Author's Note: I decided to offer this little sequel from Remus' point of view, with mostly angst and just a touch of fluff that leads to more angst. Angsty goodness. Thanks to all my reviewers, even if they didn't like Oh well, I love them anyway. And I could love YOU too, if you review.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. It's sad, but true. The exchange-value of this commodity is zero, according to the Marxists.


Lie To Me: Selfish Games

By Meggory


Time, while seemingly creeping by, was approaching far too quickly. According to the clock on the wall, Remus had only half an hour to dress and make himself presentable before Apparating to the wake. As he sat on the cold floor in front of the broken mirror, he gave a halfhearted sardonic laugh. Somehow he doubted anyone would be expecting him to appear decently dressed and wearing a stiff upper lip, given the circumstances.

Suddenly the remaining shards of the mirror chimed, D...be late, but Remus wasn't listening. Slowly he rose and approached the closet, taking a deep breath as he pushed it open. He began to rifle through the shabby, disorganized robes in search of his black dress robes. Maybe they were at the back.... He pulled a hanger off the bar and wrestled the clothing out of the cramped space, only to realize the robes he held were meant for a taller man.

They belonged to Sirius.

It wasn't just the length or cut. His werewolf nose could smell Sirius on the fabric like an indelible mark--warm and spicy, like sandalwood, and something distinctly Sirius, unlike anything else in the world. The last time he had worn this garment was as the best man at James' wedding. In fact, there was a tiny smudge of cake rubbed in at the collar, for which Remus knew he was directly responsible.

Wait. Hadn't Sirius said something about his robes? On the inside, Remus found a small pocket and stuck his hand into it. Withdrawing a piece of expensive parchment, he lay the clothing gently aside on the bed and unfolded his discovery.

It was an invitation to James' and Lily's wedding. The elegant silver ink stared up at him for a few moments before it shifted, like graceful ribbons, into new words:

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin
would like to present themselves
in the bonds of marriage
to be held on the first day after the defeat of Voldemort
in the Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade
at one o'clock
Reception to follow at the Potters' residence, five o'clock

Oh, Gods, Sirius. And yet, the first thing that came to Remus' dry lips was, The Three Broomsticks? How classy.

And then it hit him, like an impossible and indestructible weight upon his chest. Had everything--anything--gone the way they had wished, today would be the day written on Sirius' invitation. Instead of going to his best friend's funeral while his lover was shipped to Azkaban, Remus Lupin would be facing the happiest day of his long and miserable life.

Goddamnit, Sirius, why are you doing this to me? Don't you think I'm having enough trouble with this whole fucking mess? You know what this is? It's one of your selfish games. You can't possibly live with the idea of me not loving you, so you make it impossible for me to hate you with a stupid stunt like this-- he realized he was screaming at the limp dress robes, hands poised to rip the enchanted parchment in half, likening to his heart as it cleft in two.

You really did lie to me, didn't you? You thought this would prove to me that you were being honest, that this would tell me how you could never lie to me! I know better now. He stood for a moment in shock before his knees gave out on him. He fell heavily to the rough carpet and buried his face in his hands. Sirius' invitation fluttered to the floor as he sobbed with so much force it hurt his ribs.

From the fireplace, a chime interrupted him. Wiping his eyes on his sleeves, he called thickly,

Dumbledore's grave visage appeared in the flames. Coming, Remus?

Yes, Albus. I will Apparate shortly.

Very well. Dumbledore disappeared, and Remus slowly pushed himself up. Taking out his wand, he pointed it at the closet and murmured, Accio dress robes.

He dressed mechanically and glanced into the mirror shards before he prepared to leave. His red-rimmed eyes fell upon the invitation once again. With unfathomable rage and despair, he picked it up and flung it into the fire. His face ashen and far too old, he Disapparated with a pop.' He doubted he would ever be happy again.

The invitation charred slowly at the edges, blackening until it was a tiny, indistinguishable pile of ashes.

Fin