Forget her students' finals. Forget grading. Forget everything.
Desi raged in her office. Three days of the not-quite-silent treatment. Three days of his slinking away when her back was turned. Three days of excuses and reasons and turns of phrase. Either that man was going to get over whatever twisted mind games he played with himself or she was going to Azkaban for performing an Unforgivable Curse.
And right now, it was anyone's guess which one it would be.
She threw down the quill she'd been using to mark the final assignments from her various classes. Most of them were passing grades anyway, what would it hurt if she didn't look at them as diligently this time around? The final exams were easy; have them pick a potion she'd made them concoct during the school year from memory. Even Neville could think of something he'd gotten right.
That decision made in her mind, she took a deep breath. What to do about Severus?
Inspiration came from a memory.
"Leave me alone, Desi."
A twelve year old auburn-haired firestorm. "Not until you tell me who pulled that mean trick, Sev."
"What are you going to do? Keep me in this classroom until I tell you?"
Pulling out her wand and pointing it dead at his chest. "Well, since you suggested it."
He hadn't thought she'd do it. Then again, he never did give her enough credit.
With a wicked grin and a light in her eyes that hadn't been there in days, Desi flew out of her office and headed to her apartments.
Two hours later, as darkness fell and a quiet came over the castle, Severus finally headed back to his apartments, alone again. Slinking down the hallway from his office and classroom, he noticed Desi hadn't been in hers, like she'd been the last few nights. He had been tempted to stop at her apartments, but cowardly backed away before he'd gotten halfway there. With a sigh and kicking himself mentally, he opened his door.
A piece of parchment sat on his coffee table, which had been empty just that morning.
You have a choice to make. Either walk out your apartment door and head to mine, right now, or stay here and wallow in your own misery.
Crumpling the piece of parchment, he threw it in the fire and headed to his bedroom, deciding to not play along with Desi's games.
Too bad she was sitting in the exact middle of his bed.
"What in bloody hell..."
Desi silently rose off the mattress and stood directly in front of him, chin jutted high to look him in the eye, which wasn't always easy given a seven-inch height difference accentuated by her bare feet. "If you'd picked the first option, I would have just floo'd myself back home. But I know you. You would only come to me when you finally realized I wasn't going to come to you. So, here I am. And I'm not leaving this room until you and I decide what the future holds for us."
He simply stared down at her angry blue eyes, too confused to speak.
She had a feeling that was going to be his reaction. With a deep breathe, she sat back down on the mattress, curling up on the edge of the bed, tucking her legs under herself so that her toes barely peeked out, hoping her relaxed posturing would calm him down a bit. "The future, Severus. That pesky thing you and I have danced waltzes around for months now. What happens once the school year's over. What happens a year down the road, or five years, or ten. What happens when the sun rises tomorrow. The future. The conversation you and I seem to have silently agreed to avoid until it grows so large it can't be ignored anymore. That day is finally here, Sev. We can't ignore it anymore."
"I'm not ignoring anything." The nerve the woman had sometimes boggled him. Granted, it wasn't the first time he'd come home and been surprised by seeing her in his bed, but she'd never used it as a battlefield before. And judging from the stiffness in her spine and the fire dancing in her eyes, she was prepared for war. The look she shot him made him repeat himself in defense. "I haven't been ignoring this, Desi."
"Liar." The small word cut through the air. "We both have. For months, every time the chance arose, you and I both found a reason to avoid the conversation. We kept deluding ourselves into believing that there'd always be another chance to talk about it. Another chance to decide how we want to approach the subject. Another chance to let the other person open their mouth first. There are no more chances, Sev. Not anymore. It's now or never. We talk now, or I walk out of this room, and the chance walks with me. I can't take this tightrope walk anymore. I need answers. I need thoughts. I need to know where I stand."
His head spun. Where was all of this coming from? Why now? Why tonight?
There's something weighing on her, but she's not talking about it.
That line had bothered him from the moment Lupin said it. Desi didn't keep secrets from her best friend. She had kept secrets from him, but never from Remus Lupin. As much as he'd hated it, she could confide more easily in the werewolf than himself sometimes. But something bothered her, and she hadn't even discussed it with her big brother.
Either it was something she couldn't talk about, or it was worse than he could imagine.
"Why tonight? Of all nights in the year, why this one, Desi?"
Her eyes dropped from his face to the carpeting at his feet, her shoulders slumping and the straight spine of hers going limp. She'd known he would ask that question. She'd spent the better part of an hour trying to think of an answer. None had come to her.
"Papa, this is crazy."
"Crazy or not, Desdemona, the time has come. For more people than just myself."
"What's that supposed to mean, Papa?"
"Don't play coy, little one. It doesn't suit you. Time has run out, the hourglass is empty. It rarely happens that so many fates converge on a single moment in history. But, it does happen. And it is happening now."
"Papa, I love you dearly, but playing Oracle of the Delphi with me right now..."
A smile. "Sometimes, Desdemona, questions need to be asked aloud. Even if no one wants them asked. Necessity sometimes outweighs desire or preference."
"Because it needs to be."
"Well, that reason is lacking. Could you be more specific?"
"No, I can't, Sev."
"Can't, or won't?"
She finally pulled her eyes from the floor to his face for a moment. He deserved the truth, what little she could give him. "Seriously, I can't. I'm repression-charmed. Even if I wanted to talk about it, I can't. Not yet."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Severus was beyond confused. Charmed? To not talk about something? That would take more than a powerful wizard. That would mean it would have to be someone she trusted enough to do that to her; that wasn't a common or easy charm to use. Who could do that to her? Who would dare to do that?
The answer came in a flash. Only her grandfather. Only Albus Dumbledore.
What was going on?
"So, you can't talk about it, but it affects us, and we need to decide our future this very minute because it affects whatever secret you've got locked away in your little mind. Is that an accurate picture of what's going on?"
Desi nodded. "Well, not this very minute. But yes, basically, we do need to make some decisions. For starters, is there even a future for us to talk about, Sev?"
The simple question made him roar. "What kind of question is that, Desi?"
"One I desperately need answered, Sev."
The quiet shaking in her voice stopped him from proceeding with his tirade. For the second time in the last ten minutes, he heard Lupin's voice in his head.
She needs to be whole, to know that the past is dead and resolved, and she needs you.
For the first time tonight, he looked at her. Not glanced at, but deeply looked. For all of her confident bravado, the dark circles under her eyes and the bitten fingernails showed how stressed she was. How did she let herself get like this?
A light flickered in his mind. Because he pushed her there. He'd been giving her distance since the night he got the Fire Mark because he thought that was what she needed. She had been so upset and distraught that night, crying as he held her for what felt like hours. She'd been so distant after that, after she'd gone to visit Dumbledore, as if she knew the world was going to end tomorrow, so he did the only thing he knew to do. He left her alone.
Because of that, she thought he didn't want her, didn't want forever with her.
Maybe he was inept with women, after all.
Mechanically, he walked towards a shelf on the wall, picked up a slender crystal vase, and withdrew a twenty six year old flower. Handing it to her, he glared down into her eyes as she sat, curled on the bed. She wanted answers? Fine. He'd spell it out for her then, like a first year with a simple pepper-up potion.
"I broke your heart, and then spent twenty years trying to compensate for it. You ran away, but when I needed you most, you risked your life for me. You forgave me the unforgivable and asked me to do the same. Beyond expectation and logic and common sense, I fell in love with you all over again. The very thing I couldn't bring myself to admit to you when I was a teenager came so easily now." His voice grew hoarse as words he'd thought a thousand times but never dared speak aloud for fear they would be his undoing came forth in a rush. "I would have not gotten this mark if you'd asked me not to. I would leave the Order if you begged me to. I'd leave this school and risk my life if you demanded it of me. Maybe I've never said it in words, Desi, but I thought it showed. I want to be with you, Desi. Do we have a future? You tell me."
He had expected tears. To her credit, none fell from her eyes. Instead, a deathly calm seemed to cloak her face; a calm belied by her trembling hands. "I thought you were trying to push me away..."
He wanted to smack her. Instead, he knelt by the edge of the bed and took her shaking hands in his own. "Desdemona Drecorum, I swear you're going to give me grey hairs. I want to be with you. Tonight, tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, and maybe even the year after that. Tonight, Desi, and the rest of my life, short though it may end up being. That doesn't mean I'm not going to hate myself for the rest of eternity for every time you cry because of me. Or hurt. Or throw things and break them. For the first time in my life, I have something precious and perfect and wonderful, and I'm scared I may lose it or hurt it or not deserve it. That doesn't mean I don't want it, Desi."
She sniffled, looking so much like the little girl he once knew that it took his breath away. "You mean it?" He nodded, refusing to tear away his eyes from hers.
Desi sighed, finally letting the emotions she'd been holding inside of her start to show. She had fought for self-composure; the last thing she wanted was for her tears to sway him in any way. He'd told her he loved her; that he wouldn't leave her; that he wanted to be with her. Forever.
Would he still say that in the morning? Would he still say that when he knew what she knew? Would he still be by her side when the truth came out?
Right now, she didn't care. Tonight was forever enough for her.
An old man and a werewolf sat in front of a crackling fireplace, seated in comfortable purple-cushioned wing chairs, both unsure of how to break the silence between them.
Remus Lupin's mind reeled. He couldn't believe the request that Dumbledore had just made of him.
"I want you to be the Order's new secret-keeper. I cannot do it any longer, and I cannot give a reason why. Just trust me when I say it is both necessary and a heartache for me at the same time. Someone needs to stay here, to keep the Order intact and whole, and I want it to be you. Can you accept this task, Remus?"
He was still trying to answer that question.
Sitting next to him, Albus Dumbledore sighed wearily. The last few days had been filled with nothing but preparation and planning. The news he had received still weighed heavily on his shoulders.
Voldemort knew Desdemona had returned to England. He knew that she was his granddaughter. He knew she was at Hogwarts. He even knew that she had reconciled with Severus Snape. The pair were officially marked for death, one for abandoning his Master, the other for interfering in his plans.
That wasn't the worst of the news. The rest had come in a direct message to Dumbledore, carried to him discretely, as all direct communication between long-standing enemies should.
It's not your granddaughter I'm after, old man. She is merely a pawn in this game, used by both of us to strike at the other. A weakness for you, a tool for me. The more you shield her from me, the more I will use her to get to you. I thought I made that clear years ago. Perhaps you need reminding. As long as you protect her, know this: I will hunt her to draw you out. Just as did with her parents.
He had an idea about how Tom found out about Desdemona's return; his attacks on Lucius Malfoy, as well as on Severus himself, probably gave him the pieces he needed. Simple intelligence filled in the gaps. He himself had ended the charade about her identity, since the damage had been done. Since receiving this missive from the man who called himself 'Lord Voldemort', he'd planned his flight from both Hogwarts and the Order.
His disappearance could give them a protection that his presence couldn't. The fight between him and Tom Riddle was personal. It always had been, for over fifty years now. In some ways, Tom Riddle grew and matured, deepening and darkening in ways that haunted Albus' dreams. In other ways, he was still the sixteen year old boy he'd taught. The one who felt personal insult at the extra attention accorded him by an old man who wanted only to help him.
The personal feud between student and teacher had not created the man who threatened to tear the wizarding world in twain, again. However, it did fuel the fire. The attacks on Tobias and Cassandra were personal, to remind the new Headmaster about the pain family can cause. The threats against Desdemona, herself, during school were meant to convince the older man to back away from his fight to protect the students. Now, the message was different.
Your role in this chess game is over, old man. Let the prophesy be fulfilled, and let the end to the tale come. You are not important anymore; stand aside and let the Chosen One fulfill his destiny. If he can.
Soon, if would be up to Harry and Harry alone to finish the tale, once and for all. The pain of the inevitable future weighed down his very soul.
Remus coughed once, looking into dancing flames with a look of sorrow in his eyes, not wanting to interrupt the headmaster's thoughts. "Why me?"
Dumbledore found himself unable to look the wizard he'd known for years in the eye. "Because, I trust you completely. Because you have the respect of every member of the Order. Because you are in the Inner Circle. Because Harry depends on you more than any other member. Because you are more qualified than anyone else I could ask. And, most importantly, because you of all people understand the burden I'm asking of you."
He'd been afraid that would be the reason. Oh, yes, he understood the burden all too well.
"Remus, Sirius, I need to ask the pair of you for a favor."
Two heads nodding, waiting for their former headmaster to speak.
A tired sigh from a man they respected. "I need to ask the two of you to protect my granddaughter. You both know her; Remus, you've known her for three years now. She will trust you, and will never question your presence with her whenever she leaves school grounds is anything less than friendly visits. I cannot always watch over her, so I need someone else to do this for me."
A look of confusion on Sirius' face. "Why does Desi need protecting, Dumbledore?"
An expression of fear etched on an old man's face.
Understanding dawning in Remus' mind. "Voldemort knows, doesn't he?"
A nod.
Sirius' voice rising. "Is this about Snivellus joining the Death Eaters and breaking Desi's heart? Or about Desi being his granddaughter? Because if it's the former, I swear when I get my hands on that slimy git, I will personally..."
"SIRIUS!" The voice silencing the over-excitable young man. "It is both, the latter more than the former. Voldemort won't likely use the boy to get to Desi, but it is possible. However, he has made it clear that my grandchild is a pawn he is willing to use to get to me. While she is still in school, she is safe enough. However, on weekends or holidays, when I am often not available..."
The thought left unfinished. The pain shining clear in his eyes. The voice shaking.
The thought of so many lives unfinished already racing through Remus' mind.
The two friends agreeing to this request.
"How soon?"
"Very." The one word hung between them as if it could divide the friends and collaborators forever.
Des had to have known this was coming. Damn. Hadn't her heart been broken enough times by now? He knew how much the old wizard meant to her; he had been her only family for most of her life. Leaving her grandfather had driven her to depression once. Losing him again wasn't going to be easy for her.
Remus swallowed, hard. "I wish you could tell me why you feel the need to leave. However," he silenced the man he'd respected since he was eleven, "I understand you must have your reasons. And since you were never a man who kept secrets except when absolutely necessary, I will do this." The resignation in his voice seemed to engulf the room.
Albus Dumbledore smiled, sadly yet gratefully. "Thank you, Remus. And now, I have one last request I would like to make of you."
Lupin looked up, wary and on-guard. "Which is?"
A light of amusement caused the old man's eyes to sparkle. "Do yourself, my granddaughter, and the rest of the Order a favor, and finally ask Tonks if she'd be interested in having dinner with you one night. And, of course, as the dessert course is arriving, casually inform her that you would be interested in spending a great deal of time with the young lady, starting immediately. It has been getting quite old seeing the two of you sneaking looks at each other during meetings, and Desdemona herself is getting quite exasperated with you interfering in her own life while you let yours pass you by."
Remus looked as if he'd swallowed his own tongue. "She said that?"
The elderly headmaster nodded. "I believe the exact phrasing she was planning to use was 'For crying out loud, Remus, will you just ask Tonks out to dinner so you can have a love life of your own and I can die happy for you?' Since she is more than a little preoccupied with finals right now, I promised her I would send the message."
The werewolf looked as if he'd swallowed his own tongue while being hit with a blunt object on the back of his head. "I didn't realize..."
"Of course you didn't, Remus. Those of us in love rarely do, until someone points it out for us." Dumbledore smiled at his former student. "Now, please heed my grandchild's advice. Before the rest of the Order decides to take matters into their own hands."
He should have been inside, sitting at a table in the Gryffindor common room, or at a desk in the library. He should have been sitting by Hermione, pouring over books for NEWT exams that were breathing down his neck, trying to keep his eyes on the pages instead of looking at the girl he'd never quite gotten around to asking out in seven years. He should have been preparing to leave Hogwarts behind forever.
However, Ron Weasley decided he had something more important to do.
"I still don't know why you're out here. Shouldn't you be mooning over Hermione again, still trying to gather some courage to tell her you love her or something?"
He stared at his best friend, who had been moody and distant since that night he'd gone to spend a week with the Order. Few people at the school knew where Harry Potter had gone during that time, but he did. Drecorum had quietly spelled it all out for him, and then some.
Ron, your loyalty is your purpose. Don't you think knowing he has a friend like you makes things a little easier for Harry? Don't you think it makes him that less fearful, knowing that you would be there for him if he really needed you?
Ever since that night, he'd felt changed forever. Older, somehow. Calmer, at peace with himself. More in control, in a way. He felt like, for once, he had genuine purpose and a sense of who he was. He didn't quite understand it, but he knew that he wasn't the same. He wasn't as carefree, or as rash. The fact that he knew he should have been working on NEWT studying was proof of that. Ron was preparing for the future, quietly. A future that he hoped his friend would live to see.
"Some Gryffindor I turned out to be, huh? Bravery, courage, all those supposed traits I'm expected to have, and I can't even ask a girl out on a date." Ron tried to joke to cover the insecurity he felt about that particular topic. "Every time I try, I just think about her, fourth year, on the arm of Viktor Krum, and all my bravery goes flying out the window."
Harry laughed, the first true laugh of the day for him. "You know, something tells me that Hermione might be persuaded to stop writing Viktor if you got around to asking her on a bloody date."
"Really?" Ron turned as red as his hair and began twiddling his thumbs, the one giveaway that the prospect of finally asking Hermione Granger out made him as nervous as a howler from his mother. The wonder that rang from the lone word made him laugh harder. Times like this, he was grateful that he'd met Ron all those years ago, sitting alone on a train heading to some unknown destiny.
Knowing he wasn't completely alone made the future seem less bleak, less foreboding.
Something told him Ron knew that. Otherwise, he wouldn't be out here right now.
"Well, considering she's my friend too, I think I'd know, Ron. Besides, I've said it to you on more than one occasion. Go ask the girl out already. It might make some people happy."
"Like who?" The words barely escaped Ron's lips as they shook violently from his nerves.
Harry smirked. "Well, I think Seamus has three galleons on you asking her before finals. Of course, Dean bet three more on you failing your exams because she said no. I think Neville has a galleon on you chickening out. And, of all people, your sister borrowed some money from Fred and George to wager against them all that she'll end up asking you out due to sheer exasperation."
Ron sat there, jaw hanging wide, all thought of blushing pushed away by the shock he felt. "How do you know all this?"
Another smirk from the boy who lived. "Who do you think began the betting pool?"
Ron lightly punched Harry in the arm. Right over the spot where the Mark was. The contact made Harry unconsciously rub the spot, all trace of the light-heartedness in his demeanor moments ago fading quicker than the mist from the lake in the sun.
"Harry, I'm sorry." Ron began to quickly apologize, but was cut off by Harry holding up his hand.
"Ron, please don't apologize. Not for treating me like a human being. Please don't. It's not your fault." The melancholy tone of voice rang hollow with the pain that Harry carried in his heart. How little like a normal person he felt these days.
Ron reached in his pocket, fingering a very small bottle he'd carried with him for days now. The bottle that Drecorum had given him that day had become a talisman of sorts to him, a good luck charm and security blanket rolled into one. It reminded him that he had purpose and meaning in the world. It gave him peace of mind; something he'd had little of for years.
Summoning up just a little of that alleged Gryffindor courage, Ron looked over at the person next to him. "Harry, no matter what happens after we finally leave school here, no matter what happens with the war and prophesies and the Order and our lives, you're my best friend, and that won't change. I will always treat you like a human being. I will always listen to you when you need someone to listen, make you laugh when you need to laugh, and even hit you when you're stupid. Alright? I know you've got a lot to deal with, and I can't even begin to imagine what goes on in your head when you're thinking. I don't want to imagine it. That doesn't mean that I won't be there when you need me."
He swallowed hard, staring straight ahead at the moon's reflection in the lake instead of looking at his friend anymore, for fear of doing something stupid, like getting emotional. "I've been beaten up by a stone chess piece, puked up slugs, done more detentions than Fred and George combined, almost lost my leg to your godfather's fangs, and have put up with being known as 'Harry Potter's friend' instead of my own name for almost seven years. It hasn't been easy being your friend, Harry. But, sometimes when I feel like it's too much, I remember being eleven, on the train to school, and the kid I met who had a wicked scar and bought me more sweets than I'd ever had before in my life. I remember invisibility cloaks and sneaking down corridors and being awarded fifty points for a rash decision and flying on your Firebolt and watching Malfoy become a ferret. I remember the Quidditch World Cup and giving Dobby socks on Christmas Day. I wouldn't trade one moment of being your friend for anything, Harry. I mean it."
Harry looked over at Ron, who was uncharacteristically serious and direct. Rarely did he ever speak like this; usually, it was only when they were fighting that Ron told him how he really felt. Maybe his best friend really was finally growing up. "For the record, you puked slugs because of Hermione, not me."
Ron punched his arm again. Harry laughed deeply.
"Thanks, Ron."
The pair sat in silence for a while longer, both quietly contemplating their futures, both grateful to have someone else to share in the solitude.
Draco Malfoy sat in silence in his empty dorm room, staring at the piece of parchment in his hands that a family owl had delivered an hour ago. His mother's handwriting covered the paper, her words scribed in the vibrant green ink that had been used by the family for decades. The words on the page weren't important; it was the message hidden within that stuck out at him. Within the discussion of a light-hearted vacation in the Mediterranean to celebrate his graduation from Hogwarts was a message that only Draco would know was there.
He never thought his mother would have the courage to go through with it.
It was the answer to his prayers.
"Draco, I feel that we should spend some time together, mother and son, before you embark on a new phase in your life. I've thought long and hard about this, and even though your father won't be able to join us, I feel we should celebrate your upcoming leaving of Hogwarts with a little trip. Somewhere special and a complete change from England. Perhaps sailing on the Mediterranean? I've been dreaming of seeing my reflection in calm blue water for some time. I'll make the arrangements..."
Draco knew better. Isola di Reflessa. The Island of Reflection. The island his father had bought before he'd proposed to his mother years ago, and named such as a play on her name, for it was Narcissus who wasted away because of his vanity, staring into his reflection. For him, it was an investment, this tiny island off of Sicily, unplottable and shielded from muggles; an investment meant to impress the Black family so he could wed their daughter. A demonstration of his wealth. For Narcissa, it was a delightful get-away, a place to escape from the strain of being both a Black and a Malfoy, where she could forget all her obligations and duties and remember what it was like to simply live.
For Draco, it would now be a shelter. Someplace to hide where absolutely no one could find him, both sides of the war included. A complete change from England, where members of both sides of the family expected him to take his father's place as soon as he left school.
He could hide away in an island paradise until this entire war was over, coming out of hiding to rebuild his life. To live the way he wanted to live. To be his own person and not some puppet for one side or another. That was all he wanted anymore; to not be a chess piece in someone's hand. To make his own decisions and to live or die by them. He'd seen his father reduce himself to someone's beck and call. As much as he respected her, he'd seen Drecorum reduce herself to Dumbledore's pawn once or twice. He sure as hell wasn't going to have Harry Prophecy Potter's life. For once in his life, he pitied the young wizard. Until that trip to his house with Potter, he had never thought about the weight that being who he was must carry. It only strengthened his desire to leave it all behind.
No one would deny Narcissa the right to a vacation with her only child before returning to the war and the lifestyle to which she'd spent her whole life. No one except his father, perhaps. And, thanks to one redheaded potions professor, that barrier was gone. Draco had known for years how hard it was for his mother to deal with his father. He hadn't exactly had an easy time with it himself. Lucius Malfoy had a very controlling demeanor. Although Narcissa wasn't exactly pure of heart and mind, she didn't agree with much of what her husband held dear. However, she'd kept silent for years, watching her eldest son grow, slowly becoming a carbon copy of the man she'd married so foolishly.
Then there was the constant worry. Narcissa wrote Draco often, sending him care packages and spending summers doting on him. The nights she spent up, watching for Lucius' return from meetings or gatherings. The fear when Voldemort had returned and Lucius decided to return to his former activity. The night that the house-elf had arrived, using Narcissa to give information on Dumbledore's precious Order. She'd given Draco the oddest look before she had gone to her husband's study. A mixture of fear, duty, and love for her child. When his father had been taken prisoner by the Order, the fear she felt had been evident. The owls she sent him at school, the visit to Hogsmeade. She'd been reluctant to let Draco out of her sight.
He was all she had left in the world. He'd never given it a second thought, until his final year in Hogwarts, when an open-minded professor made Draco stop and think about his life. Think about his mother and father. Think about the consequences and the repercussions. It wasn't until then that he really noticed all the minor details. How he rarely saw his mother smile around his father. How she always kept quiet and pulled back from large gatherings at the manor. How she spent as much time outside with her roses as she could. How she avoided even the house-elves as much as she could.
It was that thought that made the decision for Draco. He didn't want to be a Death Eater. He didn't want to be a lackey. He didn't want to make his mother worry that he wouldn't come home. He didn't want to be responsible for her universe falling apart around her. She'd wept enough already. Sisters, brothers, cousins, her husband. The war had claimed enough of Narcissa Black Malfoy's life already. He had expected to have to go along with the ruse he'd concocted to make her happy, to fool his mother into thinking he wanted the dark arts lifestyle in which he'd been raised. However, this letter made all that unnecessary. Now, it seemed, she decided to stop hiding in the shadows and take a stand. She refused to let go of her only child without a fight.
Lupin sat alone in a dark room, Dumbledore long gone, memories of the last thirty years dancing in his head. The news Kingsley had just delivered shocking him to the core.
Peter was dead. He'd tried to escape St. Mungo's in a brief moment of sanity, and died in the process.
He was the last Marauder. Again. The last of his friends. He wasn't quite forty-five yet, and he'd outlived the three men he'd sworn brotherhood with, years ago, in a dormitory in Gryffindor Tower. The friends he'd trusted with the secret he'd kept since he could remember. The friends he'd studied with, terrorized Hogwarts with, worked with. Laughed with. Cried with. Fought with.
He'd put his own boyhood crush on Lily Evans aside the minute he learned James fancied her. He'd kept quiet when Sirius told him about every date he'd ever been on. He'd pushed aside his feelings of concern about Peter because he felt sorry for him.
He'd never been happier than he'd been on James and Lily's wedding day. Except the day James had shown up on his doorstep, Sirius and Peter in tow, with a bottle of Muggle rum and cigars to celebrate his impending fatherhood. He'd lived vicariously through Sirius, always ready to listen to his friend philosophize over his vagabond ways. Never once had he pointed out the obvious – that Sirius had issues with trust, issues with feeling important enough to someone else, issues with finding himself.
As for Peter...
Remus had stopped thinking about Peter four years before. He couldn't. It hurt.
Instead, he thought about Des. His little sister was finally living the life she deserved. He was happy for her, even though it meant being happy for Severus Snape in the same breath. She'd been so unhappy, so many times. So many times he'd held her as she cried. Cried over a broken heart. Cried over leaving school. Cried over going into exile. Cried whenever he told her someone else she'd known had died. Cried when Sirius was in Azkaban. She'd always felt like she'd been asked to give up on life; she felt responsible for putting herself in harm's way; she blamed herself for things she had no control over.
Lily once warned him about falling in love with her. He never did. Not in the same way. He'd known she wasn't for him from day one. She gave him a piece of himself he needed – he felt needed and important and protective around her. But never had she turned her eyes toward him with the light he saw in them whenever she looked at Severus. In the same breath, he'd never looked at her that way. Ever since Dumbledore asked him to tutor his hopeless granddaughter in transfiguration, he'd seen her as a student, a protégé of some sort. Eventually, it grew into a comfortable friendship that he didn't even have with James and Sirius. He could be himself, completely, with Des, right down to discussing old books and debating about ethics.
Dumbledore's comment earlier this evening reminded him of a painful fact. He hadn't been living his life lately. Instead, he had helped everyone else live. He'd had long talks with Sirius, helping him recover his humanity after twelve years in a prison that stole it from him. He'd mentored Harry, both as professor and friend. He'd done what he could to keep Des sane, both while living in her own elegant prison and now that she'd come back to the wizarding world, aware of what she came home to face. He'd helped everyone else live their lives. It was time to live his own.
He was the last Marauder. It was his responsibility to live for them now, instead of through them.