Chapter Four
Severus stood on a ladder and searched the shelves of his supply cupboard; taking down vials of ragwort juice, jars of dried shrivelfigs, a bezoar, a small parcel of boomslang skin and absolutely anything else that he thought might come in useful on his quest.
If he was going to hunt down his oldest enemies, if he was going to seek justice - vengeance - for Lily and for his own loss, then he wanted to ensure he was fully prepared. He did not want to find himself short at a vital moment.
He had a large bag open on his desk, and he put his potions supplies in there, along with a collapsible cauldron, an invisibility cloak woven with Demiguise hair, some maps and some books from the library.
He was just closing up the cupboard, taking his key out to lock it, when he hesitated and opened it up again. He reached inside, rummaging around at the back, until his fingers clasped around the bindings of an old book. He took it down - and looked at it - wondering. His heart felt heavy just looking at it. He wasn't sure he could bear to open it up and look inside - not now, not when his loss was so … raw.
...
It was an old scrapbook. His name was scratched across the front in his teenaged, spidery handwriting. There was a splodge of scarlet ink near the bottom where his quill had once split and drenched the book - and he remembered he had used the hem of his school robes to hastily mop up the mess, staining the fabric dark red.
This had been his diary, of sorts, when he was a boy. A hybrid of a journal and a keepsake; mementos of his time at Hogwarts pressed between the pages. So much of Lily: their life, his love, their friendship was spellotaped onto the pages, or else his feelings poured out in reams of that scarlet ink. Merlin, but it hurt his heart more than he could bear to think of opening it up and seeing their past - seeing all he had lost - printed onto these yellowing pages.
But there was more than just Lily in this book. There was more than just his triumphs and his hopes … There were his defeats in here too. There were the memories of those he hated. Of those he now hunted. If he was to track them down, find them out in whichever corner of the country they had hidden themselves in, then he would need to think like them. Need to know them. Need to carefully deduce where it was they would squirrel themselves away… And to do that, he needed his memories.
...
He had thankfully not seen Black and the halfbreed since they had left school - their paths seemingly taking different directions - all though now it was all too clear they had all wound up in the employ of the Dark Lord.
He had been happy to say he had never needed to give the pair of them much thought, once school was over. And so much of the details of them were forgotten - sunk to the very back crevices of Severus' mind and left to fade into nothingness. But he needed those details now - he needed those memories to help him hunt. And those memories were all in this scrapbook. He needed to get to know his old foes once again - and so he would need to reacquaint himself with every childish prank and ridiculous scheme they had ever spun.
He had to read the scrapbook.
If there was just one hint - one morsel of information in there that could lead him to his quarry then he could not let the pain in his heart stop him from finding it.
...
Though he wasn't ready to look in there quite yet. Wasn't ready to see a photograph of him and Lily, beaming for the camera - young and bright and with their whole lives ahead of them. He wasn't ready to see her face and know she would never smile again.
Keeping it firmly closed, he put the scrapbook in his bag and then fastened the whole thing up. He would look at it later - but for now, it was time to start his quest.
'What are you thinking?' Sirius asked.
Remus had been staring blankly into the crackling fire - his face was drawn, and tired. There were dark circles under his eyes, though the full moon was still nearly two weeks away. Sirius watched him keenly.
Remus seemed to shake himself, as he came out of his reverie and turned away from the fire, looking instead at his friend. 'I…' He seemed to notice the attentive way Sirius looked at him, the way those grey eyes seemed to search him - looking right into him, and he lowered his own eyes… not knowing what to make of it.
'Were you thinking about Lily and James?' Sirius asked.
Remus nodded, 'yes … I suppose.'
'Were you … were you regretting coming away - with me?'
'I just … Everything has changed. I don't understand.'
'What?' He reached out and took Remus' hand - giving it a comforting squeeze. But rather than seeming comforted, Remus flinched- and Sirius dropped his hand and moved further away.
They stared at each other - for a long moment. Remus, almost without seeming to realise it, rubbed his hand where Sirius had held it. 'I don't understand how Peter can have betrayed us. I don't understand what happens next,' he said. 'With us … I don't - I don't understand what we do next.'
'Does there have to be a plan right away?' Sirius asked him. 'Isn't it enough for us just to survive this day, and the next and the one after that?'
'Perhaps.'
'If we can just get through this - get through the next days, weeks- then maybe things will start to make sense.'
But Remus shook his head. 'It will never make sense to me that Peter has betrayed us. Betrayed Lily - betrayed James . I don't think it will ever make sense that James and Lily are dead - I don't think I want it to.'
Sirius closed his eyes, trying to fight down the pain. 'I know.'
'And our lives. What are our lives now?'
'We're together,' Sirius said firmly. 'We're together and we have Harry - and nothing else matters.'
Remus raised his eyes and looked at him, before turning back to stare at the fire. He still didn't know what this all meant, what it was that Sirius wanted… expected. And he didn't know how to ask.
His heart had not known a heaviness like this since he was a boy - almost a century ago; not since his sister had died and Gellert had run. And, left alone, he had come to realise everything that Gellert was … and everything he wasn't.
His first heartbreak.
He had never known, until he met Gellert - that his heart could beat that fast; that his skin could feel that flushed; that he could want so much and yet be so pleased with so little: a glance, a chaste kiss, a hand brushing against bare skin. He had never known that a boy could feel this way about another boy. It had been his secret; one he had been mortified by at the time but so excited by as well … and one he had kept as his deepest shame since Gellert had gone on to do what he had done.
Love. So unexpected. So messy. So painful.
It was something he had put out of his mind - after that disaster, after the loss of Ariana. He had dedicated himself to the pursuits of the mind instead: uses of dragon's blood, alchemy, anything that would keep him busy. Anything that would let him ignore what Gellert was doing.
Until he could ignore it no longer. Until he had to face his past, face his love, face exactly what it was his heart was so desperately running from.
To stand toe to toe with the man you loved - as enemies - to do battle. To defeat him. To see him broken - and taken away - and to force yourself to never think of him again…
Of course Remus had followed Sirius. Of course Remus would not put himself through that if there was any other choice. Of course turning to the dark side would be easier, less painful. If it hadn't been for Ariana - could Dumbledore truly say he would not have done the same? Was that not the path he was already heading down during that brief, beautiful summer of breathless glances and stolen touches?
...
The pensieve was in front of him once more, and Gellert's golden, youthful, laughing face had swirled to the top and - as much as the pain stabbed his heart - Dumbledore gazed down at it hungrily, longingly, drinking him all in. He had been so young, he had been so beautiful … but even in those days, the rot had already been there - and Dumbledore had been too in love to see it.
The silver mists inside the stone basin shifted - and Gellert sank from view. Unbidden, Dumbledore's hand reached out - as if to snatch him back, bring him to the surface once more … but the images changed too swiftly, and now they showed a peaky little boy of eleven, with dark circles under his eyes, playing gobstones by the fire.
He sighed deeply. This was Remus - as first he knew him. A frightened and lonely little boy with a terrible secret, who just wanted to go to school, who just wanted to have friends.
And Dumbledore had sympathised. The burden put on one so young, the suffering the boy had known - Dumbledore had wanted to ease that, wanted him to experience his birthright as a young wizard. He had known the future would be bleak for a boy like Remus, but that did not mean there could not be fun and adventure and love, before the children grew to adulthood and learned to hate and fear what was different.
But perhaps it had not been a kindness, as once he thought it was, to allow this boy his schooldays. To let him live in this world briefly, knowing he would be cast out from it when he reached manhood. Perhaps it was not kind to offer him the chance of friendship - when his desperation for it would leave him so weak.
For that was the weakness in Remus' soul - not the wolf, the wanting to belong - to be loved. He had found his friends and they had accepted him, and he was so terribly afraid that they would turn on him for what he was, that he would go along with whatever they asked.
...
Sirius and James had always been trouble makers. Harmless enough for the most part, but nevertheless trouble. And though Remus would attempt to hold them back from the worst of their excesses - he would never truly stand up to them for fear they would turn on him. That was the paradox of Remus, so brave in the face of his physical suffering and the prejudice he faced and yet so desperately afraid of the people who loved him. He feared loneliness above all else and - having experienced friendship - would do whatever it took to keep it.
And perhaps that fear was what Sirius manipulated.
Or perhaps there had been no need to … love after all was as powerful as fear. And if Remus was asked to choose between Sirius and James, then James would never stand a chance.
...
The whole school had known about James and his feelings for Lily, had laughed as he mooned over in her public and made a damn fool of himself - until finally she relented. Only Dumbledore had known about Remus and Sirius - only he had recognised their friendship for what it truly was, only he knew the signs to look for … Almost a hundred years, since him and Gellert, but the signs were still the same.
Two boys - unsure - a little afraid, a little embarrassed by what they felt. Unable to put those feelings into words. The muggles had once called it "the love which dare not speak its name" … and they were right. How much harder it was for them to find each other. How much more was on the line if they found the courage to speak up.
It had been just this way with Gellert...
...
He was interrupted in his thoughts by a knock on the door - and then Severus entered, clutching a large, leather holdall in one hand. His expression had lost some of that wild, inconsolable grief - though there were still traces of it, pain behind the eyes… But his jaw was set and he had a fresh look of determination about him.
'I'm ready to set out, headmaster - I'll let you know if I have any news.'
'Thank you, Severus - where will you go?'
'I'll try their homes - look for any clues. I'll go to Black's family home, speak to Walburga - maybe try old Lupin, see if he knows anything. I'll take it from there.' His fist clenched tighter around the strap of his bag.
'Good - good,' he sighed deeply, wearily, wishing that none of this were necessary. 'You will be careful, Severus? I fear Black and Lupin may be dangerous when confronted … and we have already suffered enough losses.'
But Severus' set expression only quirked into a grim and satisfied smile. 'I'll not let them get the better of me. I've been waiting a long time for this.'
The front door banged, and Remus looked up from his book. Sirius had gone out onto the Island - to buy food, and basic supplies for Harry; this would be him returning.
Sure enough the door to the living room opened and Sirius walked in, a plastic bag in his hand and his hair plastered to his head with rain. 'It's freezing out there,' he announced. 'Bloody pissing it down too. I thought the Channel Islands were supposed to be warmer.'
'Not in winter,' Remus smiled, putting his book down and getting to his feet. 'It still rains. Here -' he reached out for the bag of shopping. 'I'll take it through to the kitchen, you sit by the fire and get warm, you're soaked to the skin.'
'It's fine,' he pulled his hand back, 'I feel better when I'm busy.'
'But you'll get sick.' He reached again for the bag - and their hands touched, just the briefest whisper of skin brushing skin, their knuckles grazing against each other - and Remus felt a shiver run down his spine. They both froze - just for a moment - Remus held his breath … and then he snatched the bag away, feeling both relief and disappointment as he broke contact.
'It's fine,' Sirius, protested again.
But Remus shook his head. 'Sit - get warm, I'll make us some tea.' And he headed off to the kitchen, his heart hammering in his chest.
...
He pulled the door to, once he was inside the narrow kitchen - and leaned against the counter; closing his eyes and letting out a deep sigh. This was ridiculous. Since they had run away together, he was on edge all the time: not knowing, but wanting so desperately - and then the not knowing how to ask. He didn't know if Sirius felt the same way, or if he was oblivious … or if he knew how Remus felt and was disgusted.
There were so many ways to interpret the way those grey eyes looked at him, the touches Sirius gave him, the silences and the long moments staring at each other. He knew what he wanted to be true … but he did not dare to presume.
But everything was so terrible now - and all they had was each other. However Remus felt, whatever he wanted - however Sirius felt … maybe it was less complicated to leave everything unsaid. To keep things the way they had always been. He could learn to live with the wanting … he had been living with it for years already.
...
He took a deep breath and forced himself to come back to his senses. With a wave of his wand, the food flew from the bag and into the cupboards. He tapped the kettle and it began to boil, shrieking as the steam billowed from the spout - and he hastily stuffed teabags into two mugs and then poured in the water. Once the tea had steeped he added the milk and - with another deep breath - headed back to the living room.
...
When he got there, he saw Sirius sitting in the chair beside the fire. His face was buried in his hands and, from the way his shoulders were heaving, it seemed that he was crying - great, wracking sobs. It was as if, left alone and with nothing to do, the aching loss of Lily and James had just crashed in on him - and left him broken with grief.
Remus stood in the doorway, a mug of hot tea clasped in each hand - watching his friend cry, and not knowing what to do.
