Title: Like Riddles Etched in Stone
Summary: The life of Remus Lupin from the fall of Voldemort until the obtainment of a teaching position at Hogwarts, this is the story of a man trying to find peace and freedom in a world that will not allow it.
Author's Notes: To those of you who had given up on me, I must apologize and say I lied when I told you I would be writing several one-shots. In fact, I will not be writing any, at least that I can forsee at this point. No, instead, shortly after finishing Raison D'etre, this story came to me like a nagging fly buzzing right beside my ear, and within a few weeks, I had the basic outline, which I am still going over now. So, I am afraid, I am presented with a colossal tale that will not leave me alone until I complete it. The missing years of Remus's life greatly interests me, and so I put my mark on it in story-form. I can only tell you this much right now: it took a lot of research about foreign cultures. I have written the prologue to the story, and hope to have the first chapter up as soon as time allows. I give you my word I will stick with this story, but updating may be sporadic. I hope, as it unfolds, you will review and enjoy. -Aegle
Like Riddles Etched In Stone
Prologue:
The clinking of glasses reached Remus' ears as he passed brightly colored shops. It was an end to fear, and the Wizarding world was rejoicing its liberation.
Well, let them celebrate. Let them throw their parties, and drink their liquors, and run through the streets proclaiming freedom and redemption, but Remus Lupin wanted none of it, just like he hadn't wanted to attend funerals or linger in pubs frittering away precious money on temporary release….
What would they say? Well, that didn't matter. They weren't there to say it. He was his own governor, lost in the absence of authority. Jesus, he needed a drink…
Remus let out a laugh that wasn't really a laugh so much as a cynical and sardonic hack, a bark, and then quieted, drawing looks from ladies and gentlemen and children frolicking about in the winter streets of Diagon Alley. They were buying books and inkpots, spiced ciders and baked goods, warmth and cinnamon and packaged trinkets of happiness that were not a part of Remus' world of splintered gray. No, what he wanted was a good- no, no, several- drinks. Whiskey, gin, it didn't matter. It all burned and made his eyes bleary and Merlin save him he liked it, because it made the view a little bit easier to bear.
They knew him, of course…the bar-owners. But, then again, who didn't? It had been all over the papers…snapshots and quotes and testimonies… it felt like being stripped, exposed, naked. Thanks be to the Boy who Lived, thanks be to a new peace, thank-you for providing so many toasts and excuses to be merry and joyful. Britain could come out of its hiding place and breathe a collective, breathy sigh of relief. Remus stumbled into a tavern, one he hadn't been into yet. He was already drunk. The bartender said nothing, and Remus thought that was just fine. He knew how he looked. His mirror, lying in shards back at the flat, told him what he needed to know. He hadn't liked the response very much. Madness was all opinion, anyway.
When he passed out, hours later and on the sidewalk in front of a Thai restaurant next to his flat, no one woke him. After all, sprawled on the ground with shadows under his eyes and ink-stained fingertips (someone had to sign the documents…his mother had been particularly hard to identify, even under the cold white light) Remus Lupin looked more like a heroin addict than a schoolteacher in training. Snowflakes fell on his face, soft, white, melting into waxen skin.
Three cheers for the fall of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, let us all be thankful for this time of peace and happiness.