazzling, in the late-afternoon sky, beckoning almost all of the students outdoors. Remus, James, Sirius, and Peter were sitting in the shade of a beech tree by the Black Lake, surrounded by piles of spellbooks, parchment, inkpots, and quills.
Suddenly, Sirius gave a loud groan, flinging aside his quill and flopping backwards onto the grass. "I can't study anymore," he complained.
Remus rolled his eyes. "We've been studying for five minutes."
"Yeah, and that's five minutes too many," James grumbled, sprawling out on the grass next to his friend and shielding his eyes from the sun with his Transfiguration spellbook. "Exams are ages away."
"Only a month away," Remus reminded him, frowning in concentration as he circled an important paragraph in his own Transfiguration spellbook. "It's better to start early."
"But it's so hot," Peter whinged.
"Pete's right," Sirius declared suddenly, sitting bolt upright. In a single flourish, he pulled his robes up over his head and cast them aside, now wearing only his vest and pants. "It's a million degrees out. I'm going swimming."
James's face split into a broad grin. In a flash, he leaped to his feet and started scrambling out of his robes, as well. "Brilliant!" he exclaimed.
Remus stared at his friends in horror as they began pulling off their vests.
"What are you doing?" he asked, unnerved.
"We're going in the lake, of course!" James laughed, untying his shoes. "Aren't you coming?"
"No," Remus said quickly, shrinking back against the beech tree. "No, I don't think so."
"I'm just going splash around a bit in the shallow parts," Peter said brightly, hitching his robes up and peeling off his socks. "You can stand with me, Remus."
"No," Remus said again, his voice slightly strained now. "I…I think I'd really rather just sit here."
Sirius let out a bark-like laugh. "Oh, c'mon, Remus! It's not like the scar on your neck goes all down your body."
Remus wanted so badly to laugh off the comment, which he knew that Sirius had meant in jest. He wanted to roll his eyes, shake his head, and say something sarcastic in return—but he couldn't; his voice was caught in his throat. Sirius's grin faded.
James stepped forward. "We don't care what you look like, Remus," he said earnestly. "You—" he hesitated, "you can swim, can't you?"
"Of course I can swim," Remus said defensively, his cheeks flushing with color. "I just don't feel like swimming today, all right?"
James shrugged. "Suit yourself, then!" he called over his shoulder, already making a beeline for the shore. "Last one in's a rotten flobberworm!"
Peter laughed loudly, pitching after James down the grassy bank—but Sirius paused for a brief moment, giving Remus a lingering, searching look that made him feel immeasurably uncomfortable, before he turned and hurried after his friends.
29 May 1972
Remus slouched up the dormitory staircase early in the evening, his head pounding. As he approached the door to the first year boys' room, he heard James and Sirius having a loud, playful argument behind the door. Squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing his temples in a fruitless attempt to contain his splitting headache, Remus fumbled for the doorknob and pushed the door open.
Almost at once, the room fell completely silent. James, who had Sirius in a painful-looking half-nelson on the floor, went still, staring up at Remus. Sirius stopped struggling in James's grip and turned to look at Remus, too. And Peter, who was sitting cross-legged on his bed, perked up slightly.
Remus froze at the threshold, glancing from one bizarrely attentive twelve-year-old to the next. "Have I got something on my face?" he asked warily.
"No, but you look dreadful," Sirius observed bluntly, yanking himself free of James's grasp and climbing to his feet.
"Cheers," Remus muttered, trudging over to his bed and collapsing onto it. Wincing slightly, Remus tugged his bedcovers free and slipped underneath them, burying his face into the warmth of his pillow.
Then, suddenly, he felt a slight dip in his mattress. Looking up briefly, he saw James perched at the foot of his bed, while Sirius and Peter leaned against the footboard.
"Rough weekend at home, mate?" James asked him. "How's your mum?"
"Not great," Remus replied, his voice muffled against his pillow. "The doctors still aren't making any progress."
"You're looking a little ill yourself, Remus," Peter piped up, sounding worried. "Perhaps you ought to go see Madam Pomfrey."
"Yeah," Remus mumbled, closing his eyes against the hammering of his head. "Yeah, I will…maybe later."
"D'you really think it'll do any good though?" asked Sirius's uncertain voice. "I mean, if she couldn't fix you up this morning…"
Remus's eyes flew open. Ignoring the fact that his brain was threatening to pound its way out of his skull, he sat bolt upright and stared at his friends. "What are you talking about?" he demanded in an unnaturally high voice. "I was at home this morning."
Sirius shared a half-glance with James. "Well…Cat Deverill went to the Hospital Wing for some Pepperup after breakfast and she told us she saw you sleeping there."
Remus's heart leaped into his throat. "She's wrong," he said hoarsely. "She can't have seen me. You know how Cat Deverill is—she's a gossip. I was at home, with my mum—"
"Relax, mate, we aren't questioning you," James interrupted in a reassuring voice. "We believe you. You're our mate, not Cat. We trust everything you tell us—because you're our mate."
"And that's what mates do," Sirius added. "Trust and friendship—they're a package deal."
"Because friends have your back," Peter chimed in. "No matter what."
Remus blinked blearily between each of their faces. His head was aching so terribly that he couldn't find in himself the energy to read into this conversation any more than he had to. "Right," he said faintly. "Right…well, thanks. I mean, I'd know where I was this morning better than Cat Deverill anyway."
"Of course," Sirius replied, and through the haziness of his vision, Remus thought he saw a flicker of annoyance cross his friend's face—but then, the very next instant, it was gone. "Well, we'll let you get some sleep now. We're going to head down to dinner."
"Feel better, mate," James's voice floated back through the doorway, as the three boys began shuffling down the spiral staircase.
Remus slipped into an uneasy slumber, his mind racing.
28 June 1972
At the end of the final Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson of the year, Remus told his friends that he would catch up with them at the Great Hall for lunch. Then, after waiting for the rest of the class to shuffle out of the classroom, he swung his schoolbag onto his shoulder and walked up to Professor Belby's desk at the front of the room.
"Erm—Professor Belby?"
Professor Belby looked up from the letter he was reading, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Ah—hello, Mr. Lupin," he said kindly. "What can I do for you today?"
"Nothing, sir," Remus said quickly. "I was just wondering how I fared on my Defense Against the Dark Arts exam. I—I was ill on Monday, when you announced the final marks."
"Yes, yes…Minerva did mention you were in the Hospital Wing again," Professor Belby said mildly, pulling forward a sheaf of parchment on his desk and rifling through it. "Not to worry, Mr. Lupin. You performed admirably—top marks."
Remus beamed, pride bubbling in his chest. "Thank you so much, sir." He hesitated for a moment. Then— "I'll miss having you as Defense professor next term, sir," he added. "Your class was my favorite this year."
Professor Belby smiled warmly at him. "And I will miss teaching you, Mr. Lupin. But alas, the world of potion-brewing extends far beyond the walls of this castle, and I must return to pursuing my passion, though it pains me deeply to leave my wonderful students behind."
Remus grinned. "Yes, sir." Hitching his schoolbag onto his shoulder, he turned to head for the classroom door.
But then, suddenly— "Mr. Lupin?"
Remus turned around. Professor Belby had steepled his fingers under his nose and was gazing at him rather intently. Remus stared back at him.
"Yes, sir?"
"I was wondering," Professor Belby began slowly, "if, perhaps, there might be…something else…you'd like to share with me."
Remus blinked several times, utterly nonplussed. "What do you mean, sir?"
Professor Belby hesitated. "I don't mean to be intrusive, Mr. Lupin, but…I can't help but notice that you're looking a little paler and thinner than usual this morning, and—please forgive me for saying so—a little…bruised, as well."
Remus's heart screeched to a dizzying halt. "I…I'm ill, sir," he stammered. "Professor McGonagall must have mentioned—"
"She did mention it, Mr. Lupin," Professor Belby interrupted in a soft voice. "I just…well, I couldn't help but take a closer look at some of your symptoms, and—"
But he was cut off by a sudden scuffle from the door, and Remus whirled around just in time to see Professor Slughorn letting himself into the classroom, carrying a tin of crystallized pineapple. A wave of nausea crashed over Remus—born, no doubt, of a combination of the sickeningly sweet scent of the fruity candy and the knowledge that Professor Belby's eyes were still boring into his back.
"Damocles, my dear boy, thank you for the pineapple," Professor Slughorn said happily, as he closed the door behind him and strode down the aisle between the desks. "It is my absolute favorite, as you very well know—" he stopped short, spotting Remus. "Oh, hello, Mr. Lupin," he said, in a slightly stiffer voice, though he smiled. "How are you?"
"Fine, Professor, thank you," Remus said shakily, hitching the strap of his schoolbag up again and determinedly avoiding Professor Belby's eyes. "I'm just leaving actually."
"Oh, no, no—please don't leave on my account," Professor Slughorn said immediately. "Would you like a sweet?" He held the tin of pineapple candy out to Remus. "Or perhaps you might like to join Professor Belby and myself in the dungeons for lunch?"
"No," Remus said quickly, overcome by another surge of nausea. "No, Professor, I'd best be going. My friends are probably wondering where I am."
"Oh—well, all right, then," said Professor Slughorn, sounding a little bewildered, as Remus hurried past him. "Take care, Mr. Lupin—"
But Remus had already ducked out of the doorway and was now rushing down the third floor corridor, feeling—for the very first time—utterly and overwhelmingly relieved that he would never have to see or speak to Professor Belby again.
19 August 1972
Remus, James, Sirius, and Peter were seated at a table outside Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. James's parents had taken them all to Diagon Alley for the afternoon, so that they could finish their school shopping together. Now, they were simmering down with tall cones of chocolate ice cream, while Mr. and Mrs. Potter visited a nearby jewelry store.
At the moment, they were discussing their families.
"I didn't know my grandparents well—Grandad Harry and Granny Mathilde were the last ones, and they both died when I was six," James shrugged, licking a few drops of chocolate off of his fingers. "My mum was forty when she had me, and my dad was forty-two, so my grandparents were gone pretty early on. My dad was an only child like me, so I haven't got any aunts and uncles from him, but my mum's got an older brother—my uncle Caradoc. He's my godfather, too. He and my dad were best friends at Hogwarts, in Gryffindor together. That's how my dad met my mum. And Uncle Caradoc is excellent! He bought me my first broom when I was four—and he took me to my first Quidditch match!"
"Well, I'd rather have no grandparents than the grandparents I've got," Sirius muttered darkly, scowling down at his ice cream cone.
"Are they that bad?" Remus asked softly.
Sirius snorted. "On my fifth birthday, Grandfather Pollux and Grandmother Irma sat me down and had me memorize the genealogies of every single pure-blood family in the United Kingdom—including the smaller families and the blood traitor families. Then, on Christmas morning, they made me recite them in front of my entire family—and if I made a single mistake, I had to start from the beginning."
Remus, James, and Peter all gawked at him.
"They started educating us early, so we'd learn to tell the difference between the good pure-bloods and the bad pure-bloods," Sirius continued bitterly, fiddling with a sprinkle on his ice cream cone. He glanced at James. "I learned a lot about your family, James—and yours, too, Remus."
Remus startled. "Mine?"
"Oh, yeah," Sirius said listlessly. "The Lupins were pure-blood up until the twenties, if I remember correctly."
Remus blinked, several times. He knew practically nothing about his extended family. His father's parents, Lowell and Edith Lupin, had both died when their son was in his final year of Hogwarts; Remus had seen their Daily Prophet obituaries in his father's study numerous times. And as for his mother's family…well, his mother had cut ties with her Muggle parents and sisters after Remus had been bitten. Remus didn't even know their names. The one time he'd summoned the courage to ask his mother about them, she'd burst into tears. After that, he hadn't dared to ask again.
Remus dimly suspected that Sirius knew more about his family then he did. The thought was rather depressing.
Swallowing heavily, Remus turned to Peter. "What's your family like, Peter?" he asked, with a forced smile.
22 September 1972
"What d'you mean you can't come tomorrow?" James froze in the act of polishing the mahogany handle of his brand new Nimbus 1700, gaping at Remus from his bed. "You've got to come and watch me! I've been telling you about Quidditch tryouts since the start of term!"
"I'm so sorry, James," Remus said in a strained voice. "I've just found out…I've got to go home. My mum—"
Setting his broomstick aside, James climbed suddenly to his feet and stalked toward Remus's bed, his arms crossed. Sirius and Peter, who were playing chess on the rug in the center of the dormitory, both turned and stared at him.
"Why can't you visit your mum next weekend?" James asked acidly, and Remus was startled—and hurt—to hear a distinct note of accusation in his voice. "Why has it got to be this weekend?"
Remus swallowed, shaking his head. "James, I'm really sorry. I know how much these tryouts mean to you—but my dad's just told me…it's just got to be this weekend—"
"I thought this year would be different," James burst out, his jaw clenching. "I thought you'd tell—"
"James," Sirius's steely voice cut sharply through James's rant like a knife. "His mum's ill."
Remus looked gratefully at Sirius—but his stomach dropped at the sight of his friend's face. Sirius was not looking at James, but rather, directly at Remus. His expression was disconcertingly stony.
There was a tense, lingering pause.
Then, James reached up and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, sounding ashamed. "That was out of line. I'm sorry."
"It's fine," Remus said quietly, already climbing under his bedcovers. "Goodnight." Curling into his quilts, Remus closed his eyes and tried his hardest to ignore the silent conversation that his friends were almost certainly having beyond the curtains of his four-poster bed.
23 September 1972
Remus jogged up the dormitory staircase at half past four in the evening to deposit his schoolbag on his bed and grab a warmer cloak. He'd just finished studying Potions with Lily, and he was running late—Madam Pomfrey had asked Remus to come to the Hospital Wing three hours earlier than usual that evening. Apparently, this month's moonrise was an untimely one.
Remus paused outside the door of his dormitory, listening intently for any sounds from inside the room. He had been carefully avoiding his friends all day, after James's angry outburst the previous night. Finally, after a few moments of dull silence, Remus decided that it was safe to go inside. His friends had likely gone down to the Quidditch pitch to watch the Gryffindor team's tryouts. Releasing a relieved sigh, Remus pushed open the dormitory door and slipped inside, hurrying toward his bed.
He froze.
On his bed lay an enormous platter of chocolate fudge.
Slowly, Remus walked toward the bed and dropped his schoolbag to the floor, staring at the fudge in astonishment. Then, he saw an elegant stationary card that he identified as one of Sirius's—it had the Black family crest on it—lying at the edge of the plate. He picked it up gingerly and immediately recognized James's untidy scrawl.
Remus,
I'm really, really sorry about what I said last night. I nicked some fudge from the kitchens for you to take home. I hope there are no hard feelings.
Tell your mum best wishes from me, and I'll see you on Monday.
Your (almost certainly!) new Gryffindor Chaser,
James
Remus stared at the note, his heart aching. Eventually his hand began shaking so much that the card slipped out from between his fingers and fluttered back onto the bed. Then, letting out a dry, gasping sob, Remus sank to the dormitory floor, burying his face in his arms.
Author's Note:
In light of recent political developments in my country, I would like to say just one thing: "Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if only one remembers to turn on the light." —Albus Dumbledore
So, moving forward, let us all remember to keep the light on, and fight on. Thank you.
Ari
