Title: Bring on the Night
Author: Rian
Rating: G
Betas: Starkiller and Suzene
Archives: Battlefields. Anywhere else with permission.
Pairing(s)/character(s): Remus and Harry, with a side order of Remus/Sirius.
Warnings: Angst, and mentions of character death.
Summary: All Remus wants in the end is to go home.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. They are the property of JK Rowling and her associated people.
Author's notes: For Nelliedarlin's quotations challenge over on Livejournal. My quote was this:

My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over, and gone.

(The King James Bible – The Song of Solomon)

Remus' world might have stopped turning the day that Sirius died, but all around him the war went on. For years they fought, the underground battles moving gradually out into the open, and then everyone was afraid, Muggle and wizard alike. And still they fought, the only colours registering through the murky grey, mud-splattered landscape of war being the red of the stun, the green of the kill, the bright white, yellow and orange of flames consuming the ruins of houses blown apart by hate and anger. Remus marched by Harry's side bent on revenge, and he knew he wasn't the only one; Harry's gaze would find his before every battle, and they'd share a nod and a small, secret smile that said only one thing: For Sirius.

They drew their wands again and again, united, defiant; they all did, even as they dropped like flies and made the Death Eaters drop like flies in turn before them. Then, in a boggy field a few miles outside of Hogsmeade on a freezing cold and rainy day in January, the year that was the start of a new century, it was over. Voldemort and his followers marched on Hogsmeade before the sun was even up, and they met them, matched them, and threw them down. Crouched in the muddy grass with a broken and bloody but at least still breathing Neville Longbottom in his arms, the burned and almost melted skin of his own throat agonisingly painful. A gift from Peter, when he had finally cornered him around the back of a disused shed and tried to choke him with his silver hand before Remus stuck his wand into Peter's face and whispered the Avada Kedavra. Remus watched as Harry, amid the tears, cheers and shouts of victory, broke his wand over his knee with an audible snap, threw it on the pile of ashes that was Voldemort's remains, and walked off the field and out of the wizarding world.

After Remus attended the last in a long line of funerals (Hermione's, a blank, white faced Ron and a sobbing Molly by the grave side; she was pregnant, Ron said, an accident. They'd taken it as a positive sign, a light in the darkness, but hadn't told anyone yet in case something happened. Remus' heart ached with the familiarity of those words. And look, Ron had said, look. Something had happened. Remus shut his eyes and looked away and didn't say that something always happened, didn't Ron know that by now? The minute you started to hope for the future, something always happened), Remus did the same. He was a war veteran now, and all war veterans got a stipend from the Ministry, even him, and the poetic justice of that didn't escape him for a second. It wasn't much, but it was more than he usually had, so he rented himself a little cottage in the Scottish Highlands, where the weather suited his mood for much of the time, and where the screams and howls of a broken hearted werewolf would just echo off the lonely hills and send the sheep and goats scattering.

He settled in, spending his days alone and his nights wrapped in dreams of better days. And if sometimes the reality of waking up cold and alone after a night spent wrapped up in the warmth of much loved and much missed arms was a shock that bought tears to his eyes, well, it wasn't like he wasn't used to it. His yearning for Sirius was his one constant, as natural to him as breathing. It was the only thing that let him know he was still alive.

His solitary confinement wasn't to last long, much to his surprise. Two weeks after he'd moved in, there was a knock on the door. Startled, he spilt his tea all in his lap, and spent a few moments swearing and mopping at his trousers with the sleeve of his jumper before getting up to answer the door. The mystery visitor hadn't activated any of his wards (old habits died hard, it seemed), but even so he sneaked a look out of the curtains beside the door before he opened it. When he saw who it was, he stood for another few moments slack-jawed and gaping before a second and much more irritated bout of knocking commenced and snapped him out of his stupor. He opened the door.

"Harry, I…"

The boy (No; man now, he was a man. Remus wondered vaguely when that had happened. No doubt right under his very nose,) shoved a package at him and said, "Here. This is yours. Snape made it, but I paid him, with Sirius' money. Before you start on about not wanting charity or any of that rot, just don't. Sirius would want you to have it, and you know it, so just take it. I'll see you in a week."

And just like that he was gone, marching down Remus' garden path and leaving a gob smacked Remus in his wake. Remus watched him until he couldn't see him anymore, then shut the door and put the package on his kitchen table. He unwrapped it carefully, revealing a box, inside which were seven vials of Wolfsbane potion, one for each day from that one until the full moon. There was a note with it too, written on a small, ripped scrap of parchment as if the author hadn't wanted to waste a whole sheet:

I know that you tend towards forgetfulness, so do remember to take the whole lot, Lupin. I'd hate to think of my efforts going to waste, even if I am handsomely paid for them.

SS.

Remus laughed and shook his head, glad that in this awful, cruel, unpredictable world, some things never changed. He put the box on his kitchen bench next to his kettle, and like the good and dutiful werewolf that he was, he drank one every night until he'd taken the whole lot.

When he woke up the morning after the full moon he was weak and trembling, as always, but for the first time in years he wasn't alone. Harry was sitting in his favourite chair by the fire, a mug of tea in his hands, watching over him. Remus scrambled for a blanket to make himself decent.

"What are you doing here?" he said hoarsely, wrapping himself up in the scratchy wool and attempting to gather his dignity.

"Making sure you're all right, of course."

"How did you get in? You haven't got a wand. You broke it."

"Got a new one, didn't I?"

Remus frowned. "But…wasn't there only two with the phoenix feather…"

Harry interrupted him. "Yeah, well, I don't need one like that any more, do I?" There was a ghost of a smile then, as Remus stared, and then Harry got up and headed toward the kitchen. "I'm making you a cup of tea and some toast. Feel free to get dressed at any time, by the way."

A pattern was set that day, although Remus hadn't known it at the time. Harry didn't always deliver his Wolfsbane, but it always turned up on his doorstep, sometimes by Owl or by some other means unknown. The package always contained a biting note from Snape exhorting him to remember to take the whole lot, and Harry always showed up on the day after the full moon to make sure that he was all right and to make him tea and toast.

Time marched on, as it was wont to do. Change in the Wizarding World had always been slow, and from what Remus heard, which wasn't that much, this time was no different. After his defeat Voldemort's followers still had to be eradicated, and there was much rebuilding to do, but eventually people started to look to the future again. Remus did too, in a manner of speaking, looking forward into a future where he'd see Sirius again. He didn't need to have lived through two wars with his friends dying all around him to know that everyone died; he would too one day, and he looked forward to it. His need for Sirius hadn't decreased over the years, and Remus knew that when his time came, wherever Sirius was, Remus would find him. It was only a matter of time, and Remus was a patient man. He could count the days and wait.

In the meantime, Harry was the other constant in his life, a bright spot in an otherwise dreary world. Then Harry met a girl one day, a feisty blonde thing by the name of Eveline, a witch from Beauxbatons. She had come to Britain to assist in the rebuilding effort, and had liked it so much she had stayed. Harry had met her in the post office at Hogsmeade, when he had been owling Remus his Wolfsbane. She had only the vaguest idea who he was and cared even less, so of course Harry fell for her instantly. They eloped to Rome in the end, and Remus was very happy for them, ignoring the pangs of loneliness he felt when he watched them together. The pangs went away the first time Harry put his newborn daughter into Remus' arms, the werewolf's heart swelling with gratitude that he'd lived long enough to see this. He walked out into his backyard under the stars, hitching little Lily up in his arms so he could take hold of her tiny arm and wave to the brightest one in the sky. When he turned around Harry was standing on the step, smiling at him wistfully. Remus smiled back, and when they went back inside they drank a silent toast to the dear departed, and hoped that they were watching and were happy for them. He still dreamt of Sirius after that, as he always had, but his yearning was just a little less, and he no longer counted the days until they'd be together again, content now in the knowledge that it would happen one day.

When his health did start to fail, it happened so gradually Remus didn't even notice at first. It was just that little bit harder to get out of bed, it took just that little bit longer to shake a cold. It didn't have to be raining and cold for Remus' joints to ache outside of the week of the moon. He still had the Wolfsbane, and Harry to look after him, but despite that it took him a lot longer to recover from his transformation, and it got longer every time. His hair was completely white these days, and had been for a while. He shooed Harry off after he'd gotten him his breakfast and his cup of tea, but then he went to bed, and sometimes didn't get out for days. His time was coming, and it was coming soon.

He couldn't be sad about it, not really. Sixty five wasn't old for a wizard, but it was ancient for a werewolf. He'd survived to see Voldemort defeated, and Harry grow up into a man he was proud to call his friend, with a beautiful wife and even more beautiful children. He'd seen those children developing their own magical ability, and one by one go off to Hogwarts, heralding their father's somewhat reluctant but nevertheless triumphant return to the wizarding world. Harry was safe and happy, and in the end that meant he'd done his job, and by doing so had honoured the memory of the people that couldn't finish that job themselves, no matter how much they'd wanted to. And now it was time to go to them, and try to find some happiness for himself. He'd been thirty years without Sirius, and thirty years was enough.

He started to quietly put his affairs in order, throwing out most things, putting some things aside to give away. He burnt other things, things that were much too private and personal for someone to just stumble upon them. Most of what was left he collected for Harry, knowing that he at least would get some meaning from them. His Wolfsbane came as usual that month, by Owl this time, and he took every dose, as usual. The day of the full moon dawned cold and grey, sheets of rain pouring down outside his window. Remus sat down at his kitchen table with a cup of tea and some parchment, and carefully wrote out two letters, one much shorter than the other. He folded both and put them into envelopes, writing names on the outside of both. The longer one he propped up against a stack of old photo albums on the table in front of him, the other he put into his pocket. He drained his tea, poured himself another, and got up to retrieve a stone bowl from his kitchen bench. He placed it in front of his seat at the table and sat down again, getting his wand out and touching it to his forehead, pulling fine, silvery threads out with his wand and dropping them into the bowl.

Hogsmeade was every bit as cold and rainy as the Highlands had been, but Remus didn't let it bother him. He'd always loved Hogsmeade, so he took his time, walking around the empty streets just soaking up the atmosphere of the place. He went and sat in the Three Broomsticks for a while and had a butterbeer, then wandered down to Honeydukes and bought himself some chocolate frogs, some fudge and some coconut ice, then started the trek to Hogwarts. He was walking with a cane these days, especially so close to the moon when his bones ached the most, so the going was slow, but he didn't mind that; he had hours yet to go till the moon, and only a few things left that he wanted to do. He stopped at the Shrieking Shack for a little while to rest and eat the rest of his sweets, climbing the creaky stairs and drying himself off with a quick spell, then sitting at the dilapidated old piano, tinkling out chopsticks on the keys while he ate his fudge and remembered all the times that they'd come up here to get drunk or stoned, James and Sirius banging out Beatles songs together and composing their own with some of the filthiest lyrics Remus had ever heard (he was positive that Mrs Black hadn't had anything like that in mind when she dressed Sirius up in his short trousers and knee socks and sent him to his piano lessons.) He indulged himself in some more memories for a little while, reaching between the side of the piano and the wall, tracing his fingers over the initials carved there: M, W, P, P, and smiling when he got to the paw print that Sirius had gone back later to carve under his own initial. There had been other things written in that room that were gone now, mostly traced in the dust that collected after a week or two of quiet, or sometimes on the skin of a back with a finger during a game of guess this word that was meant to lull an exhausted and aching werewolf to sleep. Remus didn't have to see or touch them to remember what they'd said. He sat and listened to the rain on the roof for a little while longer and wrote some things of his own in the dust, swiping at them with his hand so that they'd be gone too, before standing up and brushing himself off. To keep himself dry for a little while longer, he went through the tunnel to the Whomping Willow instead of out the way he'd come in, pressing the knot in the trunk before clambering out into the rain again and walking slowly up to the Castle.

It was just the same as it always was, of course. It was a Saturday, but there weren't many children playing in the halls; he assumed they were wrapped up all cosy in their common rooms or their dorms, playing games or doing their homework. He wished that he could have gotten into Gryffindor Tower one more time and indulged himself in some more memories, but that was impossible of course, so he contented himself with wandering the halls, visiting some of the places where they'd made their mischief, and other, more secret places where he and Sirius had made a mischief that was all their own. He went and sat in his old Defense classroom for a time and thought about some of the lessons he'd had there the year he'd taught. He thought fondly of his first lesson with Harry's year, with Neville and his Snape-boggart, and how really, truly amusing Snape had looked dressed up in Neville's grandmother's clothes. He hadn't had to try too hard to laugh at that one, not at all.

Thoughts of that lesson jogged his memory about what else he'd come here to do; he looked out the window and saw that it was getting dark; he didn't have much time left. He left his old classroom and went down into the dungeons to the Potions classroom, and stood behind Snape's desk while he drank the last of his vials of Wolfsbane. He then got out the envelope he'd put in his pocket earlier and laid it on the desk, weighting it with the empty vial before taking one last look around and walking out. He kept walking, through the corridors again and out the Entrance Hall, and down towards the lake. When he got to the lake he turned back and looked one more time at the place he'd spent his childhood. He looked for a long time, watching as lanterns were lit in every window by people wishing to banish the darkness for a little while longer, before turning away and walking slowly into the Forbidden Forest to wait for the moon.