A few days later, he woke with something like anticipation - a feeling he had not experienced for some time. He had already taught a few classes, but today would be his first with Harry and the other third year Gryffindors.
He found himself anxious for the boy to like him, but knew better than to expect a thirteen-year-old boy to have any regard whatsoever for a shabby, taciturn, and antisocial professor, middle-aged before his time. The bittersweet memory clutched at his heart of the days long gone, when a toddler had smiled up at him with those same wide, green eyes, and begged his Uncle Moony to pick him up.
Third year Defence Against the Dark Arts focussed on dealing with Dark creatures, and he had planned this first lesson carefully, to capture the attention and interest of the class. They were going to get to try their luck against a real Boggart; one had been found living in a wardrobe in the staff room. Boggarts were not terribly dangerous, but they could be very tricky, and more harm was usually caused by the stampede to get away than by the Boggart itself.
Part way through his lesson plan, however, it had occurred to him that it might be dangerous to have Harry come up against one of these creatures. After all, most teenagers feared things like humiliation before their peers or heights or spiders or any number of relatively harmless things. Harry, on the other hand, had met Voldemort himself face-to-face on more than one occasion, and had a better idea of where real danger lay than most young witches and wizards.
To have Voldemort suddenly appear in the middle of the Hogwarts staff room - well, it was perhaps not the best idea. While it might look strange if he let all the students except for Harry face the Boggart, that was a risk he would just have to take. He hoped the boy would not be too disappointed.
He arrived in the classroom a few minutes late, but resolved in what he planned to do. The students seemed puzzled by the idea of a practical Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, especially so early in the term, but they followed him through the corridors of the school without protest. He even managed to gain a tiny bit of admiration from the group on the way, through a brief encounter with Peeves and a wad of chewing gum.
Remus even smiled to himself as they continued down the corridor, remembering how, in his younger years, there had been some debate as to whether Peeves or the Marauders caused more trouble at Hogwarts. The smile quickly faded as he remembered that one of the Marauders, at least, had caused more real trouble than Peeves could ever dream of.
It felt odd, going into the staff room. It had been as forbidden for students to enter that sanctum in his time as it was now. Not that there weren't legitimate reasons for students to be there, such as this lesson, and not that he and his friends had not visited the room in the course of a prank or two in their time. In fact, there had been that time he and Sirius had had to hide quickly in the very wardrobe that now rattled with its imprisoned Boggart.
It was one memory Remus still cherished. On that occasion, their feelings for one another had only recently been discovered, and they had shared a few secretive kisses there in the dark, waiting for a safe moment to steal away, unnoticed. Remus was certain that, in those days, there had been no evil in Sirius; only mischief and high spirits. He felt no guilt in loving that boy, though he felt it deeply when he thought of the man he had become. He wondered now, as ever, when that change had happened, and how he had failed to notice it.
Snape sat reading in an armchair by a window as the class filed in, apparently oblivious to the Boggart's rattling. When he saw that this class contained both his least favourite colleague and his least favourite student he rose, made a snide comment, and departed in his usual billowy manner. Remus smiled tiredly at the class, hoping that they had learnt to disregard their Potions master's rude remarks.
The Boggart lesson went well, he thought. The children were nervous at first, but he managed to dispel some of those nerves by choosing the most frightened-looking of the lot - a boy named Neville - to try the lesson first. Remus tried very hard not to laugh out loud when the Boggart became Snape in an old lady's dress and absurd vulture hat. After that, the students seemed to gain confidence, and some even appeared to be enjoying the exercise, treating it like a game, and trying to make the Boggart appear as foolish as possible.
Remus kept glancing at Harry out of the corner of his eye, gauging the boy's reactions. He had started the lesson looking as nervous as any of the other students, but thoughtful as well. As one by one his classmates were called upon to face the Boggart, and he himself was not, his expression changed to impatience, and finally to puzzled bewilderment when he realised that Remus did not mean to call on him at all.
Remus was forced to step in and confront his own fears for a moment, when the Boggart came too near to Harry. He managed to narrowly avert the appearance of Voldemort among the students, who were still in some distress over the Boggart's previous manifestation as a very large spider.
He reflected that he was lucky on two counts. Firstly, the full moon was not an inherently frightening object, though, seeing it, he felt the familiar tingling sensation at the back of his neck that always preceded his transformations. Secondly, he was fortunate that the Boggart chose that shape, rather than that of his other great fear: meeting Sirius face to face again in this life.
Remus glanced around to see if the students had taken any notice of what the Boggart had become for him, but most of them seemed to be too busy reliving and exulting in their own triumphs over their fears to pay any attention. Only Harry and one or two other students seemed to be casting curious glances in his direction. He looked quickly for Neville to finish the lesson, before the Boggart had a chance to change its mind about what might scare him.
When the class was over, Harry tried to question him about why he had not been given a turn with the Boggart. Remus gave him a vague excuse about answering questions correctly at the start of class, and hurriedly dismissed the students. Harry looked disappointed as he left with his friend, and Remus felt a sudden surge of guilt for lying to the boy. Perhaps he would explain the truth to him another day, but not in front of the whole class. What Remus really needed was a chance to talk with Harry alone.
It was dark. He could tell from the close feeling of the space around him that he was in the wardrobe, and he knew that the Boggart was in there with him.
"Lumos," he whispered into the darkness, though he was not holding his wand.
Soft light flooded the enclosed space, and he saw the Boggart's face.
"Remus," it said, in a voice he had not heard in the waking world for many long years.
Sirius stood, close enough to touch, a look of tenderness in his mad eyes. This was not Sirius as Remus had known him, but the stranger on the front page of the Daily Prophet and in the "wanted" posters that currently littered the Wizarding world. He felt terrified and a little breathless. He wanted to get as far away from this wreck of a man as possible. And yet -
Those eyes still captivated him. He felt as though he were falling into them. Were they really so different from the eyes that had looked into his in his youth? The longer he looked, the less difference there seemed to be.
And suddenly, he was no longer looking at the ragged stranger, but at a handsome, dark-haired youth dressed in school robes, a mischievous smile playing on his full lips. Remus looked down and saw without surprise that he, too, was wearing his school robes, with scuffed trainers peeking out from under the hem.
"Remus," said the voice again, younger this time - lighter and more compelling than ever.
He found himself looking into that face with a hunger he had not known in years. The Boggart-boy raised his hand, touching Remus's face, running his fingers through his hair. Remus made a soft, anguished sound in his throat and closed his arms around his love, burying his face in his neck.
"Sirius! Sirius, tell me it was all a mistake! Tell me you never meant for any of it to happen!"
He knew he was weeping, but he could not stop himself. He felt the hot tears flowing across the tender skin against which his face was pressed. He could taste the salt of them, as well as the other boy's sweat.
"Hush. Hush now, Moony," murmured the dark-haired boy, enfolding him in his arms. "Don't you see, Moony my love? I saved you. You were never meant to be part of it. I kept you out of it - kept you safe. You lived. I wanted you to live."
His hands caressed Remus's back. Remus pulled away, but not quite out of the circle of Sirius's arms.
"Sirius, I loved you! I trusted you! We all did. Why -?"
The other boy looked at him with pity in his eyes. Suddenly, his face was very near. Remus closed his eyes, and then there were soft lips against his own, a wicked tongue flicking teasingly against his mouth.
I should be trying to get away, he thought dimly.
But the sweetness of it, at once so familiar, and so long lost to him, overwhelmed him, and he surrendered. Opening his lips, he accepted and hungrily returned the kiss. He could feel the rough boards of the wardrobe against his back, the arms around him, squeezing tighter and tighter, the kiss that was no longer playful, but rough and suddenly harsh, the bristly stubble against his tender young face.
He gasped, shoving the leering madman of Azkaban away from him, but the arms would not let go.
"I love you, Remus. I'm coming to find you. I promise we'll be together soon."
He tried to fight, but he could not get his arms free. He could not find his wand. He could not breathe -
There was a sudden jolt, and Remus found himself lying on the stone floor of his bedroom, tangled in blankets, hot, sweaty, and once more in his prematurely-aging body. He threw off the covers and continued to lie there in the cool, still darkness, waiting for his heart to slow.
After a time, he climbed back onto the bed and lay staring up into the darkness. He tried not to think of the bed as "lonely". He tried not to think of Sirius at all - neither the youth who still caused his blood to stir, nor the haggard lunatic whose face was quickly becoming all too familiar.
It was too disturbing to acknowledge, even to himself, how much he still wanted the man, despite his horrific betrayal of all Remus held dear. At last, he closed his eyes, but he knew there was little chance he would sleep again that night.