3 November 1981

Remus materialized onto the middle of the crowded Hogsmeade High Street, pulling his traveling cloak snugly around his sore limbs. He'd spent more than two-and-a-half days in isolation, meandering the North Country—and to no avail. The closest he had come to finding a trace of Fenrir Greyback was a few animal carcasses that looked as though they may have been ravaged by a werewolf. Nearly sixty-five hours of scouring the hillsides of Yorkshire, and all Remus had to show for it were his own hunger and exhaustion.

He rubbed his palms together, then shoved them into his cloak pockets. The November air in Scotland was needle-sharp, but the High Street was—rather surprisingly—swarming with people. It was odd—people rarely lingered in the streets anymore, a hallmark of wartime that Remus had long since adjusted to. Diagon Alley's cobbled roads were always barren. Glancing around in mild confusion, Remus wove his way through the mobs, trudging up the High Street in the direction of the Hogwarts castle. Dumbledore had sent Remus an urgent message that morning, asking to meet in the Headmaster's office, presumably to hear updates on Remus's mission—but Remus hadn't been able to resist a detour through his favorite Wizarding town. He knew it was dangerous, stupid…but it had been so long since Remus had felt anything close to normalcy…

As Remus walked up the pavement, sidestepping several groups of chatty townspeople, his mind wandered to his friends. He wondered what James and Lily were doing. It was nearly eleven o'clock in the morning—perhaps they had just finished their breakfasts and put Harry down for a nap. Remus's heart gave a painful twinge at the thought of little Harry, whom he hadn't seen since the Potters had placed the Fidelius Charm over their home. He would have to pester Sirius to give him the Secret sooner rather than later—

Sirius. Remus stopped short in his tracks, his heart giving a tiny jolt in his chest, as he frantically began counting the number of days and nights that had passed since Halloween, when he had departed for Yorkshire on Dumbledore's orders. Sure enough, it was the third of November—Sirius's twenty-second birthday. Remus kicked himself mentally—how could he have forgotten?

James and Lily were probably already planning a birthday tea. Well, it was a good thing Remus had stopped by Hogsmeade, after all. He couldn't afford anything big, but perhaps he had enough time to scrounge up a small tin of Sirius's favorite Firewhisky chocolates from Honeydukes…

Remus hurried up the lane, his breath coming out in short puffs. Passing by the Three Broomsticks Inn, Remus glanced, out of habit, at the bulletin board outside the pub's door, where Madam Rosmerta often pinned important newspaper clippings and concert advertisements—and Remus almost tripped over his feet, as, for the second time that morning, he came to a screeching halt in his tracks.

Sirius's face was glaring at him from the front page of the Daily Prophet, under an headline that sent a horrible chill shooting down Remus's spine: 13 KILLED IN PUBLIC DISPUTE; SUSPECT SIRIUS BLACK IN CUSTODY.

Remus's jaw went slack, his entire body growing numb. Slowly, and almost as though against his own accord, he found himself moving towards the bulletin board. Pinned just above the Prophet clipping of Sirius was a different front-page article (YOU-KNOW-WHO DEFEATED? SKIRMISH IN GODRIC'S HOLLOW), and the featured photograph was one of a very familiar brick cottage…

No. No, no, no. No. It couldn't be—

"Horrible, isn't it?"

Remus jumped, looking up. A plump, old wizard had just come outside the pub for a smoke. Tutting, he came to stand at Remus's shoulder, taking a long drag from his pipe and exhaling deeply as he stared at the newspaper clipping.

"Horrible, just horrible…" the wizard continued, shaking his head. "Whoever would've thought a baby would be the one to end this? Oh, I do wonder how he's doing without his parents, poor thing."

Remus could feel his insides turning to ice. Reaching out, he gripped a nearby post to steady himself—his knees were in danger of giving out—

"So young, these Potters—practically children themselves," the wizard wheezed dolefully. "And this Black fellow, too…he must have joined You-Know-Who as just a teenager…"

Bile leaped to the back of Remus's throat, and he reeled backwards, clapping a hand over his mouth. Then, several things seemed to happen at once. Remus's stomach gave an almighty heave, and he hunched over the High Street, vomiting onto the pavement in front of the Three Broomsticks. At that very moment, as if on cue, a flash of fire filled the street; the plump wizard cried out in alarm, dropping his pipe, but Remus reached instinctively toward the tongue of the flame, from which a tiny slip of parchment fluttered onto his palm. It bore three words in familiar looping purple ink.

Remus, please hurry.
—A.P.W.B.D.

Remus stared down at the note, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. So, Dumbledore knew. The whole town of Hogsmeade—the entire Wizarding world, it seemed—knew, that in the span of less than three days, Remus's life had somehow become his worst nightmare.

"Sir? Excuse me—sir, are you quite all right?"

Remus blinked, swallowing the acrid taste in his mouth. The wheezy, old wizard was regarding him with a mixture of worry and astonishment, his pipe limp in his hand.

"I—I'm—" Remus stammered, shaking his head and taking a step back. Drawing his wand, he waved it over the pavement, vanishing the vomit. Then, he turned on his heel and took off sprinting down the High Street, in the direction he had come, away from the Three Broomsticks…away from Hogwarts…

The wind stung Remus's face, biting into his skin, but Remus ignored the bitter tears streaming down his cheeks as he tore down the lane. Dumbledore's note slipped out of his fingers, but Remus barely noticed. Gasping for breath, Remus stopped in the middle of the street, clutching his stomach. Then, without thinking, without planning it, Remus turned on the spot.

When he opened his eyes, he was standing in his childhood bedroom in Lavender Cottage. Dad had forgotten to put up the anti-apparition wards, as usual—or perhaps he simply hadn't bothered with them. After all, it appeared that the war was over, now…

Trembling from head-to-toe, Remus sank down onto his bed, his head spinning. A flicker of motion from his bedside table caught his eye, and he looked around to see a familiar photo frame on the nightstand: Remus and his friends, on the last day of their fourth year. Slowly, Remus reached out and picked it up. James and Sirius, the consummate rebels, were in the middle of the photograph. Sirius's posture was as carelessly arrogant as Remus had ever seen it, and James's grin was almost as lopsided as his hair. On either side stood Peter and Remus—even then seemingly on the fringe of James and Sirius's friendship.

Had it all been a lie?

Just then, Remus heard footsteps from the corridor outside his bedroom, and he jumped, hastily mopping up the wetness on his cheeks with his cloak sleeve.

"Remus?" came Dad's quiet, muffled voice from beyond Remus's bedroom door. "Is that…is that you, son?"

"Yeah, Dad," Remus called hoarsely, sniffing. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to barge in, I-I should have knocked—"

The bedroom door opened with a creak, and Remus sat up straight, quickly setting the old photograph aside—but Dad had already seen it. He looked as frail and careworn as the last time Remus had seen him, but his expression was filled with fresh sadness and concern.

Remus couldn't speak—but he didn't have to. The very next second, Dad had crossed the room in three long strides and wrapped Remus up in his arms.

"Oh, Remus," he whispered, squeezing Remus tightly. "I'm so sorry, love."

"It's not—I don't—" Remus choked out. "I—I didn't know where else—"

"I know, love," Dad said softly, holding Remus even tighter. "Dad's here."


Author's Note:

Hiya, everyone! I hope this story still has some followers. I know it's been ages. The past couple months have been absolutely impossible, and to make it worse, I've been stuck with the WORST writer's block.

This chapter was probably the most difficult I've had to write so far, for many reasons. We're entering some pretty dark territory, but on a positive note: Pretty soon, we'll hit book!Canon. Get ready for Professor Lupin!

I'm so very sorry for the wait on this story. I hope y'all decide to stick around regardless.

Love,
Ari