Remus couldn't help but think of Clementine.

Well, Professor Questus, really: specifically what he'd said about life after Clementine. Remus figured he might as well make the most of whatever wisdom Questus had imparted upon him before dying, even though some of it was a lot less like wisdom and a lot more like the complaints of a grouchy old man.

"It was teary," he'd said all those weeks ago, eating supper by candlelight while the threat of Greyback loomed large and terrifying just a few miles away. "Didn't seem that life would ever go on. Home felt different without her—you have to understand that we had been absolutely inseparable, the two of us—and there were nights that I didn't sleep at all. I thought for sure that some sort of meteor would arrive and knock Earth itself off its trajectory, because I didn't understand how the world could keep turning without Clementine."

Yes, he'd said all that, and Remus hadn't really thought it applied to himself. And it hadn't, back then—but it did now, because Remus had just lost someone. Even though he and Questus hadn't been nearly as close as Questus had been with his sister, it really did feel horrible. Strange. Impossible. Remus had lost someone, and he'd never thought that would happen.

Lost. It was a funny word, almost as if Remus had simply misplaced Questus somewhere—set him down for an instant—and then forgotten where he'd put him. And it felt that way, too—like it was Remus' fault, somehow, even though Remus was perfectly aware that it wasn't.

What was it that Questus had said next?

Oh, right. "You're lucky that you have a shorter lifespan than most and probably won't have to go through it," he'd said.

Remus almost laughed out loud. "Turns out I do have to go through it, and it's your fault," he mumbled under his breath. His parents didn't hear him say it... but neither did Professor Questus.

Remus tilted his head towards his mother, who had been hugging him on the couch now for almost an hour. Remus' father was on the armchair (not the armchair that Professor Questus typically occupied; that one was empty). "What happened?" he asked. "I mean, exactly. What did you see?"

"We didn't notice a thing until it was over, Remus," said Remus' father. "We slept in that day, and when we woke up, we went downstairs for breakfast, opened the blinds, and saw smoke. It wasn't long before an Auror knocked on our door to see if we were okay."

"How did you find out about Professor Questus?" asked Remus quietly.

"We went over to his house and he wasn't there... and, well, it was Sunday morning... so we suspected that he was at the chapel in the town. The Auror eventually confirmed that he wasn't among the survivors."

"But... they didn't actually find him? So he could still be alive! He might have Apparated away!"

"He doesn't use magic, remember?"

"But... if it would save his life, then wouldn't he? Just this once?"

"He wouldn't."

"But he said that he would use magic to save others. He told me that. He could have Apparated away with someone else."

"You think he would have left everyone else to die? You think he would have stayed away for days, even though he knew full well we probably thought him to be dead? You don't think he even would have sent you a letter? You don't think he would have alerted the authorities promptly?"

"It's Professor Questus. Half of what he does doesn't make sense. He does things just because he wants to see what will happen."

"Oh, I know that," said Remus' father, and a look was crossing his face that was part sour, part sad, and part regretful. "But he didn't Apparate away."

"How do you know?"

"He probably didn't have time. Fiendfyre's quick. It's often upon a person before they can even register it."

"But he might not have been at the town... he might have been somewhere else! You don't know he was there?"

"Remus, he has a bad leg and he can't drive. Where else would he go?"

"But they didn't find him!"

"They didn't find anybody! It was Fiendfyre! It destroyed everything!" Remus' father sat back, took his spectacles off, and rubbed at his eyes. "I understand denial, son. I do. But he is definitely dead. The priest at the church was one of the survivors, and he confirmed that Questus had attended. The church was burned to the ground. The only reason the pastor survived was that he had left the service early due to a head cold. Putting the pieces together is... easy. I'm sorry."

Remus nodded vaguely and stared at a wall.

His mother was still silently crying.

"I'm going to bed," mumbled Remus.

"It's only five. We haven't even had supper yet..."

"I'm going to bed, Dad," he repeated, and his father did not protest when he climbed the stairs to lie down.

Remus idly flipped open the notebook, where his friends had left well wishes and silly drawings. Then he put it back down. He didn't have the energy to talk to them right now, as much as he wanted to.

That night, Remus almost wished for the distraction of a nightmare, but there were none.

Breakfast was quiet and somber the next morning. When it was over, Remus' mum cleared her throat importantly. "I'm going to my parents'," she said.

"Right now?" asked Remus' father, scooping some more scrambled eggs onto Remus' plate (Remus hadn't eaten much, and he could tell that his parents were getting worried. But it was nothing, really—he simply wasn't hungry. He was filled with so much confusion that there wasn't much room left over for food).

"This evening," replied Remus' mother. "I... I mean, I... I'll stay if Remus needs me."

Remus sighed. "It's all right, Mum. Go see your parents."

She kissed his forehead. "This is hard," she said. "I just need some time away, okay?"

"I understand," said Remus, and he certainly did.

The day passed lazily. Remus went to bed that night feeling very strange and floaty.

Two hours minutes went by. Remus was still awake.

He stood up and crept to his father's room in his sock feet, stopping only when he reached the closed door. He listened. His father was in there—and judging by his breathing, he wasn't asleep. Remus took a deep breath and then turned the doorknob.

His father was sitting on the side of the bed with his head in his hands. He hadn't heard Remus come in. Remus wondered for a split second if his father was crying—but no, his breathing wouldn't be that even and calm if he was. "Dad?" peeped Remus.

Remus' father looked up at Remus and smiled. "Remus," he said.

There was an awkward moment. Remus was certain that his father was going to ask him what he wanted, but Remus wasn't exactly sure what he wanted. He didn't know why he'd come at all. If his father asked him what was wrong, then Remus decided that he'd say something about his room being too hot, perhaps, or maybe something about the soreness of the upcoming full moon making it difficult to sleep.

But no questions came: instead, Remus' father merely smiled ruefully and held his arms out. Seven seconds later, Remus was curled up on the bed beside him, holding on for dear life and trying to figure out what to say.

But there wasn't much to say in the face of something so unspeakable. Suddenly, Remus had a thought, and he didn't even think about the best phrasing before it flew out of his mouth, uninhibited. "You spent more time with Professor Questus than I did," he said.

Remus' father nodded slowly. His heartbeat was unthinkably loud against Remus' ear, but Remus didn't mind. "Maybe, if you count the nights he slept here," he said thoughtfully. "Your mother even more so than me, since I had to work all day. But he liked you much better than he liked us."

"No, he didn't," said Remus. "He thought I was annoying."

"He thought everyone was annoying, Remus. He found himself annoying at times."

"I know." Remus shifted positions so that his voice was a bit less muffled. "I can't make myself feel sad," he said. "I mean, I should feel sad, because loads of people died. But I don't. I guess I feel sad? But it's more..."

"Empty," said his father. "I'm afraid you've inherited that from me. Your mother is the one who cries like a leaky faucet. I just wander around the house like some sort of bothersome ghost."

"Yes, I think I should like to do that as well."

"Good thing your mother is gone, then. I don't think that she would stand for two bothersome ghosts."

Remus smiled, but it was largely fake. "Maybe not," he said. "You know, I guess I feel a little sad, even though it's not nearly as much as I think I should be feeling. But really, I don't feel sad about him... I just feel sad about me, because now I have no one to talk to. I feel very selfish."

"Grief is always selfish. That's the point."

"I guess that's one way of looking at it," said Remus. "I just... I miss him. Lots of people tell me what they think I want to hear, but I only ever want the truth. I liked not having to guess what he was thinking. I liked talking about things that weren't exactly socially acceptable. It was simple in all the right places, and it was also complicated in all the right places. It was nice."

"You know, you can always talk to me. I'll tell you the truth if you want."

Remus didn't believe that. "You can't do it."

"I'll thank you not to make assumptions, Lupin," said Remus' father in a very passable imitation of Questus. Remus started giggling, for real this time.

"Wow, thanks, Professor."

"Call me that one more time and I'll feed you to Nolan the Grindylow."

"Okay, okay, stop!" said Remus, clutching his stomach. He figured that he should probably stop laughing before he became hysterical, though it did feel nice to laugh again.

Remus' father smiled. "You know, I tried to do that to your mother the other day."

"Yeah? How did that go over?"

"She looked at me, frowned, and said, 'Too soon, Lyall. Far too soon.'"

"It is too soon. That's what makes it funny."

"That's a Questus phrase if I've ever heard one."

Remus laughed again and clung more tightly to his father. "Thanks; I feel a bit less weird now."

There was a bit of silence, and soon Remus stopped hugging his father and sat up on his own. It had been nice, but it was beginning to get a little sweaty. "You really don't mind me talking about anything?" said Remus' father suddenly. "Anything at all?"

"Er, no. Go ahead."

Remus father sighed and ran his hand through his hair in a manner not unlike James. "I wanted to talk a bit about the night you were bitten, but I know that we've very carefully avoided that subject for years..."

"I talked about it with Professor Questus."

"You... you did?" Remus' father froze. "The whole thing?"

"Yes, but he didn't mind. No one blames you, Dad. It wasn't your fault."

He nodded slowly. "It's your story to tell," he said, and then heaved yet another sigh. "Well, what happened then... felt a lot like this."

"But... it's not the same at all. Fifty-eight people died !"

"You're right, it wasn't the same," said Remus' father. "It was much worse. Remus, I know for a fact that we're going to survive this. We barely knew the people in the town, and life without John Questus is still... life. A life that's far less interesting, yes, but it's still life. But... well, you're our only child, and losing one's child really is... worse than losing a whole village. It was miserable. Horrific. Far worse."

"But I wasn't dead!"

"We thought you were going to die." He smiled sadly. "Well, I did, at least. Your mother was much more optimistic about the whole thing. But I thought... I looked at you, and you were so small, and your life was going to be hard. Even after you survived the first full moons... we knew then that you were going to survive physically, but... one traumatic event is one thing, but for it to happen over and over and over again, once a month..."

"Except worse," muttered Remus, and his father looked at him. "Full moons are worse than being bitten," he clarified.

"Right... worse. You're right." Remus' father looked extremely disturbed, but he still tried to smile and ruffle Remus' hair. "You are getting bolder. Anyway, those first couple of months are why all this feels so familiar to me. Your mother was teary and emotional and angry at the world, and I... was like this."

"You were fine?"

"No, not fine. Not fine at all. I was hollow and distant. But I didn't cry until your first full moon, I remember—a full month later."

"When?" asked Remus. "I don't remember you crying afterwards."

"I did cry afterwards, but only a little. I cried more just before. Your mother was reciting "The Walrus and the Carpenter" to you—again!—and I went into the sitting room to see how you were doing. You sat up and grabbed my shirt, like this..." Remus' father took Remus' shirt in his fists, just near the collar. Remus giggled. "And then you told me to make it stop. And I couldn't." He let go of Remus' shirt, a faraway look in his eyes. "I had been promising your mother that I would cure it before the first full moon for weeks. And here we were, on the night of your first full moon, and I'd failed you. Twice! You were suffering, and I felt absolutely helpless. I hadn't been able to take it in until I saw you there, and then it all came flooding in at once."

"Sorry."

"You've nothing to be sorry over. You and I, Remus: we're slow. We take our time. We're slow to speak, slow to act, slow to get used to new things..."

"Professor Questus always told me that my reflexes were slow, too..."

"...and slow to process big events. You know that it happened. You understand it perfectly. It just won't... hit you. Not for a while, I don't think. And then it all comes at once and you can't stop thinking about it. Or, at least that's what happened to me. I suppose you'll go through that, too."

"I don't want to," said Remus. "I'll just stay like this forever, thanks."

"Oh, Remus... I wish that were an option." Remus' father smiled and gripped Remus' right shoulder. "But you'll feel better eventually, I promise."

"Waiting for it all to hit me feels kind of like I have to sneeze," said Remus.

Remus' father laughed at that. "It really does," he said, and then they lapsed into a comfortable silence.

Finally, Remus broke it. "At least Professor Questus' curse didn't get worse," he said. "Whatever it was. At least he doesn't have to live with that anymore."

It was a long time before Remus' father answered.

"Mm-hm," he finally said.

Breakfast was quiet again.

"Why did Mum leave?" asked Remus.

"I think she wants someone new to talk to. Talking helps her."

"Talking helps me, too."

"You know that you can talk to me, yes? Whenever you want."

Remus smiled. "Yes, I know. And my friends. And my teachers. I have a lot of people to talk to... it just won't be the same as Professor Questus. But I am glad that he waited to die until after my friends found out. And after we cleared up the misunderstanding at Christmas..."

"The one in which we thought that you didn't like to talk about werewolves, and you thought that we didn't like to talk about werewolves, so none of us talked about werewolves, even though all three of us were fine with it?"

"Yeah, that one. Things are better now, aren't they?"

"Indubitably."

"Professor Questus used to say that word every once in a while."

"So he did."

"What's happening to Voldemort?"

"Er... I suppose he's gaining more followers... trying to take over the..."

"No, the cat."

"Oh. Your mother thinks that Dumbledore's taking the cat to one of Questus' friends..."

"Questus didn't have friends."

"That's what I said!"

They munched in silence for a bit.

"It still doesn't feel real," mumbled Remus.

"I know."

"I can't imagine fifty-eight people dead."

"Nor can I."

"Would they even fit in a single cemetery?"

"Depends on the cemetery."

"I can't stop thinking about it, but at the same time I can't think about it... does that make sense?"

"Nothing makes sense."

Remus absentmindedly tapped his spoon against the side of his bowl of cornflakes. "I want to go see the town," he blurted before even thinking about it. He glanced at his father, who looked thoroughly confused. Remus hadn't meant to say it aloud, but there was no going back now. "The town. The one that was destroyed. I want to see it."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"No, it is! I need to see it. Maybe then it'll feel real."

"Remus, there's hardly anything left. And the efforts to clean up after the fire are still ongoing..."

"I want to see, though..."

"I am not taking my thirteen-year-old son to a place where there are likely to be dead bodies!"

Remus stilled. He hadn't thought of that... but still, he doubted that there would be bodies if the fire had really destroyed everything. "I'm a Dark creature. I can handle a dead body," he mumbled. His father didn't seem to have heard him, which was probably a good thing. "May I see from afar, then?" he asked, speaking a little more loudly. "The edge of the hill? We could move the bookcase aside in my room so that I can see out the window. I just want to see it. I need to, Dad."

Remus' father sighed and then slowly nodded. "If you think you can handle it."

"I can handle it," Remus insisted.

"Very well, then—after you've finished your breakfast and gotten dressed, I'll take you outdoors. Just barely outdoors, so that you can see it from a distance. No further."

While Remus finished eating breakfast, he wondered why he had to get dressed—after all, no one was around to see him in his pajamas. He suddenly realized that he and his father were the only ones around for miles, now that there was no town down the hill. Remus could go outdoors completely starkers, and not a single soul would know.

Even though Remus had far more friends than he'd had before Hogwarts, he'd never felt more alone.

Remus' father insisted on holding Remus' hand, which Remus found to be ridiculous. "I'm thirteen," he emphasized, "and besides, I'm not going to run away or anything..."

But Remus' father simply shushed him and walked with him out the back door, to the other side of the house, and then stopped a few feet away from where the path down the hill began.

From the top of the hill, Remus could just barely see the charred outline of where the town had once been. He stared. There were no shops... no houses... no Christmas lights... no people...

"Wow," he breathed. "What... what did Dumbledore say it was? The thing that burned the town down."

"Fiendfyre."

"What's that? I've read about it, but I want to hear it again."

"It's... cursed fire. It can only be put out by the counterspell, so water is useless. A Ministry official saw smoke while on holiday nearby and managed to put it out, but not before..."

"Fifty-eight people died," said Remus quietly. "And Professor Questus..."

"It would have been instantaneous, if that makes you feel better. Fiendfyre can devour a building in seconds."

Typically, the phrase 'Fiendfyre can devour a building in seconds' was not comforting in the slightest, but it was in this case. Remus stared for a couple more seconds before his father gently pulled him back into the house. "Did it help?" he asked quietly.

Remus shook his head.

It hadn't.

The next morning, an owl arrived, carrying a rolled up sheet of parchment. "It's for you," said Remus' father.

Remus, who somehow hadn't expected to get anymore letters after the death of his most frequent correspondent, eyed the owl suspiciously. "Really?"

"Yes. Go on. Open it."

Remus hesitantly untied the string around the parchment and unrolled it. He flipped it over. "It smells like my friends," he said, "but there's nothing on it. Not even a hex, I don't think..."

"Why would your friends hex you?" asked Remus' father. "That's terrible."

Remus thought of all the times that he'd hexed his friends. "Er, yeah," he said. "Terrible." He examined the parchment a bit more closely. "There's nothing here."

Remus' father tapped the parchment with his wand. "Revelio."

Nothing happened.

"Well, I suppose I'll just have to ask them about it next time I see them," said Remus.

Suddenly, another owl flew through the window. "It's James!" said Remus.

"The letters?"

"No, the owl. That's Sirius' owl. His name is James."

Remus stroked James' feathers, and James hooted softly. "Thanks, James," said Remus, taking the parchment from James' talons. James was carrying not one, but two pieces of parchment... and both of them were blank.

"I'm confused," said Remus' father.

"So am I."

There was a small thump from the sitting room, and Remus and his father slowly turned towards it. "Is someone there?" asked Remus' father.

"Nope."

"Then...?"

Remus crept into the sitting room, wand outstretched... and promptly dropped it. "My goodness," he said.

The sitting room was positively carpeted with a torrent of parchment that had fallen through the chimney. Remus' father's mouth was hanging open in awe. "All from your friends?" he asked.

Remus picked up a piece of parchment and held it to his face. "Yes," he said after a while. "Yeah, that's definitely my friends. There must be about a hundred here." He stooped to the floor and picked up his wand. "You know, Professor Questus would be furious with me for dropping my wand. He would tell me that a moment of shock should mean that I hold my wand more tightly... not let go of it."

Remus' father didn't seem to be listening. "What are we going to do with all this parchment?" he wondered aloud, evidently mystified.

"I don't know! I... oh, I'll ask them in the notebook!"

"The enchanted one from James? Yes, please do." Remus' father blinked rapidly in confusion. "My friends never did this to me back in my day. We mostly just sent one sheet of parchment at a time with actual words written on it."

Remus laughed. "It's not a generational thing, trust me... it's a James-Peter-Sirius thing. They're idiots, the lot of them."

Sheep: I hereby politely demand an explanation.
Goldfish: THERE you are!
Nimbus: We've been waiting for you to look in the notebook.
Sheep: Well, here I am. Now tell me: What was the parchment for?!
Nimbus: To get you to look in the notebook, of course.
Red: Yeah. We were writing things, but you weren't looking.
Sheep: ...You mean to tell me that you wanted me to look in the notebook, so you flooded my house with empty letters in the hopes that I would maybe check here to see what it was all about?
Goldfish: Yes.
Nimbus: Absolutely.
Red: Yep.
Sheep: You could have just... sent me a letter that said, "Check the notebook, Remus!"
Red: Where's the fun in that?
Sheep: What am I supposed to do with all this parchment?
Goldfish: Not sure.
Red: Don't care.
Nimbus: I have an idea! Go get a sheet of parchment right now.
Sheep: No.
Nimbus: I'll wait.
Sheep: ...Fine. I have it.
Nimbus: Now make a school supply list for next year. Then cross "parchment" off the list.
Sheep: I hate you.
Nimbus: I know. Anyway! Back to the original reason we wanted you to write to us...
Sheep: Yes, what IS the reason?
Nimbus: We just wanted to check on you. You sound fine, but you never know. We've been a bit quiet and subdued, ourselves.
Sheep: You three? Quiet? Subdued?
Red: Yeah. It's unthinkable, really.
Nimbus: So how are you?
Sheep: I haven't really processed it yet. Dad and I are aimlessly wandering around the house like confused ghosts. He took me to see the town a couple hours ago—there's nothing left, really. I thought that everything would sink in upon actually seeing it, but... it still hasn't.
Nimbus: Sorry, mate.
Sheep: I'll be all right, I think. Are you sure that the three of you are okay?
Red: Yes, we're fine. I mean, we haven't been casting any Patronuses lately, but we'll be okay, too. I'm going to James' for the summer!
Sheep: That's great!

Remus continued to write back and forth with his friends for a full two hours, and then he fell asleep on top of the notebook and awoke to James' panicked handwriting telling him that Gryffindor's shiny new Quidditch Cup had a scuff mark already.

Remus was going to be okay.