31 October 1993
Remus frowned down at the second year essay on ghouls that he was meant to be marking. He wasn't sure if Luna Lovegood had misunderstood the assignment he'd given, or if she had an understanding of ghouls far beyond anything Remus had ever encountered. Remus blinked down at the parchment for a long moment. Then, with a soft sigh, he rested his elbows on his desk and rubbed his eyes with his palms.
Unlike last month's full moon, which had been quick and incredibly painless, Remus was already positive that the full moon in five nights was going to be a wretched one—even with the Wolfsbane potion. The headache pounding behind his eyelids was reminiscent of some of the worst he had had as a teenager at Hogwarts.
Briefly, Remus thought about calling it a day and turning in early. But then, he remembered that the Halloween feast was that evening, and he nearly groaned out loud.
Every Halloween in the last twelve years, Remus had spent the evening alone—usually in a pub or bar—wallowing in thoughts and memories that made him want to claw his eyes out. Every year without fail—no matter how hard Remus tried to talk himself down from the ledge—this day made him feel suffocated and useless. It reminded him of things that he had spent months—years—burying deep within his heart. The thought of dining in the Great Hall on a night like tonight, surrounded by laughter and chatter and bright eyes, made him want to scream.
Remus opened his eyes, blinking tiredly. For several moments, he just stared down at Luna's essay. Then, deciding that he didn't possibly have it in him to decode the rest of her argument today, he picked up the scroll of parchment and dropped it back in the pile of unmarked second year essays. He had just gotten to his feet to fetch his tea kettle from the table in the back of his office when he caught sight of a figure—a very familiar figure—ambling slowly and aimlessly down the hallway outside his office.
Remus froze for a moment, his hand hovering over his tea kettle. Then, before he could change his mind, he hurried to his office door and stuck his head out. "Harry?"
Harry jumped about a foot in the air, swiveling around and meeting Remus's eyes. Remus was struck suddenly by how small and young he looked.
"What are you doing?" Remus wondered. "Where are Ron and Hermione?" Remus didn't think he had ever seen Harry without his two best friends on either side of him; the three, Remus had come to see, were quite inseparable.
"Hogsmeade," Harry said, in a voice that might have sounded breezy and unbothered if Remus hadn't known better.
"Ah," Remus said lightly. He looked at Harry for a moment, his heart aching under the weight of all of the things he wanted to say to the boy but couldn't. So, instead, he asked, "Why don't you come in? I've just taken delivery of a grindylow for our next lesson."
Harry looked momentarily taken aback. Nonetheless, after a second, he made his way toward Remus's office door. "A what?" he asked warily, following Remus into the room.
Remus closed the door behind him and led the way to the large water tank in the corner of the office, behind his desk. The grindylow, which had its face pressed against the glass, was pulling grotesque faces and flexing its long, wiry fingers.
"Water demon," Remus explained, scrutinizing the grindylow through narrowed eyes. "We shouldn't have much difficulty with him, not after the kappas. The trick is to break his grip. You notice the abnormally long fingers? Strong, but very brittle."
The grindylow bared its green teeth at Harry and Remus. Then, with a burst of bubbles, it disappeared into the tangle of weeds at the bottom of the tank. Remus turned to Harry.
"Cup of tea?" he asked, already reaching for his kettle. "I was just thinking of making one."
"Er—" Harry shuffled his feet awkwardly. "All right."
Remus almost smiled. He supposed it wasn't a very cool thing to be having a cuppa with a professor on a Sunday afternoon instead of raiding Honeydukes, but he figured it was a testament to just how low Harry's spirits were at the moment that he wasn't refusing. Tapping the kettle with his wand, Remus reached for the dusty tin of teabags next to the tea service.
"Sit down," he told Harry, gesturing toward the seat across from his own. "I've only got teabags, I'm afraid—but I daresay you've had enough of tea leaves?"
Harry looked up at him, eyes widening. "How did you know about that?"
Remus felt a small pang at the sight of Harry's wounded expression. "Professor McGonagall told me," he said reassuringly, pushing a mug of tea across his desk toward Harry. "You're not worried, are you?"
"No," mumbled Harry, staring down at his mug, and Remus frowned at him across the desk. He was almost certain that there was something more than just embarrassment in Harry's expression.
He set down his own mug. "Anything worrying you, Harry?"
"No," Harry said quickly. Remus raised his eyebrows but said nothing as Harry picked up his mug and took a sip, staring past Remus's shoulder at the grindylow tank. Then, suddenly— "Yes," Harry said, putting his mug down and sitting up straight. "You know that day we fought the boggart?"
Remus blinked, surprised. "Yes," he said slowly.
"Why didn't you let me fight it?" Harry asked, an inquisitive, serious frown spreading across his face.
Remus stared at Harry, utterly taken aback. Not only was this the last thing he had expected Harry to say, but Remus was baffled by the defensiveness of Harry's tone.
"I would have thought that was obvious, Harry," he said carefully.
Harry blinked several times. "Why?" he asked again, his tone sounding slightly more confused.
"Well…" Remus said, eyebrows furrowing. "I assumed that if the boggart faced you…it would assume the shape of Lord Voldemort."
Now, Harry looked gobsmacked. Mouth open, he simply stared up at Remus for several moments.
"Clearly, I was wrong," Remus continued in bewilderment. "But I didn't think it a good idea for Lord Voldemort to materialize in the staffroom. I imagined that people would panic."
It was nearly a full minute before Harry spoke.
"I didn't think of Voldemort," he said heavily. "I—I remembered those dementors."
Remus looked at Harry, amazed. How incredible it was that the thirteen-year-old boy in front of him did not regard the monster who, exactly twelve years ago, had murdered his parents—and tried to murder him—with nearly the same amount of fear as he did the feeling of helplessness and hopelessness that dementors inspired in him.
"I see," Remus said slowly. "Well, well…I'm impressed." He smiled at the puzzled look on Harry's face. "That suggests that what you fear most of all is—fear. Very wise, Harry."
Harry blushed slightly, averting his eyes from Remus's and taking another sip of tea.
"So you've been thinking that I didn't believe you capable of fighting the boggart?" Remus asked, a shrewd smile lifting the corner of his lips.
"Well…yeah," said Harry, looking up at Remus with a sort of sheepish grin. He sat up straighter. "Professor Lupin, you know the dementors—"
But Harry was cut off by a sharp knock at the door. Remus turned to look at the doorway, frowning. "Come in," he called.
The door opened, and Snape's tall, thin frame appeared in the frame. He was carrying a goblet of Wolfsbane potion, which was smoking faintly. At the sight of Harry, his already sour expression turned unpleasant. He narrowed his black eyes suspiciously at Remus.
"Ah, Severus," Remus lifted a wide smile to his face before the potions master could say anything. "Thanks very much. Could you leave it here on the desk for me?"
Snape approached Remus's desk slowly. As he gingerly set the smoking goblet down, his distrustful gaze flitted between Remus and Harry.
"I was just showing Harry my grindylow," Remus said pleasantly, gesturing toward the tank behind him.
"Fascinating," Snape said, without looking at it. "You should drink that directly, Lupin."
"Yes, yes, I will," Remus assured him.
"I made an entire cauldronful," Snape continued. "If you need more."
"I should probably take some again tomorrow," Remus agreed, reminded suddenly of the dull headache that was still pounding against his skull. "Thanks very much, Severus."
"Not at all," Snape said smoothly, but his beady eyes lingered on Remus for another moment. Remus stared back at him. Then, without tearing his unsmiling, watchful gaze away from Remus, Snape backed out of the small office.
Remus quietly released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Suddenly, he became aware of Harry's curious, stunned presence.
Remus looked at him and smiled. "Professor Snape has very kindly concocted a potion for me," he told Harry airily. "I have never been much of a potion-brewer, and this one is particularly complex." Cautiously, he picked up the goblet and sniffed it; the acrid, overwhelming stench of aconite nearly made him gag. "Pity sugar makes it useless," he added wryly. He took a small sip from the goblet and was unable to resist a shudder.
Harry was now staring at the goblet with undisguised alarm. "Why—?" he began, but Remus quickly went on.
"I've been feeling a bit off-color," he explained vaguely. "This potion is the only thing that helps. I am very lucky to be working alongside Professor Snape—there aren't many wizards who are up to making it."
Remus took another careful sip from the goblet, glancing at Harry. The thirteen-year-old was now looking at the goblet as though it might explode. Blinking several times, he looked up at Remus.
"Professor Snape's very interested in the Dark Arts," he said abruptly.
"Really?" Remus asked, arranging his tone into one of mild interest as he took a larger gulp of the Wolfsbane. He had a feeling he knew where this conversation was headed.
"Some people reckon—" Harry hesitated for a moment, biting his lip. "Some people reckon he'd do anything to get the Defense Against the Dark Arts job."
Remus had to try very hard not to laugh as he drained his goblet.
"Disgusting," he remarked, grimacing as the potion burned the back of his throat. His headache was already feeling slightly less knifelike. "Well, Harry, I'd better get back to work. I'll see you at the feast later?"
"Right," said Harry, putting down his empty mug of tea and standing up.
He stood in front of Remus's desk for another moment, staring at the still-faintly smoking goblet. Then, he turned on his heel and hurried out of the office.
This was not at all how Remus had imagined the night of the Halloween feast would end.
It was nearly three in the morning, and he had just spent the last five hours scouring the first and second floors of the castle—tearing apart broom cupboards, nosing behind tapestries, and interrogating ghosts and portraits. But Sirius Black, Remus was certain, was nowhere near Hogwarts by this point.
At the moment, Remus was in the Great Hall, checking in on the students and waiting for Dumbledore to relieve him. Most of the hall was asleep—or at the very least, pretending. On his way down from the first floor, Remus had procured a bottle of Calming Draught from the Hospital Wing for some of the younger ones and had entrusted the Head Boy and Girl with disbursing it to the students. He watched as Percy and Penelope bent over a pair of squashy purple sleeping bags near the very back of the hall, whispering gently to the occupants as they poured some of the draught into small vials.
Then, swallowing heavily, Remus turned around and walked slowly between the rows of sleeping bags toward the hall's double doors.
It made no sense. Why had Black chosen to invade the castle on the one night in October when all of the dormitories were sure to be empty? If he had wanted to capture Harry, why—why—had he picked Halloween? Had Black lost track of the days? Or was the choice a carefully meditated one? After all, it was precisely twelve Halloweens ago that Black's traitorous actions had pinnacled in the murders of Remus's two dearest friends and the attempted murder of their one-year-old son…
Remus came to a stop a few feet away from the double doors, closing his eyes against the knot of shame and anger twisting in his chest. He was just as bad as Black, holding onto information that had the potential to solve everything. All he had to do was reveal his suspicions to Dumbledore, that Black was using his powers as an illegal Animagus to traverse the country unnoticed. But Remus couldn't bring himself to say the words, to admit to Dumbledore that he, Remus, was undeserving of his trust—that he was neither as brave nor as honest as his professors and colleagues seemed to believe…
"Remus?"
Remus jumped, looking up. Dumbledore had just sidled into the Great Hall, his expression grave and his eyes tired behind his half-moon spectacles.
"Professor," Remus stepped forward at once. "Is everything all right?"
"The search is nearly at its end," Dumbledore said quietly, surveying the Great Hall over his glasses. "I am awaiting an update from Severus, but at the moment, it would appear that Black has escaped the castle undetected."
Guilt and fear churned through Remus's stomach. He stared down at the stone floor of the Great Hall, pressing his lips together.
"If you would kindly excuse me, Remus, I must go update our Head Boy and Girl," Dumbledore continued. "You are free to return to your quarters, if you feel safe doing so. If not, the Great Hall is open to staff as well tonight."
"I…I think I'll head to my quarters," Remus said hoarsely. "Goodnight, Professor."
"Goodnight," Dumbledore nodded, gently patting Remus's shoulder as he passed. Remus watched him stride toward where Percy was prowling between sleeping bags in the middle of the hall. Then, releasing a slow, heavy breath, Remus turned and slipped out of the Great Hall.
He stood alone in the Entrance Hall for several minutes, his mind sagging under the weight of everything he was feeling. He had no desire to return to his quarters and lie awake until the morning, but the idea of spending the night in the Great Hall with the hushed whispers of students swirling around him made him feel nauseous—
"You."
Remus whirled around, his heart stuttering. Snape was billowing down the Grand Staircase toward him, a poisonous expression on his face.
"Oh—hello, Severus—"
"Save your breath," Snape snarled, advancing across the Entrance Hall toward Remus; Remus stiffened. "You may have the others fooled, but I spent seven years watching you turn a blind eye to Potter and Black's misdeeds. I know you can't be trusted."
Remus's breath caught—but he carefully maintained a straight face, raising his eyebrows at Severus. "Excuse me?"
"Don't you think it's odd that Black invaded the castle on the very same evening that you invited Potter to your office, supposedly to giggle about grindylows?" Snape hissed, lip curling.
Remus narrowed his eyes at Snape, taking a step toward him. "What exactly are you insinuating?" he asked in a low voice.
"Why don't you tell me?" Snape said coldly, black eyes piercing. "I just think it seems inconceivable that Black could have managed to step foot inside this castle without any…help." They were barely a foot apart now; Remus's hand almost twitched toward his wand.
"Severus, if you have something you'd like to say to me—"
"Is everything all right up here?"
Remus jerked backwards, and he and Snape swiveled around in unison to see Aurora Sinistra and Septima Vector standing at the top of the basement staircase from the kitchens. Both were looking at Remus and Snape in alarm.
Snape's sallow cheeks flushed as he took a step away from Remus.
"I need to speak with the headmaster," he said abruptly. And without even a half-glance at any of the others, he stalked around Remus toward the double doors to the Great Hall. There was a low creak, followed by a sharp click, as the doors opened and closed behind him.
Remus swallowed, looking at Aurora and Septima. They stared back at him, wide-eyed.
"Er—goodnight," Remus told them feebly. Then, stomach turning, he quickly crossed the Entrance Hall and hurried up the Grand Staircase to his quarters on the second floor.
Merlin, he hated Halloween.
