Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.
A/N: The story takes place in August of 1993.
Until the Moon Sets
The whittled moon glowed bone-white and luminous in the deep blue sky, waning ever so slowly with the August night. In the sleepy Hogwarts grounds, ancient trees rustled and shivered, while the night wind whispered and sighed. There was a chill in the air, a prelude to the coming of autumn. Crossing the grounds with a purposeful stride, Remus did not feel cold in his well-mended robe. The after-dinner brandy he had drunk with Dumbledore was warming his body still.
Holding two bottles of Butterbeer with one hand, he went down to the Great Lake, where pale moonlight painted the world in shades of blue and darkness. The gibbous moon glared from the sky like an eye, while another moon shimmered on the surface of the calm, dark water like a ghost. Mountains loomed in angular shadows in the distance.
He sat down on the pebbled ground and stared at the familiar, unchanging view. The air held a touch of moisture and the pungent smell of the lake, a scent from the summer of his youth. Smiling a self-deprecating smile, he left one of the Butterbeer bottles on the ground beside him, uncorked the other bottle, and drank a mouthful.
The Butterbeer he bought at the Three Broomsticks had retained the same foamy sweetness from a time long since past, and it stirred up memories he had left behind in this place that was his haven—in the lake, under the tree, in a room that could no longer be found. For one disconcerting moment, he was sixteen all over again, anxious and confused and perhaps even a little in love.
And that certain someone would sit by his side, joking and teasing and flirting with him, making him smile and warming him up from the inside out. I know you hate it, but I like the moon, that certain someone would say, as if provoking him, as if spinning a riddle for him to solve. It reminds me of you. And perhaps they would share a kiss or two or something more.
With a pang Remus collected himself, took a deep breath, and let it out. The past sank once more into the depths of his consciousness, dormant but never forgotten. As he gazed upon the watery reflection of the moon, words tumbled out of his mouth.
"I'll be teaching at Hogwarts in September," he said to no one in particular. "Defence Against the Dark Arts. Apparently the post is still jinxed, so it's only for a year. If I'm lucky, I might even come out of it alive."
The wind sent ripples across the lake and tousled his hair. After drinking some more Butterbeer, he put down the bottle, fished out a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and shook out a stick. With a practised flick he lit the cigarette, took a drag, and blew smoke into the night. The familiar taste of the cigarette brought him a shadow of comfort.
"I'll be seeing Harry soon. He's thirteen now. Hard to imagine, isn't it? It's even harder to imagine that he'll be one of my students. Children grow up quickly when you aren't watching."
A wisp of smoke rose from the tip of the cigarette, swaying and curling in the moonlight. He held the cigarette to his lips and took another drag; the tip flared orange and bright. Ashes crumbled and fell; a cool breeze blew past and carried the ashes away into the dark.
Something bumped against Remus' back and pressed up to him, a pressure that was as tangible as the ground he was sitting on. It might have been the body of a stag or the back of a certain someone who was not supposed to be here. His heart skipped a beat, Remus did not turn around; instead, he held his breath and remained where he was.
"Mind if I borrow a smoke?" James asked. Without a word Remus handed the cigarette over; cold fingers brushed against his hand and took the cigarette from him. "Thanks." A sigh sounded behind Remus, but it might have merely been the wind. "It's the brand I used to smoke, isn't it? It might be strange for me to say this, but smoking isn't good for you."
"I limit myself to one cigarette per month," Remus heard himself say. It was surprisingly easy to slip back to the kind of conversation he used to have with James, as if they had just talked the other day—rather than a lifetime ago.
"Yeah, you have good self-control, unlike me. Thanks for the Butterbeer, by the way. I wish it were actual beer, but you have to take what you can."
Remus cast a glance to the side. The Butterbeer bottle he had set down beside him was nowhere to be found. The empty space left a flicker of doubt in his mind. Had he really brought two bottles along with him in the first place? Nevertheless, as he felt James' comforting presence behind him, he decided to let it go.
"Give Harry a hug for me, Remus," James said to him.
"I could be sacked for that and my sanity called into question," Remus said wryly. "Besides, he doesn't know who I am. I've only seen him a few times—and that was back when he was just a little bundle in a blanket."
There was a hint of a smile in James' voice. "But you held him when he was little. I'm sure that somewhere in his whatsit—the unconscious?—he still remembers his Uncle Moony."
Stricken with a spell of nostalgia, Remus looked down at the bottle in his hand for a beat or two and took a swig. No one had called him by his nickname in a long time. James was no longer here (except he was here right now, be it an illusion or a dream or an apparition); Peter never called him Moony in the first place; and Sirius...
"Sirius has broken out of Azkaban." Words fell from Remus' lips and left a ripple in the dark. The name of his former friend sounded strange to his ear, as if it were in a language he could no longer understand. "He might come for Harry."
"Well, he's dogged if nothing else," James said lightly, as though the one he was cracking a joke about was a good friend of his—and not the man who had betrayed him and his family to the enemy.
Remus stared at the deep, dark water. Once upon a time, he would have indulged James with a chuckle or two for the bad pun—but not tonight. "I should have guessed earlier and done everything I could to stop him."
"A lot had happened back then. There were things we didn't tell you about."
Even though Remus had suspected as much, James' words left a hollow feeling inside him. At the thought he curled his lips into a crooked smile. Even in death James managed to bind Remus Lupin to him as surely as he had bound others to him—like a spell—or a curse.
"Was it his idea?" Remus asked.
"You should ask him when you see him." A sigh followed—or a breath. Remus imagined James drawing on the cigarette and breathing out with tantalising slowness, and he pictured a whiff of smoke escaping into the ether with James' words. "The dead shouldn't meddle too much."
Feeling a pang in his chest, Remus leant against James and closed his eyes. Perhaps James was merely a figment of his imagination, a reflection in the water on a drunken night. None of it mattered in the moonlit world. "I'll keep an eye on Harry."
"Thanks, Remus." There was movement behind Remus, a swishing sound like the wind. Before he knew it, a pair of arms reached out and held him close from behind. "Sorry for leaving you behind and making you deal with everything by yourself."
Not trusting himself to speak, Remus nodded and looked down at those enveloping arms. They resembled a piece of the night in their loose black sleeves. A pair of hands—James' hands—stuck out from the sleeves, and somehow they looked strangely real. After a moment of hesitation, he rested his hand on James' hand, which felt solid and held not a shred of warmth.
"You should keep an eye on yourself too," James said, sounding almost indulgent. "As much as I look forward to our happy reunion, I can wait. Let's say a hundred years?"
Somewhere inside Remus it hurt, and he could not quite tell where it hurt. "I'll try. But not for a hundred years."
James chuckled beside Remus' ear, a sound that stirred up a whirlwind of emotions and a sea of memories in Remus. "Still hate making promises, huh?" The smell of cigarette smoke accompanied James' words. "Do you remember how we used to sneak out of the dorm and come down here late at night?"
In spite of the sombre mood he had fallen into, Remus could not help but smile. "I remember you trying to convince me to go skinny-dipping with you."
"It wasn't really swimming I had in mind," James said in a playful tone. He returned the cigarette to Remus' lips, his cold fingertips brushing against Remus' cheek, his chin, the corner of his mouth. "I just wanted to have a good look at you in the moonlight, full moon or not."
Yes, that was something James would say, Remus thought as a flicker of wistfulness came over him. Holding the cigarette between his fingers, he flicked away the ashes and leant into the embrace of the man who did not fear embracing him or the wolf inside him on a moonlit night.
"I can't tell if you are being romantic or being a git," Remus whispered, and he heard a snicker before cold lips grazed his ear.
"I'd say a bit of both." A cold hand covered Remus' eyes, and for one disorienting moment in the dark, Remus forgot to breathe. He forgot who was dead and who was alive. "I'll see you later, Remus. Don't forget we have a date coming up in a hundred years." And with that James let him go.
The moonlit lake opened up before Remus' eyes once more, and the pressure upon his back was gone. Ever so slowly he turned around; the Hogwarts grounds stretched on into the forbidden forest and into the night. There was no one here; he was alone. Nevertheless, a certain someone had left behind an empty Butterbeer bottle.
How did James manage to finish the entire bottle without his noticing? Remus puzzled over the impossible riddle as a sense of loss washed over him. In the end, he could only smile a bitter smile and let it be.
The cigarette had almost burnt itself out to the end. Holding it to his lips, he took one last drag, held it in until the smoke had soaked through the words he had not been able to say, and gradually let it out. He watched a breath of smoke flow towards the gibbous moon and dissipate into the night, leaving only a faint scent behind.
"See you later, James," he said to a certain someone who was no longer here.
After stubbing out the cigarette on the ground, he gathered up the two Butterbeer bottles, pushed himself to his feet, and slowly made his way towards the warm, golden lights of the castle.
Finis.