Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Nope, not me.

A/N: This chapter is full of angst. There is so much angst you won't know what to do with it. This chapter is, pretty much, the emotional spring-cleaning of Remus Lupin. Hence the angst. However, I very much doubt later chapters will hold anywhere this amount of angst. And now I have said the word 'angst' so many times that I'm getting angsty.

Also, this chapter has a lot of metaphors and mythological references. If you don't get them, let me know.

And if things don't seem to be making too much sense - do not fear! It isn't supposed to be making too much sense - yet. It will all come together in the end, do not fear!

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He did not know where he was going till he got there.

Blood was pouring from his hands. Christ, post-crucifixion, he thought, and wiped them down his robes. More stains, more soiling then, for shabby Remus Lupin.

The Room of Requirement opened its door to him and he sank down in an armchair, face buried in his bleeding hands.

Why in Merlin's name did Shacklebolt have to bring up the Arachniae?! he mentally screamed. Why now, why today, after seeing her?

The voice of his mother rose like a spectre in his mind. She was bad, Arethusa Lupin whispered, and so I took her.

"No," Remus whimpered.

The veil, whispering with Arethusa's voice, terrifying as the full moon at Easter, Sirius, falling, falling, falling.

Life. Death. Pain and torture. Loss and agony.

What was there to live for?

Bleeding hands. Crucified, dying for the sins of others, of his mother, of the wolf that bit him, of himself.

Why was there life, if it was only to end?

Why was there only one beginning, and so many endings?

Why was the thread of his life woven about with threads of death?

You hold my thread in your hand, Arachne, but you cut them short.

The Moerae. One to spin, one to weave, one to cut. The sisters of Fate, who create the individual destiny of us all.

And then, looming high above, Arachne wove her web.

And he died. And she died.

While Remus died inside.

*

"Remus."

Curled around his pain, Remus barely heard the voice. But yet it came again, insistent as the full moon.

"Remus."

She was sitting in front of him, stroking his hair away from his sweat-soaked brow. "I'm here, Remus."

He drew a great, shuddering breath, and another, and another. "I'm sorry."

She laughed gently. I do not deserve this, he thought. "Remus, it's not your fault."

He looked at her sharply. "You know? About - what happened, sixteen years ago?"

She nodded. "Yes. I know."

"Dumbledore?"

Wordlessly, she nodded. She shifted her body, so that Remus's head was practically in her lap.

Remus, my boy, it's a bad thing that's happened to you, but you're strong. His father, this time, with young Remus's head in his lap. There's plenty of strong men who've been bit just like you, and are none the worse for it, really. You'll learn to live with it.

Except I never did learn to live, Father, he thought, when they died.

"Your hands are bleeding," she told him matter-of-factly. Gently, she took his right hand in both of hers.

Too pure for me, he thought. Always too pure.

Gently, she stroked his wrist, coaxing his fist to unclench. "Sweet Merlin, Remus, you're a self mutilator," she muttered under her breath, picking slivers of fingernail out of the open wound.

That encouraged visions of the wolf in his mind, always waiting, hiding inside his skin, to come out at the full moon. The moon shows me for what I am. A monster. A demon. A creature of the dark.

"Accio banner," she called, and one of Harry's old red and gold banners from the DA came flying off the wall. He thought he recognised the handiwork of Ginny Weasley there. Matter-of-factly, she reduced the banner into scraps, binding one tightly around Remus's hand.

One to spin, one to weave, one to cut.

And Arachne weaving her web.

"Give me your other hand, Remus," she told him gently, and wordlessly, he obeyed.

Gold and scarlet bandages. A weakling wrapped in gold and scarlet, Gryffindor colours hiding the monster and the coward inside.

"Do you -" she paused, perhaps realising the inadequacy of her words, "- want to talk about it?"

James and Sirius, second year. Remus, curled into a foetal ball in his bed. "Remus," Sirius had asked carefully, "do you want to talk about it?"

"You don't know what it's like," he breathed, mirroring his words to Sirius all those years ago.

Of course we don't know what it's like, James had said. But all that matters, Remus, is who you are. We don't care that you're a werewolf.

They hadn't cared, but she had.

"You cannot keep secrets from me, Remus!" she had shrieked.

"I - I didn't want to hurt you!" he had answered defensively. Merlin only knew how much he loved her, how much he could not stand to lose her.

"Well, it looks like you failed then," she shot back, and he knew then, even before she said it. "It's over, Remus."

"No, I don't know what's it's like," Aemilia Fudge said, stroking his hair, "but I can be here for you, Remus. The least I can offer you is that."

"Ae - Aemilia," he whispered.

"I'm here, Remus."

It's over, Remus.

"I'll always be here when you need me."

I never want to see you again.

"Aemilia…"

"Shhh, Remus," she said soothingly. "You don't have to say anything."

"I - I'll only hurt you, Aemilia," he whispered.

I didn't want to hurt you!

Well, it looks like you failed then!

"I'm a big girl, Remus," she told him. "I'll make my own decisions,"

"Aemilia…"

Three times is magic.

One to spin, one to weave, one to cut.

"You poor man," she murmured. "You have been through so much."

Sirius, falling, falling, falling…

It's over, Remus.

She was bad, and so I took her.

"People only get hurt when they know me," he breathed.

"But you have been hurt so much worse in return," she said, "and I have not helped you, my poor Remus."

Well, it looks like you failed then!

"I hurt you, Aemilia."

"But I hurt you so much worse, Remus," she whispered.

It's over, Remus.

"I should have told you."

"No," she said gently, "I should have understood."

You cannot keep secrets from me, Remus!

We don't care that you're a werewolf.

And, for the first time in his life, Remus Lupin let someone else shoulder his burden.

And then, absolved, he slept.

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