Disclaimer: The characters in this story do not belong to me. Wish they did, though.
A/N: Thanks to all of those who reviewed--and those who put it on alert, but didn't review. It does mean a lot. (Though it would be nice to know what you liked...)
Eternal gratitude to remuslives23 and Bad Mum! Hugs to you ladies!
"Move it, Moony!"
"Behind you!"
"Protego!"
"It's Black!"
"Widdle Siwius wants to pway!"
"Bellatrix!"
"Damn it, Sirius! Don't!"
"I'm going to bloody kill her this time! Crucio!"
"Padfoot! No!"
"Get down, you fools!"
"You have to mean it, Cousin Sirius! Like this! Crucio!"
"Moony!"
He awoke, his hand automatically grasping for the wand that was usually tucked under his pillow, and felt a sense of panic when his fingers touched only cloth. It was a few heart-thumping seconds before he remembered deliberately placing his wand and the half-empty bottle of Muggle whiskey on the small table beside the bed.
"Keep your wand with you at all times —"
"What about when I'm shagging some bird?"
"Black, if you're not going to take this seriously —"
"I am serious! How am I supposed to, you know, do what I need to do if I've got this stick in my hand?"
"Sirius, considering what I've seen, I think the bird might appreciate the length of the wand instead."
"James Potter!"
"Sorry, Lily, but it's true!"
"Are you lot done? I'm giving you advice on how to keep yourselves alive..."
Remus had followed every bit of Moody's advice. Considering all the Auror had been through, it seemed quite logical that the man might actually know what he was talking about.
Even Sirius had followed Moody's 'rules'...
No, don't think about Sirius.
Remus had spent enough sleepless nights tossing and turning to know when it was going to be useless to even try to doze through the last hour before the light would appear in the eastern window of his flat. Besides that, his hangover had made itself known.
He didn't have to get dressed; he'd slept in the pair of jeans and T-shirt he'd worn the day before. He might have even worn them the day before that one. He wasn't sure. There wasn't much point in changing into pyjamas or stripping down like others (Sirius) had when there was no one to see him or care what he slept in or how he slept or even where he slept... There wasn't much point in changing clothes altogether, really.
He took a potion to rid himself of most of his hangover and then went to the kitchen, where he sat hunched over a cup of tea, elbows on the table, long fingers gently rubbing his throbbing temples. Several nights of sparse rest and cheap liquor were starting to take their toll.
"Prongs, you look like shit."
"Thanks so very much, Padfoot. And you look like a total wanker."
"Hey, I'm concerned."
"Is everything all right, Prongs?"
"See, Padfoot? THAT'S how you tell someone they look like shit in a polite manner. Thanks for asking, Moony. Harry's teething and had us up all last night..."
A demanding hammering at his door made him jump out of his chair, knocking the thing over.
His fingers instinctively wrapped themselves around the wand on the table while he glanced around for avenues of escape. And then realisation set in.
Death Eaters don't knock.
On the heels of that thought came the thought: Aurors do. Sometimes.
He felt his heart clench, leaving him breathless. I haven't done anything wrong. They've cleared me.
The fact that he hadn't done anything hadn't kept them from returning at least twice a week since his interrogation, as if they were trying to catch him doing something illegal.
"Lupin! Open the damned door!"
Moody.
Remus swore and curled his lip in a snarl.
"I can see you, you know."
"Do you suppose Moody uses that eye to spy on his neighbours?"
"Just the ones he thinks are Death Eaters..."
"Can he see through clothing? Do you think he can see what Maureen looks like underneath those robes?"
"Would you lot stop whispering to one another and pay attention?"
"Sorry."
"Yeah, sorry."
Remus decided to make his feelings about this intrusion very clear. He offered a two-fingered salute at the door and then went into his bedroom where he threw himself down on the bed to wait.
The older man pounded on the door for another minute or two. Remus listened to the banging and the crescendo in the man's cursing before he finally slammed his bedroom door shut with a casual hand and muttered a silencing charm.
He was surprised that Moody waited as long as he did before breaking in. It was probably a good five minutes before the door flew open and the Auror stepped into the room.
"Get up out of that bed!" he ordered.
"For what reason?" Remus asked sneeringly. "Are you taking me down to the Ministry to question me again?"
Moody just stared grimly at him. "Maybe I should."
Remus stretched his arms out toward the older man. "Going for the silver cuffs again? Or are you going to trust me to go willingly?"
The Auror pressed his lips together tightly in disapproval.
"What?" Remus pressed, widening his eyes in mock innocence. "Not sure which option to choose? Can't really blame you. We werewolves are an untrustworthy lot."
"When's the last time you were out of this flat?" Moody demanded.
The younger man's eyebrows rose. "Do you just want the day? Or do you want the time, too? Because I —"
"I just wanted to see if you were aware of the fact that you haven't left this bloody hole in the wall since you met me down at that pub."
Remus involuntarily inhaled deeply, only now counting the hours and the number of nights he'd sequestered himself. Has it been three days? Am I counting right? The fact that Moody knew that, though, made him uneasy. How does he know? Why does he care? He shrugged. "If you know when I was out of here last, why are you asking me?"
"Because I'm trying to bloody figure out what I'm going to tell the bloody Healers at St. Mungo's when I have you bloody committed!" Moody shouted.
Remus' eyes widened again—in shock, this time—and he said, shakily, "What in the hell are you talking about?"
"Have you gone to deal with Black's things?"
"If you know I haven't been out of the flat, then you know I haven't gone to sort out his things."
Moody pointed a gnarled finger at him. "I gave you something to do —"
Furious now, Remus sprang to his feet. "I don't have to follow your bloody orders!" he growled. "In case, you missed it, the war's over and the Order has been disbanded. You can't tell me what to do!"
"I asked you if you'd do it and you accepted," the older man reminded him. "If you weren't intending to do something about it for a few weeks, you could have told me so."
"You didn't tell me I had a time limit!"
"Bloody Merlin on a stick—pig-headed bastard!" Moody snapped. "If the Potters could hear and see you now—"
"Don't you fucking dare bring them into this!" Remus shouted. "They're not here now, are they? This is between you and me—over something stupid that I haven't had time to do yet!"
"You haven't had time to do it?" Moody repeated incredulously. "Well, why don't you fucking tell me what you've been doing with your precious time that you haven't been able to do what I've asked you to do?"
"I—" And suddenly Remus' head swam and he closed his eyes in preparation for the crash to the floor that he just knew was going to happen.
Strong hands grabbed him before he could fall and an arm and sturdy body offered enough support to keep him upright.
"Gods, boy! You can't weigh more than a piece of parchment! When's the last time you ate?"
Worry oozed through Remus' mind because he honestly couldn't remember when he had. "Had a sandwich last night," he said faintly. But then he wasn't sure if he'd finished it. He seemed to remember seeing a dog rooting around in the alley —and had he tossed the sandwich out to it or had he dreamed it all? He might have even dreamed the sandwich. He did remember the whiskey, though...
"Sit down." All Moody had to do was pivot them around and then pull his hands away.
Remus fell back onto the bed, though not without commenting weakly, "I thought you wanted me out of bed?"
"Stupid git." Without an explanation Moody walked out of the room.
Remus could have sworn he heard voices over the next few minutes, but was still too woozy to do anything about it. In fact, he drifted off to sleep, only to awaken when he heard a familiar voice say, "I should have done something weeks ago, Alastor."
"You can't take care of 'em all," Moody said gruffly.
Remus opened his eyes and saw bright blue eyes behind square lenses. "How are you feeling, Remus?"
"Fine, Professor." He started to sit up, suddenly aware of the state of his flat—and that the Headmaster of Hogwarts had waded through it all.
"No, lie still," Dumbledore told him. "I thought I'd bring you a little something, compliments of the house-elves at the school." He motioned to a tray precariously balanced on the bedside table. Steam curled up from the surface of a bowl and two fat slices of the elves' finest bread lay beside the bowl on a plate of their own.
"Want some toast to go with your honey, Prongs?"
"You know how I like honey."
"And I thought Moony had the sweet tooth."
"Nothing sweet about his teeth."
Remus' stomach ached and he wondered if it was because he was hungry or going to be sick.
Moody obviously knew what he was thinking. "Take a couple bites of the soup, but give your stomach a chance to decide if it's going to keep it or not."
And then he and Dumbledore started into a conversation about the latest Ministry fiasco involving the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. They seemed to deliberately ignore Remus to allow him to eat in peace.
The first few bites were tentative but the monster gnawing at Remus' stomach was somewhat appeased, so he started eating a little faster. He found himself surprised at how quickly he found the bottom of the bowl.
"Remus."
He let the spoon clatter back into the empty bowl and looked up inquiringly at Dumbledore. "Yes, sir?"
"Alastor informs me that you've lost your job at the scrivener's."
"Yes."
"How is the search going for a new job?"
Remus sighed. It seemed a bit ridiculous that the man was even asking this; he knew the answer already. "I haven't really been looking."
The older wizard folded his hands together and looked sternly at Remus over the lenses of his spectacles, but said nothing.
Remus had seen the man do this before—had been on the receiving end of it quite a few times— but it didn't make it any less uncomfortable. He squirmed slightly beneath the man's gaze and then looked over at Moody.
The Auror shook his head and shrugged. His message was clear: You're on your own, boy.
"Remus, I hate to see you like this. You've suffered a terrible loss, yes, but you can't give up on yourself."
The Headmaster's voice was gentle, but it stabbed into Remus' chest all the same.
"I'm fine." He heard Moody draw a breath and, knowing the Auror was going to argue with him, hurried to say, "I'll be fine."
Dumbledore kept his eyes on Remus, who refused to meet his gaze. He didn't want the Headmaster to know how he doubted his own words. How could he possibly be fine? He'd lost James and Lily; he'd lost Peter; he'd lost Harry, even. And Sirius...
Don't think about Sirius.
He scratched nervously at his temple. "I'll start looking for another job soon."
The two older men exchanged glances, frowning at his choice of words.
"That's the best you're going to get from him," Moody said with another casual lift of his shoulders.
"Is that true, Remus? Is that the best that I can expect from you? That you'll start looking for another job soon?"
Anger and bitterness welled up within the young man. What did it matter to these men what he did or didn't do? It barely mattered to them that he ate or had a place to sleep before... Others had taken care of him. Before.
"I can't accept this!"
"You can and you will, Remus."
"Lily, you can't... James..."
"James would have spent the money on Quidditch magazines or butterbeer. I happen to think filling your icebox is a much better way to get rid of a few Galleons."
"Lily..."
"Pay us back when you get your next paycheque."
"That might not be until November for all I know!"
"November is four months away, Remus. You'll have something before that."
November. November was now gone and so was Lily...
He shoved the tray onto the bedside table, not caring that it was balanced quite perilously, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
"Thank you for the food," he said, his words clipped and frostily polite. "Now, if you don't mind, I have some things I need to tend to."
He Accio'ed his shoes, ignoring Moody's mutter about having a few bottles of whiskey that needed tending.
"Remus —"
"I have to go to —" he sucked in a deep breath and steeled himself for the feel of a silver bullet in his heart, "—Sirius' flat and pack his things."
"Gods, Lupin, there's no —"
Remus instantly straightened and shot a look at Moody that should have had the older man falling lifeless to the floor. "It was an order, wasn't it?" He looked from one man to the other then smiled grimly. "And I always follow the orders I'm given."
On the way out, he slammed the front door as hard as he could.
Yeah, it's a dark and moody story. (No pun intended.) Did you think the months following Oct. 31, 1981 would be full of sunshine and laughter? (The angsty side of me is cackling gleefully...)