(Note from the author: These are not my characters, my world, or my
situations. They all belong to J. K. Rowling, and are protected by
copyrights.)
October 30th, 1981.
A week had passed. A week of seclusion, of Muggles, and of hope for the Order. The small house in which Peter Pettigrew was residing wasn't much to look at. It somewhat resembled Remus's home, with two rooms: the kitchen, and the living room/bedroom. The furniture was used, and still it was new. Yet the couch didn't match the chair, and the chair didn't match the wallpaper. It was a topsy turvy design that covered the cushions, and Peter hated the lines and dots. They looked like so many different things.
It gave him a headache.
He was tired. He had been out all night, visiting the Potters at their abode. He wore long sleeves today because the green paint still wouldn't come off.
He hadn't been able to leave his home for long periods of time, and he hadn't been to an Order meeting in what seemed like forever. But Sirius was due in for a visit this day, and right as he woke on this fall morning, he could hear someone making their way up the walk and to his front door.
"Wormtail! I'm here!" Sirius said, kicking it open and walking into the living room. Peter jumped as he saw that Sirius had bags of groceries in his hands.
"Thank you, Sirius," he said, and Sirius nodded, continuing into the kitchen.
Sirius didn't speak very much these days. That glint in his eye had been replaced by another sort of look. A look of anxiety.
"What are these?" Sirius said, jumping out of the kitchen and holding up a ticket.
"Tickets for King's Cross," Peter said, "Going to the country. Always wanted to go to the country."
"They're for the morning of November 1st," Sirius said, looking at the date, "Doesn't look like you'll be making it."
"No," Peter said, "I was planning a trip, but . . . I don't think . . ."
"Heard anything from James?" Sirius interrupted, ducking back into the kitchen.
"Yes," Peter said, a little quieter. If only they would listen to him for once in their stupid lives. Both of them were so arrogant . . . so . . .
"Are you holding up?" Peter asked, yawning and putting one foot out of his bed.
"Yeah," Sirius's voice came from the other room, "As well as I can."
Peter trudged across the room and into the kitchen. He rumpled his hair, and tried to smile. It was important to look normal. To look positive.
For Sirius, being positive was something that got him through his week. They were fine. Wherever they were, they were fine.
He thought he had heard them last night, before he had drifted off to sleep. James running in the door, laughing, saying that the war was over.
It had just been a group of young boys down the corridor, making their way to their apartment.
Sirius set the bags down on the counter, and stuffed his hands into his pocket. He took out the parchment, and checked it again.
edPamoesotetlrandriGHritfraoHrurPeaJ'bcindlLsolywePovatrteraoetntm
Still the jumbled letters. He still couldn't read it.
Good.
Everything was okay.
"You sure you're all right?" Peter said as Sirius stuffed the parchment into his pocket.
"Yes," he said, "I'm fine."
Peter nodded, and went to unpacking the groceries. Sirius looked to Peter, and smiled. Peter had calmed down a good amount since the night of the charm, and even if he had had his fits in which he swore to Sirius that he wouldn't make it out of this alive, that James was a goner, that he couldn't keep the secret, that there's no possible way that everything could turn out all right, that he was a coward . . . he had grown into a well rounded and encouraging force. Sadly, Sirius couldn't say the same about himself.
"Peter?" he said, and Peter looked to him.
"Yes?"
"I'm their best friend, you know," he said, "And . . . I know that you're the one with the secret, but . . . it isn't like I'll tell anyone. It's just for my knowledge. You think that you could maybe . . . . just tell me . . ."
"I can't," Peter said, his eyes growing wide again, "I can't do that, Sirius. I can't tell anyone."
"I've been living a week not knowing where they are," Sirius argued, "Do you know what that's like? Not knowing how your best friend is doing? I can't send owls to him, I can't visit him . . . hell, I don't even know where to go!"
"That's how it's supposed to be," Peter said, and threw the grocery bags under the counter, "That's how it's supposed to work."
"But I need to know," he said, coming closer, "I need to know they're all right."
"I went to visit them last night," Peter said, and then shrugged, "They were perfectly fine. Harry's happy, and Lily's applying for a Muggle job. James . . ."
"Yeah? What about James?" Sirius pressed him on, "What about him? Tell me!"
"Well," Peter said, "He's . . . happy, too."
Sirius stopped.
"They're thinking of staying there," Peter continued, "Even after the war. They like it there."
"In that Muggle town?" Sirius barked, "Why in God's name would James want to do a thing like that?"
Peter shrugged, "I don't know."
"Did he give you any messages to give to me?" he asked, hurriedly, "Did he tell you anything?"
"Not that I can recall," Peter said, "They seem perfectly fine. Actually, they said nothing about you."
Sirius narrowed his eyes, dangerously. Here he had been worried about them, killing himself over them, trying to figure out how he could bail them out somehow and bring them home . . . and they wanted to stay there? They wanted to live there in that little town, even when it was time to come home?
What, did he not mean anything to them?
"Just tell me where they are," Sirius demanded. Peter shook his head, and then laughed.
"This is a test, isn't it? This is some sort of a test," he said, "You want me to say no, so you'll know that I wouldn't tell anyone!"
"No, Peter," Sirius said, grabbing him by the collar, "I want you to tell me. Now."
"I can't," Peter said, all of a sudden frightened, "Please don't do this."
Sirius looked into that rat's eyes, and then his own widened. He had seen a glimpse of something. A glimpse of something that he had never noticed before.
Sirius set the man down on the floor, and then grabbed his cloak, walked to the door, and walked out.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, and then was gone.
Peter Pettigrew was selfish.
He had seen that in that man's eyes.
The Order had gathered again, this time at Hogwarts itself. They sat in the Great Hall, seated at the Ravenclaw table. Their numbers were dwindling now, and all he could do was listen to Dumbledore's words through the meeting. He couldn't speak, couldn't smile . . . there was nothing to smile about.
Emmeline. Sturgis. Professor McGonagall. Hagrid. Figg. Kingsley. Mad- Eye. And himself. All headed by Dumbledore. This was all that was left.
Caradoc had never been found. Edgar was dead. Dorcas had been killed by Voldemort. Gideon and Fabian had died as heroes. Frank and Alice were back in hiding. James and Lily were in hiding. Sirius was their Secret Keeper, and only Dumbledore knew where he was placed. He didn't know where Peter was.
Only nine were left. Only nine members could sit around this table and speak of matters such as these. The students had all been in class when they had arrived, and Remus hadn't seen any faces that he recognized in the student body, but he had seen a few of his teachers. Professor Hall, his old Potions master, looked quite ill when they exchanged greetings. She had lost weight, and seemed to be pale and very short tempered. All of her Kneazles had died, it sounded like.
He had made his way to the Gryffindor Tower, only to be stopped by the Fat Lady. He had snuck away from the group to see how his old room looked now. Yet he had been forgotten by the old portrait, and he had to return to the crowd of gathering members in the Great Hall.
So now they sat, listening to Dumbledore speak of the war and things, and Remus couldn't concentrate. He kept seeing himself sitting at the Gryffindor table, surrounded by his friends. They were all so young.
His blond hair fell in his small, skinny face as he fumbled with his owl mail. Sirius, taller than the rest of them and filled with arrogance, jumped across the table and grabbed the letter from his hands. Peter squealed, and fell out of his chair as Sirius lunged at him and Remus. And James . . .
James laughed along with them.
"Come on, Remus," James said, as Sirius opened the letter, "Let's see what you've got there."
"It's probably from my mum," Remus said, quietly. Quieter than his tone nowadays. Had he always been that scared?
"Dear Son," Sirius laughed, "Oh, here we go, Potter. They called him 'son.' How touching."
"Geroff," Remus said, reaching for the letter again. But Sirius wouldn't let him have it.
"We're so proud of you. In whatever you do, know that the ones you love will always be with you."
Remus of that past day blushed, and Remus of this day smiled sadly to himself.
Then I'm alone, he thought to himself now, I'm all alone.
"Well, isn't that sweet," Sirius said, giving the letter back to Remus. Remus could tell he was jealous. Sirius always was when it came to family matters. Remus didn't really know the situation with his friend at home, but he had a good idea. James recognized this, too, and patted his friend on the back.
"Going back to my place this summer, right?" he asked, and Sirius nodded.
James always did the right thing. No matter how long it took him, he always did the right thing.
Remus blinked as Emmeline stood from her spot next to him. But he didn't stop looking at that boy that he used to be.
Blond hair. Skinny wrists. Big eyes that looked out to the world, fearing for his life. How long would he live? Would he graduate? If he did, would he get a job? Was there still hope for him?
He remembered being that little boy. How close he was to being killed by the wolf. How the wolf had grown inside of him, began speaking to him, began slowly killing him from the inside out. Sirius and James and Peter hadn't seen that. That entire time that they asked what was wrong, how they could help, how they could stop him from being so down . . . they had had no idea.
The wolf had almost killed him one of those nights that they hadn't come to help him. The wolf had showed him his future, and then had slammed him into a wooden chair, screaming in his ear, "JE NE MOURRAI PAS, REMUS! THAT'S RIGHT, ISN'T IT? JE NE MOURRAI PAS!"
And then the wolf wouldn't stop whispering to him. And then the wolf started coming in the nightmares, trying to take him over while he slept. It was a curse now. A curse that none of them could understand.
So he hadn't told them.
And now they were all in hiding, James mad at him. Sirius . . . Sirius had looked at him with those hollowed eyes the night of the Headquarters attack.
He continued staring at that boy, seated next to Peter, smiling at his friends and tucking the letter in his satchel. That boy was not who he was. He had grown up.
He had gotten wiser.
Friends were nothing. Friends couldn't help you. Even if they started to, even if you thought they would . . . they would always turn their back on you. Those boys were not unlike everyone else he had met. He should have listened to June.
He should have listened to June.
"Remus, may I speak with you in private?"
Remus blinked again, and the four boys vanished. He realized now that the table was empty, except for himself and Dumbledore. Everyone had left.
"Of course," was all he could say, and Dumbledore nodded and took a seat across from him.
"I have received word from Sirius Black," Dumbledore said, "And all is well."
"Did he go into hiding?" Remus asked.
"Yes," Dumbledore said, "Arabella Figg was to be his Secret Keeper, but supposedly, they have decided to use your friend Peter instead. Only he knows where Sirius is now."
"Do you know where Peter is?"
"I do not care to know," Dumbledore said, "Voldemort has been known to go into a person's mind when he can. I do not want to know, for his sake."
"And have you heard from the Potters?" Remus asked.
"No," Dumbledore said, "But you can be rest assured, they are safe. This is the last stretch, Mr. Lupin. Soon, the war will end and all will return from where they are hidden."
Remus nodded, and Dumbledore placed his hand on the young man's.
"I, myself, would have chosen you over Mr. Black," he said, and Remus looked into the eyes of the Headmaster. They were smiling from behind the half moon glasses. Remus smiled himself, and Dumbledore patted his hand.
"I shall see you in a week's time, Mr. Lupin."
And then Dumbledore left, through the great oak doors. Leaving Remus to the ghosts of the past, and the hopes of the future.
The sun was falling on an ordinary street in an ordinary town. Mr. Soaps had pulled into his driveway, and his only son, Jeremy, came to greet him after taking a break from his football game. He had just scored a goal in the net, and now he hugged his father with open arms.
Mrs. Soaps emerged from the front door, a kitchen mitt placed over her right hand. She waved to her husband. Her husband, however, did not look at her. He was somewhat preoccupied with a figure across the street, making her way down the sidewalk and to the house at the end of the long stretch of houses.
She was a red head. Pretty. Young.
And then as fast as he had caught a glimpse of her, he looked back to his son and raised him high in the air. Little did he know that the red head was now looking at him and his family.
Lily Potter had lived on this street for only a week, and she already felt as if she was back at home. Her Muggle ways were returning, and she had gone today to buy normal looking clothes for her husband and son. They were inside, of course, playing some infant game to pass the time.
They had all accepted that this was their life now. Or at least until the war was finished. Yet she could tell that James wanted to get out, and wanted to see his friends again. It had just been yesterday that Peter had knocked on the back door, his wand out, and had visited with them for a while.
James had told him to tell Sirius to keep his chin up and to keep thinking of them, and Peter had agreed to tell Sirius this. The two men had talked about a few things, and had shared a few laughs. It had meant the world for James to see a familiar face.
She knew that the separation from them was killing her husband slowly. It hadn't occurred to him that he wouldn't be able to speak to Sirius for days, maybe even years. But he had been happier. Just last night, she had bought a record player from the store, and had brought it home with a record of an older singer. She had showed him how it worked, and as the first song began to play, he took her in his arms and they danced across the living room.
They were a family again.
Lily now was at her front door, and she walked inside to the laughter of Harry. James was chasing him around the living room. He looked like a Muggle, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Harry was dressed in a cute little outfit she had found at a shop down the road, next to the record store. She had gotten a job as a secretary for a Muggle office, and now they were making an income that would support them until the war was over. James was more at risk at attracting attention. She had grown up with Muggles, she knew how to blend in with them. James knew nothing of these matters, and he really didn't want to know of them.
"Lily! You're home!" James laughed, collapsing on the floor. Harry fell ontop of his father, and James let out a howl, "Oh! You're getting to be a big boy, Harry!"
Lily laughed, and grabbed Harry from him, "Come here. Let's get you in the bath."
"How was work?" James asked, getting up from the carpet. Lily shrugged, and then started up the stairs to the second floor.
"It was what my dad always told me I'd end up doing," she said, "Working."
"But what exactly are you going to do there?" he asked, Lily and Harry entering the bathroom, "Just jot down their notes?"
"Different things," Lily said, "Just don't worry about it. I've got it under control."
"Ma! Ma! Ma!" Harry laughed as Lily lifted his shirt off and set it on the sink. James laughed again, and then waved to Harry.
"Yeah, that's your mum," James said, "Always ambitious."
"So what do you call this thing again?" he asked, taking the black rectangle from Lily's hand. He pressed a button, and the picture on the telly changed.
"It's a remote, James," Lily said, "For the television."
"Sirius had one of these!" James recalled, and pressed another button, "I know how to work this," he said as Lily reached over to retrieve the rectangle, "I'm not a complete dunderhead."
"Give it back, James," Lily said, and James swatted her hand away.
"No," James said, and Lily sighed, "James!"
"No. Look, this is very interesting. It's a bunch of Muggles complaining about life in general. Talking in monotone voices . . ."
"That's the news, James."
"Well, imagine that. The news."
"Give me the remote, James," Lily demanded.
"Look at you," James said, turning his head toward her. Lily sighed.
"What."
"Your left eye," he laughed, "It's twitching again. Just like Sirius said."
Lily lunged at James, and he toppled out of his chair onto the ground. Lily fell ontop of him, and she grabbed for the remote. James laughed, and held it out of her reach. Lily stretched for it, but James took his other hand and started for her underarm.
"James!" she laughed as he tickled her. She collapsed in his arms, and he bent his head to kiss her. She stopped laughing, and returned his kiss. Slowly, he set the remote in her arms, and held her with both hands. But she didn't notice that she had won the fight.
James loved her.
He had stopped now, and she lay on top of him, looking confused.
"James? Are you all right?"
James smiled, and nodded, "Now I am."
"You're acting odd, James," she said, tickling him back, and he gave out a short laugh.
"When didn't I ever?" he asked, and then took her in his arms, standing to his feet.
"Do you remember how we met?" he asked her as he carried her up the stairs and to their room.
"Why," she screamed with excitement, and James shrugged.
"Oh, hello," he mocked her in a little girl's voice, "Can I ride on your boat?"
"James!" she said as James started to rock her back and forth.
"I wonder if there's a giant squid in the lake, James!" his voice went low, like Sirius's, "I don't know, Sirius," in his own voice, "Maybe we should find out!"
And he threw Lily on the bed with a yelp. She bounced, and then laughed out loud. James stood above her, looking down on this perfect person he had chosen to love.
Lily Evans. He was the luckiest man alive.
He just stared at her, and she stopped laughing.
"James?" she asked, unsure of what he was thinking, "Are you sure you're all right?"
She was alive. They were both alive.
He had chosen her over everything else.
"Was I a bad person?"
They lay in their bed. It was dark in the room, and only the window showed the light of the outside streetlamp pouring in through their window. James had been talking all night, and Lily had just listened patiently for him to ask her questions and answer with a "yes" or a "no."
But she hadn't expected this question to come.
"What?" she asked, turning over to face him.
"Was I a bad person," he asked again, his face now grave. All laughter was gone.
Lily stroked his cheek with her soft hand, and smiled, "No one's perfect, James."
"But I keep thinking about what I said to Remus," James said, "And not just the last time, but . . . but ever since we started in the Order. And I can't help but somewhat blame myself for what he did. I mean, if he had known that I was there for him . . . maybe he wouldn't have turned."
"It isn't your fault," Lily assured him, "Remus listens to himself. He had reasons for turning that didn't concern you."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I can't," Lily said truthfully.
James touched Lily's cool face, and then took a stroke of her red hair in his hands. He looked deep into her eyes. Her peaceful, green eyes.
"I love you," he said, the words slipping from his mouth.
Lily smiled, and nodded, "I know."
"I don't deserve you," he admitted, and Lily laughed. Her laugh was so beautiful. So perfect and pure. So innocent.
"James . . ."
"No," he said, running his hand through her hair, "I don't deserve you. I've . . . I have been . . . not very supportive of you. And I'm sorry."
"Is that your apology?" Lily said, mockingly.
James looked deeper into her eyes. Her perfect eyes.
"You're still here," he said quietly, and Lily's face fell. The words were haunting to her. His expression was one of an amazed man, looking upon a miracle greater than himself. It scared her.
"Of course I'm still here," Lily said, stroking his cheek. His eyes were glassy, and he blinked to try to hide his feelings.
"Why did you marry me?" he said, "Why did you say yes to me? I'm not a good man, Lily. You could have found someone better. Someone who wouldn't have taken you for granted."
"You are James Potter," Lily said, taking his hand and squeezing it, "I never loved anyone else. I never could. You are my life, James. You gave me Harry. You gave me something to fight for."
James buried his face in Lily's hair, and Lily embraced him.
"I will never leave you, James," she whispered, "I promise. I will never leave you."
"How can you be so sure?" he said.
"Don't you believe in fate?"
"What?"
"Fate," Lily said, almost silent, "Like . . . our lives are already planned out before they begin. That you will die a certain time, at a certain place. That you're destined to meet a certain person. And fall in love with them."
James never answered. If fate had brought them together, then so be it. Fate existed.
And so they lay there, in the silence of the small Muggle street, in their new beds and new sheets, speaking no more of destiny and futures. And the last dwindling light of their last day fell, into the last night and the last moon. And they dreamed their last dreams, grateful to the very thing that would kill them.
Fate.
October 30th, 1981.
A week had passed. A week of seclusion, of Muggles, and of hope for the Order. The small house in which Peter Pettigrew was residing wasn't much to look at. It somewhat resembled Remus's home, with two rooms: the kitchen, and the living room/bedroom. The furniture was used, and still it was new. Yet the couch didn't match the chair, and the chair didn't match the wallpaper. It was a topsy turvy design that covered the cushions, and Peter hated the lines and dots. They looked like so many different things.
It gave him a headache.
He was tired. He had been out all night, visiting the Potters at their abode. He wore long sleeves today because the green paint still wouldn't come off.
He hadn't been able to leave his home for long periods of time, and he hadn't been to an Order meeting in what seemed like forever. But Sirius was due in for a visit this day, and right as he woke on this fall morning, he could hear someone making their way up the walk and to his front door.
"Wormtail! I'm here!" Sirius said, kicking it open and walking into the living room. Peter jumped as he saw that Sirius had bags of groceries in his hands.
"Thank you, Sirius," he said, and Sirius nodded, continuing into the kitchen.
Sirius didn't speak very much these days. That glint in his eye had been replaced by another sort of look. A look of anxiety.
"What are these?" Sirius said, jumping out of the kitchen and holding up a ticket.
"Tickets for King's Cross," Peter said, "Going to the country. Always wanted to go to the country."
"They're for the morning of November 1st," Sirius said, looking at the date, "Doesn't look like you'll be making it."
"No," Peter said, "I was planning a trip, but . . . I don't think . . ."
"Heard anything from James?" Sirius interrupted, ducking back into the kitchen.
"Yes," Peter said, a little quieter. If only they would listen to him for once in their stupid lives. Both of them were so arrogant . . . so . . .
"Are you holding up?" Peter asked, yawning and putting one foot out of his bed.
"Yeah," Sirius's voice came from the other room, "As well as I can."
Peter trudged across the room and into the kitchen. He rumpled his hair, and tried to smile. It was important to look normal. To look positive.
For Sirius, being positive was something that got him through his week. They were fine. Wherever they were, they were fine.
He thought he had heard them last night, before he had drifted off to sleep. James running in the door, laughing, saying that the war was over.
It had just been a group of young boys down the corridor, making their way to their apartment.
Sirius set the bags down on the counter, and stuffed his hands into his pocket. He took out the parchment, and checked it again.
edPamoesotetlrandriGHritfraoHrurPeaJ'bcindlLsolywePovatrteraoetntm
Still the jumbled letters. He still couldn't read it.
Good.
Everything was okay.
"You sure you're all right?" Peter said as Sirius stuffed the parchment into his pocket.
"Yes," he said, "I'm fine."
Peter nodded, and went to unpacking the groceries. Sirius looked to Peter, and smiled. Peter had calmed down a good amount since the night of the charm, and even if he had had his fits in which he swore to Sirius that he wouldn't make it out of this alive, that James was a goner, that he couldn't keep the secret, that there's no possible way that everything could turn out all right, that he was a coward . . . he had grown into a well rounded and encouraging force. Sadly, Sirius couldn't say the same about himself.
"Peter?" he said, and Peter looked to him.
"Yes?"
"I'm their best friend, you know," he said, "And . . . I know that you're the one with the secret, but . . . it isn't like I'll tell anyone. It's just for my knowledge. You think that you could maybe . . . . just tell me . . ."
"I can't," Peter said, his eyes growing wide again, "I can't do that, Sirius. I can't tell anyone."
"I've been living a week not knowing where they are," Sirius argued, "Do you know what that's like? Not knowing how your best friend is doing? I can't send owls to him, I can't visit him . . . hell, I don't even know where to go!"
"That's how it's supposed to be," Peter said, and threw the grocery bags under the counter, "That's how it's supposed to work."
"But I need to know," he said, coming closer, "I need to know they're all right."
"I went to visit them last night," Peter said, and then shrugged, "They were perfectly fine. Harry's happy, and Lily's applying for a Muggle job. James . . ."
"Yeah? What about James?" Sirius pressed him on, "What about him? Tell me!"
"Well," Peter said, "He's . . . happy, too."
Sirius stopped.
"They're thinking of staying there," Peter continued, "Even after the war. They like it there."
"In that Muggle town?" Sirius barked, "Why in God's name would James want to do a thing like that?"
Peter shrugged, "I don't know."
"Did he give you any messages to give to me?" he asked, hurriedly, "Did he tell you anything?"
"Not that I can recall," Peter said, "They seem perfectly fine. Actually, they said nothing about you."
Sirius narrowed his eyes, dangerously. Here he had been worried about them, killing himself over them, trying to figure out how he could bail them out somehow and bring them home . . . and they wanted to stay there? They wanted to live there in that little town, even when it was time to come home?
What, did he not mean anything to them?
"Just tell me where they are," Sirius demanded. Peter shook his head, and then laughed.
"This is a test, isn't it? This is some sort of a test," he said, "You want me to say no, so you'll know that I wouldn't tell anyone!"
"No, Peter," Sirius said, grabbing him by the collar, "I want you to tell me. Now."
"I can't," Peter said, all of a sudden frightened, "Please don't do this."
Sirius looked into that rat's eyes, and then his own widened. He had seen a glimpse of something. A glimpse of something that he had never noticed before.
Sirius set the man down on the floor, and then grabbed his cloak, walked to the door, and walked out.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, and then was gone.
Peter Pettigrew was selfish.
He had seen that in that man's eyes.
The Order had gathered again, this time at Hogwarts itself. They sat in the Great Hall, seated at the Ravenclaw table. Their numbers were dwindling now, and all he could do was listen to Dumbledore's words through the meeting. He couldn't speak, couldn't smile . . . there was nothing to smile about.
Emmeline. Sturgis. Professor McGonagall. Hagrid. Figg. Kingsley. Mad- Eye. And himself. All headed by Dumbledore. This was all that was left.
Caradoc had never been found. Edgar was dead. Dorcas had been killed by Voldemort. Gideon and Fabian had died as heroes. Frank and Alice were back in hiding. James and Lily were in hiding. Sirius was their Secret Keeper, and only Dumbledore knew where he was placed. He didn't know where Peter was.
Only nine were left. Only nine members could sit around this table and speak of matters such as these. The students had all been in class when they had arrived, and Remus hadn't seen any faces that he recognized in the student body, but he had seen a few of his teachers. Professor Hall, his old Potions master, looked quite ill when they exchanged greetings. She had lost weight, and seemed to be pale and very short tempered. All of her Kneazles had died, it sounded like.
He had made his way to the Gryffindor Tower, only to be stopped by the Fat Lady. He had snuck away from the group to see how his old room looked now. Yet he had been forgotten by the old portrait, and he had to return to the crowd of gathering members in the Great Hall.
So now they sat, listening to Dumbledore speak of the war and things, and Remus couldn't concentrate. He kept seeing himself sitting at the Gryffindor table, surrounded by his friends. They were all so young.
His blond hair fell in his small, skinny face as he fumbled with his owl mail. Sirius, taller than the rest of them and filled with arrogance, jumped across the table and grabbed the letter from his hands. Peter squealed, and fell out of his chair as Sirius lunged at him and Remus. And James . . .
James laughed along with them.
"Come on, Remus," James said, as Sirius opened the letter, "Let's see what you've got there."
"It's probably from my mum," Remus said, quietly. Quieter than his tone nowadays. Had he always been that scared?
"Dear Son," Sirius laughed, "Oh, here we go, Potter. They called him 'son.' How touching."
"Geroff," Remus said, reaching for the letter again. But Sirius wouldn't let him have it.
"We're so proud of you. In whatever you do, know that the ones you love will always be with you."
Remus of that past day blushed, and Remus of this day smiled sadly to himself.
Then I'm alone, he thought to himself now, I'm all alone.
"Well, isn't that sweet," Sirius said, giving the letter back to Remus. Remus could tell he was jealous. Sirius always was when it came to family matters. Remus didn't really know the situation with his friend at home, but he had a good idea. James recognized this, too, and patted his friend on the back.
"Going back to my place this summer, right?" he asked, and Sirius nodded.
James always did the right thing. No matter how long it took him, he always did the right thing.
Remus blinked as Emmeline stood from her spot next to him. But he didn't stop looking at that boy that he used to be.
Blond hair. Skinny wrists. Big eyes that looked out to the world, fearing for his life. How long would he live? Would he graduate? If he did, would he get a job? Was there still hope for him?
He remembered being that little boy. How close he was to being killed by the wolf. How the wolf had grown inside of him, began speaking to him, began slowly killing him from the inside out. Sirius and James and Peter hadn't seen that. That entire time that they asked what was wrong, how they could help, how they could stop him from being so down . . . they had had no idea.
The wolf had almost killed him one of those nights that they hadn't come to help him. The wolf had showed him his future, and then had slammed him into a wooden chair, screaming in his ear, "JE NE MOURRAI PAS, REMUS! THAT'S RIGHT, ISN'T IT? JE NE MOURRAI PAS!"
And then the wolf wouldn't stop whispering to him. And then the wolf started coming in the nightmares, trying to take him over while he slept. It was a curse now. A curse that none of them could understand.
So he hadn't told them.
And now they were all in hiding, James mad at him. Sirius . . . Sirius had looked at him with those hollowed eyes the night of the Headquarters attack.
He continued staring at that boy, seated next to Peter, smiling at his friends and tucking the letter in his satchel. That boy was not who he was. He had grown up.
He had gotten wiser.
Friends were nothing. Friends couldn't help you. Even if they started to, even if you thought they would . . . they would always turn their back on you. Those boys were not unlike everyone else he had met. He should have listened to June.
He should have listened to June.
"Remus, may I speak with you in private?"
Remus blinked again, and the four boys vanished. He realized now that the table was empty, except for himself and Dumbledore. Everyone had left.
"Of course," was all he could say, and Dumbledore nodded and took a seat across from him.
"I have received word from Sirius Black," Dumbledore said, "And all is well."
"Did he go into hiding?" Remus asked.
"Yes," Dumbledore said, "Arabella Figg was to be his Secret Keeper, but supposedly, they have decided to use your friend Peter instead. Only he knows where Sirius is now."
"Do you know where Peter is?"
"I do not care to know," Dumbledore said, "Voldemort has been known to go into a person's mind when he can. I do not want to know, for his sake."
"And have you heard from the Potters?" Remus asked.
"No," Dumbledore said, "But you can be rest assured, they are safe. This is the last stretch, Mr. Lupin. Soon, the war will end and all will return from where they are hidden."
Remus nodded, and Dumbledore placed his hand on the young man's.
"I, myself, would have chosen you over Mr. Black," he said, and Remus looked into the eyes of the Headmaster. They were smiling from behind the half moon glasses. Remus smiled himself, and Dumbledore patted his hand.
"I shall see you in a week's time, Mr. Lupin."
And then Dumbledore left, through the great oak doors. Leaving Remus to the ghosts of the past, and the hopes of the future.
The sun was falling on an ordinary street in an ordinary town. Mr. Soaps had pulled into his driveway, and his only son, Jeremy, came to greet him after taking a break from his football game. He had just scored a goal in the net, and now he hugged his father with open arms.
Mrs. Soaps emerged from the front door, a kitchen mitt placed over her right hand. She waved to her husband. Her husband, however, did not look at her. He was somewhat preoccupied with a figure across the street, making her way down the sidewalk and to the house at the end of the long stretch of houses.
She was a red head. Pretty. Young.
And then as fast as he had caught a glimpse of her, he looked back to his son and raised him high in the air. Little did he know that the red head was now looking at him and his family.
Lily Potter had lived on this street for only a week, and she already felt as if she was back at home. Her Muggle ways were returning, and she had gone today to buy normal looking clothes for her husband and son. They were inside, of course, playing some infant game to pass the time.
They had all accepted that this was their life now. Or at least until the war was finished. Yet she could tell that James wanted to get out, and wanted to see his friends again. It had just been yesterday that Peter had knocked on the back door, his wand out, and had visited with them for a while.
James had told him to tell Sirius to keep his chin up and to keep thinking of them, and Peter had agreed to tell Sirius this. The two men had talked about a few things, and had shared a few laughs. It had meant the world for James to see a familiar face.
She knew that the separation from them was killing her husband slowly. It hadn't occurred to him that he wouldn't be able to speak to Sirius for days, maybe even years. But he had been happier. Just last night, she had bought a record player from the store, and had brought it home with a record of an older singer. She had showed him how it worked, and as the first song began to play, he took her in his arms and they danced across the living room.
They were a family again.
Lily now was at her front door, and she walked inside to the laughter of Harry. James was chasing him around the living room. He looked like a Muggle, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Harry was dressed in a cute little outfit she had found at a shop down the road, next to the record store. She had gotten a job as a secretary for a Muggle office, and now they were making an income that would support them until the war was over. James was more at risk at attracting attention. She had grown up with Muggles, she knew how to blend in with them. James knew nothing of these matters, and he really didn't want to know of them.
"Lily! You're home!" James laughed, collapsing on the floor. Harry fell ontop of his father, and James let out a howl, "Oh! You're getting to be a big boy, Harry!"
Lily laughed, and grabbed Harry from him, "Come here. Let's get you in the bath."
"How was work?" James asked, getting up from the carpet. Lily shrugged, and then started up the stairs to the second floor.
"It was what my dad always told me I'd end up doing," she said, "Working."
"But what exactly are you going to do there?" he asked, Lily and Harry entering the bathroom, "Just jot down their notes?"
"Different things," Lily said, "Just don't worry about it. I've got it under control."
"Ma! Ma! Ma!" Harry laughed as Lily lifted his shirt off and set it on the sink. James laughed again, and then waved to Harry.
"Yeah, that's your mum," James said, "Always ambitious."
"So what do you call this thing again?" he asked, taking the black rectangle from Lily's hand. He pressed a button, and the picture on the telly changed.
"It's a remote, James," Lily said, "For the television."
"Sirius had one of these!" James recalled, and pressed another button, "I know how to work this," he said as Lily reached over to retrieve the rectangle, "I'm not a complete dunderhead."
"Give it back, James," Lily said, and James swatted her hand away.
"No," James said, and Lily sighed, "James!"
"No. Look, this is very interesting. It's a bunch of Muggles complaining about life in general. Talking in monotone voices . . ."
"That's the news, James."
"Well, imagine that. The news."
"Give me the remote, James," Lily demanded.
"Look at you," James said, turning his head toward her. Lily sighed.
"What."
"Your left eye," he laughed, "It's twitching again. Just like Sirius said."
Lily lunged at James, and he toppled out of his chair onto the ground. Lily fell ontop of him, and she grabbed for the remote. James laughed, and held it out of her reach. Lily stretched for it, but James took his other hand and started for her underarm.
"James!" she laughed as he tickled her. She collapsed in his arms, and he bent his head to kiss her. She stopped laughing, and returned his kiss. Slowly, he set the remote in her arms, and held her with both hands. But she didn't notice that she had won the fight.
James loved her.
He had stopped now, and she lay on top of him, looking confused.
"James? Are you all right?"
James smiled, and nodded, "Now I am."
"You're acting odd, James," she said, tickling him back, and he gave out a short laugh.
"When didn't I ever?" he asked, and then took her in his arms, standing to his feet.
"Do you remember how we met?" he asked her as he carried her up the stairs and to their room.
"Why," she screamed with excitement, and James shrugged.
"Oh, hello," he mocked her in a little girl's voice, "Can I ride on your boat?"
"James!" she said as James started to rock her back and forth.
"I wonder if there's a giant squid in the lake, James!" his voice went low, like Sirius's, "I don't know, Sirius," in his own voice, "Maybe we should find out!"
And he threw Lily on the bed with a yelp. She bounced, and then laughed out loud. James stood above her, looking down on this perfect person he had chosen to love.
Lily Evans. He was the luckiest man alive.
He just stared at her, and she stopped laughing.
"James?" she asked, unsure of what he was thinking, "Are you sure you're all right?"
She was alive. They were both alive.
He had chosen her over everything else.
"Was I a bad person?"
They lay in their bed. It was dark in the room, and only the window showed the light of the outside streetlamp pouring in through their window. James had been talking all night, and Lily had just listened patiently for him to ask her questions and answer with a "yes" or a "no."
But she hadn't expected this question to come.
"What?" she asked, turning over to face him.
"Was I a bad person," he asked again, his face now grave. All laughter was gone.
Lily stroked his cheek with her soft hand, and smiled, "No one's perfect, James."
"But I keep thinking about what I said to Remus," James said, "And not just the last time, but . . . but ever since we started in the Order. And I can't help but somewhat blame myself for what he did. I mean, if he had known that I was there for him . . . maybe he wouldn't have turned."
"It isn't your fault," Lily assured him, "Remus listens to himself. He had reasons for turning that didn't concern you."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I can't," Lily said truthfully.
James touched Lily's cool face, and then took a stroke of her red hair in his hands. He looked deep into her eyes. Her peaceful, green eyes.
"I love you," he said, the words slipping from his mouth.
Lily smiled, and nodded, "I know."
"I don't deserve you," he admitted, and Lily laughed. Her laugh was so beautiful. So perfect and pure. So innocent.
"James . . ."
"No," he said, running his hand through her hair, "I don't deserve you. I've . . . I have been . . . not very supportive of you. And I'm sorry."
"Is that your apology?" Lily said, mockingly.
James looked deeper into her eyes. Her perfect eyes.
"You're still here," he said quietly, and Lily's face fell. The words were haunting to her. His expression was one of an amazed man, looking upon a miracle greater than himself. It scared her.
"Of course I'm still here," Lily said, stroking his cheek. His eyes were glassy, and he blinked to try to hide his feelings.
"Why did you marry me?" he said, "Why did you say yes to me? I'm not a good man, Lily. You could have found someone better. Someone who wouldn't have taken you for granted."
"You are James Potter," Lily said, taking his hand and squeezing it, "I never loved anyone else. I never could. You are my life, James. You gave me Harry. You gave me something to fight for."
James buried his face in Lily's hair, and Lily embraced him.
"I will never leave you, James," she whispered, "I promise. I will never leave you."
"How can you be so sure?" he said.
"Don't you believe in fate?"
"What?"
"Fate," Lily said, almost silent, "Like . . . our lives are already planned out before they begin. That you will die a certain time, at a certain place. That you're destined to meet a certain person. And fall in love with them."
James never answered. If fate had brought them together, then so be it. Fate existed.
And so they lay there, in the silence of the small Muggle street, in their new beds and new sheets, speaking no more of destiny and futures. And the last dwindling light of their last day fell, into the last night and the last moon. And they dreamed their last dreams, grateful to the very thing that would kill them.
Fate.