Five weeks later, a very pale Remus sat staring in shock at the morning edition of the Daily Prophet, no longer seeing the words printed on the page.
"Black to Receive Dementors' Kiss," read the headline. The article went on to say that the Ministry of Magic had given permission for the Dementors of Azkaban to perform their "kiss" on the fugitive Sirius Black, when they found him. It was a short article, tucked away at the bottom of the fourth page. It did not even give an explanation of what the "kiss" entailed; only implying that it was a nasty, distasteful thing, and that the Wizarding public really did not want to know the unsavoury details.
But Remus knew.
In his sixth year at Hogwarts, there had been a two-weeks-long unit on Dementors as part of his Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts studies. He had been a good student, and could still remember much of the material covered by the course. However Professor Seagram, who had taught Defence that year, had glossed over the Dementors' "kiss".
It had only been later, after Sirius had been sent to Azkaban, that Remus had developed a morbid fascination with the place and its fearful guards, and had learnt what the "kiss" was. It was the complete removal of soul or mind or memory or whatever one chose to call it. A loss of the self. The Dementors sucked it out their victim's mouth. It was the most extreme form of punishment used by the Wizarding legal system.
Remus had always disapproved of its use on principle. It seemed too close to the "unforgivable" class of curses. True, it was only reserved for the most unrepentant, irredeemable law breakers - generally the sort of people who had performed many Unforgivable Curses themselves - but could anyone truly deserve to lose his soul?
Does he deserve it?
He thought of all that Sirius had done - to Lily and James, to Peter, to all those unnamed Muggles, to Harry, and to Remus himself. Dreadful things. But that terrible kiss would destroy not only the violent madman, but any vestige left of the man he had been, and the boy. The troublemaker. The practical joker. The rebel. The lover. That reserve of inner strength and that capacity for vulnerability. His own dear, beloved Padfoot.
If the Ministry had their way, none of those aspects would exist within Sirius's mind any longer.
Maybe some of them died long ago, thought Remus, but they're still there somewhere - their crypts and graves. Once the kiss is performed, everything he was and is will be gone forever. He'll only exist in my memory.
Once the kiss was performed, there was no chance of redemption; no soul to be redeemed.
He could not help imagining one of those cold creatures swathed in its black robes bent over a helpless and terrified Sirius, its - mouth? - against the lips Remus had kissed countless times in tenderness and in passion, that had spoken words of love, laughter, hope, and the future - that had given him his first taste of carnal joy.
He imagined the light slowly dying in those bright, beautiful eyes, all memory draining away. Memories of the Marauders' great friendship and small pranks, memories of every spell and potion he had ever learnt, from his hangover cure to his ability to become Padfoot, memories of Remus himself and the love they had shared, from the first cautious words and tentative kisses to the nights of earth-shattering passion that had left them both bruised and aching the next day. All of it would be gone forever. Sirius would be dead, and all that would be left of him was an empty shell that moved and breathed.
Once the kiss was performed, Remus wondered if they would release him to the care of St Mungo's. With all thought, feeling, hope, and desire drained away, there would be nothing left in him for the Dementors to feed upon. There would be no point to keeping him in Azkaban any longer.
I'd go to him then, Remus knew all too well. I would go and collect him and find a safe place for us, and I'd care for what was left of him the rest of his days for the sake of what we once were. Hell, I'm already a pariah. What difference would it make? It's not like I have other plans for my life.
He wondered if following that path and having some purpose to his life, however empty, would make the immense loneliness better or worse, or only change its nature.
Harry, he thought. Harry would never understand. He might even hate me, and then I'd never see him again.
Now more than ever, Remus knew he could not be the one to hand Sirius over to his fate. It seemed, however, that the man had given him every opportunity to do so. Was Sirius taking advantage of his weakness? Using him in order to -? To what?
Three times now, he had come to Remus - an action more rash than mad - and done nothing which had proved him either insane or violent in Remus's presence. He had made himself easy for Remus to find and follow. He had come to his rooms twice, left an obvious trail in the secret passage only they knew about, and come to find him in the Shrieking Shack.
He's hiding from everyone but me, he thought miserably. He knows I'm no betrayer. I'm too sentimental. I'll risk all for the man he was, and he knows it.
His eyes returned reluctantly to the article. There was a small photo of Sirius next to it. Remus made himself really look at the picture for once. The long, tangled, dirty hair; the gaunt, thin face; the dark circles under those once-beautiful eyes. He knew what he was doing. He was looking for some trace of his Sirius in this stranger. Some sign that the man he had loved - the man he loved even now - was still in there, somewhere. As the head in the picture turned, he caught glimpses: the line of the jaw, the shape of the nose, the curve of an ear. But it was not physical recognition Remus sought.
Why, though, should he look for Sirius here, in this picture taken in Azkaban Prison, where all men were madmen? He had more recent impressions and memories of Sirius to draw upon.
There it was. A brief spark of memory: Sirius kneeling at his feet, looking up at him with sad, sad eyes. He frowned, trying to place the image. When had Sirius come to him a man, and not as Padfoot?
It must have been Christmas Eve, Remus thought. How bloody drunk was I?
The night was still coming back to him in bits and pieces, but even six weeks later, there were definite large, mysterious gaps in his memory. He tried once again to piece the evening together - to fit this new image into context.
Sirius had come, and it had not been a full moon. He was not hiding, since no one had reported seeing him in the castle that night; only later suspicion based on Harry's gift. So why had Sirius come to his rooms? He replayed as much of the scene as he could recall in his mind. Firewhiskey. Music. Old photos. A wooden dog with a lock of hair and a hangover cure when he had awoken. And now this image of Sirius kneeling at his feet, looking as sad and sorry as a person had ever looked.
There had to be something more - something else. Remus wracked his brains for some detail he had forgotten. Something Sirius had said. And then the words came floating back to him.
"I need your help," he had said. "I came to explain."
Explain. Had he said more than that? Remus thought through the evening again and again, but if Sirius had said more, Remus's brain had not been able to hold onto it. Sirius had come offering answers, the thing Remus hungered for above all else, and he had been in no state to hear them.
But what could Sirius have told him? Protestations of innocence from a man who had spent twelve years in prison for committing terrible crimes? Either Sirius was innocent and had come to tell the truth to the only man left in the Wizarding world who would not turn him over to the Dementors on the spot, or he was guilty and had come to enlist the help of the only man left who might be gullible enough to believe him.
A dozen years ago Remus had believed that Sirius would never lie to him, but that had been before the terrible facts of betrayal and murder had cast doubt over their affair so far back into the past. When had the lies begun? Had it been easy for Sirius to tell them? Now, doubt was all he had. Without proof that Sirius was guilty, he could not condemn him, and without certain knowledge of his innocence, he could not help the man.
Painful as it had been at the time, he had found out everything he could. He had gone to Godric's Hollow, to the location of Sirius's arrest, to the Ministry of Magic. He had memorised every detail of the case the Ministry had made public, and through a few bribes that had emptied his Gringotts account, a few they had not. He had tried to remember everything Sirius, James, Lily, even Peter had said in that last month. But the picture remained confused. Was it his own denial of the possibility of such a betrayal that fueled his confusion, or was there truly something missing from the picture?
Remus closed his eyes and prepared to enter that dangerous part of his mind where the detailed account of those events was kept. A pity it was too early in the morning for anything stronger than tea, but he needed a clear head for this.
He and Sirius had gone to visit Lily, James, and Harry in Godric's Hollow in late October. There had been none of the banter and laughter that usually marked their gatherings. Peter had been there that last time - a rare occurrence by then. Poor Peter. His mother had been ill, and he had had to spend a lot of his time caring for her that year. He barely saw his old friends anymore.
If Remus had had to put his money on one of them in those days, he might have chosen Peter, if only because Peter had all but been all but replaced by Lily in their little circle in those last two years, and Remus could not bear to think that one of the three dearest people in his life might be a traitor. But then had come that terrible day. Peter had acquitted himself like a hero, and died for love of his friends.
Everyone had been tense at that final gathering. They had all known that Voldemort was looking for the Potters, though Lily and James had been vague about the reason. James had looked grim. The only trace of his usual good humour had been a few bitter jokes that had made no one laugh. Lily was never more than an arm's reach from him, and they were constantly touching one another for reassurance. Lily's eyes had been big with fear, and she kept looking to James with a trust that had broken Remus's heart.
Harry had cried and fussed all through dinner, Remus remembered. He was usually such a quiet, happy baby, but even he could detect the tension between the adults around him, and he had wailed until Remus offered to take him outside for a walk in the garden.
Remus had taken Harry out and tried humming soothingly to him and bouncing him on his knee, to no avail. The baby had continued to cry and squirm. At last, Remus had simply sat him on his knee and begun talking to him. He had poured out his heart to the uncomprehending infant - his fears, hopes, sorrows - tears running freely down his face, and gradually Harry had quieted, looking up at Remus with round, trusting green eyes.
At last, Remus had taken Harry back into the house to his parents. James had taken Harry from him.
"Thank you, Remus," he had said, an emotion Remus could not quite name in his eyes. "Thank you for everything."
Lily given him a hug and kissed his cheek, and he had known. In that moment, he knew that he was never going to see them again, and that this was goodbye. The shock of that realisation had kept him from weeping at the time.
The Fidelius Charm had been performed the next day.
He had wept unashamedly that night, and Sirius had held him, white-faced and murmuring into his hair that everything would be all right. He had known that was a lie, but it had been such a comforting one. He had not known then that the rest was a lie as well. Sirius had said they would go into hiding, that Voldemort would come looking for them if he thought they knew where the Potters were. He had made some arrangements with Dumbledore, he had said.
In the days that followed, they had spoken of Lily and James and Harry often. Remus had been jealous, he admitted to himself now. Sirius was their Secret-Keeper, and could go see them anytime he liked. But every time Remus mentioned it, Sirius just shook his head and changed the subject. Remus was worried - had known that Voldemort would stop at nothing to find the secret of the Potters' whereabouts - but he was also so proud of Sirius's bravery.
They had tried to continue to live as normally as possible those last few days. Sirius had said that he would not go into hiding unless he was sure they were in danger, because he did not want to draw unwanted attention to himself and Remus. So instead they had planned a small celebration for their anniversary on Halloween.
Remus had decided to prepare the dinner without the use of magic. He had lit candles and put on soft music, but the air had fairly crackled with tension and Sirius had just sat on the sofa, gazing moodily out the window, thoughts obviously far away. When Remus put a hand on his arm, Sirius had jumped and then given him a weak smile, but had shaken his head in response to Remus's queries about what was troubling him.
Remus was just putting the last touches on supper when he had heard Sirius come into the kitchen. Turning, he saw Sirius gazing at him oddly. Remus opened his mouth to tell him that dinner would be ready in a few minutes, but the words died on his lips as Sirius strode across the kitchen, took Remus in his arms and kissed him hard enough to taste blood. He had pulled away and looked searchingly into Remus's eyes. Remus had thought he was about to say something, but then he had let go and hurried to the door, grabbing his leather jacket as he passed.
"Padfoot, where -?" he had started to say.
"I'm just going to get the wine," he had said. "I'll be back in a bit."
The door had slammed shut behind him, and a moment later the motorbike had roared to life. The sound faded away into the distance as he stood in the middle of the kitchen, tasting blood, staring at the unopened bottle of Goblin's Reserve on the table.
He had waited. At first, he had told himself that it was just the tension getting to Sirius, and he had needed some air. But as it grew dark and the candles burned down an inch and then another, he began to let himself worry.
What if something had happened to Sirius? He was so reckless, and his mind would obviously not be on his flying tonight. Anything might have happened. He could have had an accident. Voldemort's followers could have found him - could even now be prying the secret of Lily and James's whereabouts from him. But that thought had been too horrible to contemplate.
He had sat until nearly midnight, watching dinner grow cold untouched and trying to think of nothing at all.
He must have dozed off, for he had been awakened between 2:00 and 3:00 A.M. by voices in the street outside the flat. The candles had guttered out, and the room was dark, so he could see the scene outside clearly by the Muggle street lamps.
There were five people standing in the pool of orange light, and all were wearing wizards' robes. They were talking excitedly, but Remus could not hear what they said through the glass, so he got up and went to the door.
They all turned and looked at him when they heard the door open, and he instinctively reached for his wand. He had an absurd urge to call out "friend or foe?" but instead he said only, "Lumos," so that they would see he was a wizard too, despite his Muggle clothing.
The smallest of the group, an auburn-haired witch in a purple top hat, broke away from the rest and hurried toward him. He could see she was smiling, but when she got close enough to recognise him, her face fell.
"Remus Lupin?" she asked tentatively. She reached out as if to shake his hand, but instead she simply held it and did not let go. Her eyes were troubled.
"Maggie Lewis?" he said, shocked.
She gave a tiny nod. She had been in Ravenclaw, two years below himself and his friends at Hogwarts. At one time, she had tried to slip a love potion into his food. He looked over at the others, but saw no one else he recognised. They were all looking at him curiously.
"Remus," Maggie began, and then faltered.
A feeling of dread had welled up inside him. Something had happened. Something big if wizards were wandering Muggle streets in packs, undisguised in the middle of the night. Given the state of the Wizarding world at the time, he had known better than to hope it was anything good.
"What's happened?" he had asked quietly. He could not read the look in her eyes.
"Vol - You Know Who - he's gone!" her tone of voice said that she did not quite believe what she was saying, and was a little shocked to hear it out loud. "His power has broken and he's fled. There's people who were under the Imperius Curse waking up all over the country. Some of his followers have even killed themselves!"
He could not believe his ears. This should be wonderful news. But she was still looking at him with eyes that said not everyone was celebrating tonight.
"What else?" he had asked a little more sharply than he intended. The knot of dread within him was quickly transforming into a lump of ice-cold fear.
"I - they - he -" She tried to let go of his hand, but he held her fast.
"Tell me, Maggie."
She took a deep breath, speaking quickly, but no longer meeting his eyes. "You Know Who - he went to Godric's Hollow. He was looking for the Potters. He - they were - They're dead, Remus," she finally managed. "I'm so sorry." She squeezed his suddenly numb fingers, then pulled her hand from his, backing away.
No, his brain had said. No, it can't be true. If Voldemort is gone, then Lily and James are okay. We're all okay. If he's gone, we're all going to be fine!
But if it were true - There was only one way Voldemort could have got to Lily and James, and that was through Sirius. He had a sudden vision of Sirius surrounded by Death Eaters, in the agonising throes of the Cruciatus Curse, being forced to reveal the Potters' whereabouts.
The group of wizards was walking away from him, every now and then casting a worried glance over a shoulder at him. He ran after them and grabbed Maggie, spinning her around. He took her by the shoulders and shook her.
"Sirius Black!" he shouted. "Where is he? What's happened to him?" Please don't let him be dead, too.
But Maggie was shaking her head. "I don't know! I don't know! I haven't heard anyone say anything about him! Please, let me go!"
She had looked utterly terrified, and he realised dully that he was behaving like a madman. He had released her at once. The other witches and wizards were staring at him again. He raised his hands and backed away from them to show he meant no harm. Then he broke and ran back to the flat.
He had to get to Godric's Hollow. Maybe it was all a mistake - some silly rumour blown out of proportion. He would go there and see for himself that Lily and James were all right. Or at least that their house was nowhere to be seen, still under the protection of the Fidelius Charm. He had wanted to Apparate and get there at once, but he was too agitated to do so safely. It would have to be by broom, then.
It was two hours' flight from London to Godric's Hollow, and by the time he got there, he could see the first signs of gray dawn on the horizon. The starlight was dim, but the darkness could not hide the truth from his eyes as much as he longed to deny it.
Where Lily and James's house should have been - or not been, as the case may be - was little more than smoking wreckage.
As he drew nearer, he could see Ministry officials already crawling all over the scene. He touched down in the street and was immediately approached by a grim-looking witch.
"I'm sorry, Sir, but you'll have to clear the scene. We're very busy here."
"Please," he said, "the Potters are friends of mine. Tell me -"
But the words had died in his throat as he looked over the witch's shoulder to see two still forms decently covered in black cloaks next to the smoldering remains of the house.
"I'm sorry, Sir," the witch was saying in a softer tone. "Lily and James Potter are dead."
"I know," Remus replied. His voice sounded very small. It's true. They're really gone.
He sat down suddenly on the pavement, unable to tear his eyes away from those silent, cloaked shapes.
The Ministry witch was patting his shoulder awkwardly. "Can I get you anything, Sir? A drink of water?"
He shook his head, and with a last glance of concern, she had turned and gone back to work.
After a moment, Remus had made himself get to his feet. Shaky and feeling the cold sweat standing out on his face, he made as if to take a step toward the place where the bodies of his friends lay, but he could not do it. Instead, he wandered through the garden in the other direction, not wanting to leave, but not really wanting to see whatever other horrors the place might have to offer.
The entire scene hummed with the power of the curse that had been cast. The garden was strewn with bits of household items, broken furniture, a splintered thing that might have been a wand, and Harry's toys.
Harry. Harry's not here, Remus had suddenly realised. "Lily and James Potter are dead," the witch had said. He risked a glance to confirm there were only two still forms on the grass. Where is he?
And then, at his feet, he saw something that made his heart skip a beat: a single tire rut on the grass, running twenty feet or so and stopping abruptly at either end.
Sirius. Sirius must have come here to check on them, seen they were in danger, and taken Harry away with him.
But that was not right. The Potters could not have been in any danger unless Sirius gave the Death Eaters their location, so why would they have had him take the baby away?
In that moment, a thought like a poisoned dart entered his mind, though he wanted with all his heart to deny it: that Sirius had given up his information voluntarily - that he was the traitor in their midst - that he had come here with Voldemort and taken Harry away with him. But why? And where did Voldemort's downfall come into it?
I have to find them, he thought. I have to know.
Remus had gotten shakily back on his broomstick. Once in the air, he had drawn his wand.
"Amatori invenio," he said, his voice cracking. He took his hands off the broom handle and let the locator spell lead him.
He knew it was risky; wherever Sirius was, he was either a traitor or in grave danger. If he was in danger, Remus had to go to him and do what he could. If he was a traitor, Remus needed to know it, and try to do what he could to save Harry.
Dawn was breaking, and below him he could make out houses and farms. Gradually, the farmland gave way to suburbs, and after an hour and a half's flight, he was over narrow city streets, crowded from the early Muggle commute. Still the broom led him onwards. He did not care if Muggles saw him; things were too dire to worry about that now.
The broom had begun to descend on a busy market street. He saw Sirius standing no more than fifty paces away, his back to Remus. Harry was not with him. What Remus had seen instead was Peter Pettigrew. Then he had seen Sirius pointing his wand at Peter. Then he had seen a crater, a plume of black smoke, Muggles screaming, blood everywhere, Sirius laughing - laughing.
Remus had fallen to his knees on the pavement.
No! he had screamed silently. Sirius, no! Not you! Anyone but you!
His body rebelled, physically denying and rejecting what he had just seen, but he had not eaten since lunch the previous day, and the spasms that wracked his body brought up very little.
He had looked up again in time to see members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad tackle Sirius. They had grabbed the wand from his hand and still the man was laughing.
And then suddenly he had caught sight of Remus, kneeling on the pavement, horror and anguish in his eyes. He had stopped laughing then. His face had become blank and unreadable, and his gray eyes had not left Remus's until he had been hustled into a Ministry van and the doors had shut and locked behind him.
Then dizziness had overcome Remus, and his world had gone black.