Remus: American Tune

Many's the time I've been mistaken

And many times confused

He stood by the grave staring down at Sirius's headstone. Dumbledore had chosen what to write on it and Harry had agreed. They hadn't even asked him, although to be honest he didn't know what he would have said if they had.

He still wasn't quite sure just what he felt about Sirius's death. After so many years of learning to keep his feelings hidden the sudden event had shaken him. His feelings towards Sirius had changed so much over the last five years, from hatred and anger, back to the shaky ghost of the friendship they'd known at school, and finally the worry and pain he'd felt every time he'd seen Sirius at Grimmauld Place.

He'd watched, helpless, as his friend had sunk down into a mire of alcohol and depression. He'd tried, occasionally, to curb his friends drinking habit, but he couldn't spend all of his time at Grimmauld Place and Sirius seemed determined to drink the family cellars dry. And Remus hadn't wanted to get too involved; it was Sirius's life after all, although not much of a life at the moment.

And all though he mourned Sirius's death, a small terrible part of him could not help thinking 'Thank goodness that's finally over.' Not just for Sirius either, he was as much danger to the rest of the Order as he was to himself; his death had removed a large portion of worry from Remus's mind, and Remus hated himself for it.

Sirius had been buried next to James and Lilly, Remus was sure it was what he would've wanted, not that the position of his dead body made any difference.

It was Peter's fault, he thought, staring blankly at the graves in front of him. Peter had betrayed James and Lilly, then left Sirius to take the blame. Yet that seemed strange, even for Peter. They'd been with Peter at school, hadn't they known him?

Yes and I've often felt forsaken

And certainly misused

Maybe Peter had changed. Certainly Remus didn't remember seeing much of him once they'd left Hogwarts, although to be fair he hadn't seen much of James or Sirius either. He'd been too busy, trying to find a job, and a house, then having to organise his father's funeral, that had been hard.

But then he'd changed too. It had been that night, the night he'd almost killed Snape. After the transformation he'd been too tired to think and just fallen straight asleep, but that morning…he shuddered slightly at the memory.

That morning had been one of the worst mornings of his life. To awake, and realise that in the horrors of the night you'd almost killed someone, and he'd forced himself to think: no, the wolf almost killed someone. He could have torn Snape apart, limb from limb.

And Sirius didn't seem to care.

No one cared, it seemed. Even Madam Pomfrey's only comment was 'Thank goodness for a lucky escape.' She'd been worried about him too, it turned out. Snape was a powerful wizard, even in his sixth year. With the right hexes he could have torn the wolf apart.

Dumbledore had come to speak to him, in a grave quiet voice. Maybe the old man had thought it would be comforting for Remus to know that it hadn't been his fault, it hadn't even been the wolf's fault.

Maybe he even thought it would be comforting for Remus to know it had been Sirius Black's fault.

Remus had sat on the bed, his arms wrapped around his knees which were pulled up to his chest. He'd kept his eyes carefully blank, looking at a portrait of a dozing man in a ruff, just next to Dumbledore's left ear and said 'Yes Headmaster.'

He'd said that a lot. There hadn't really been much else to say.

Then Sirius had come up and apologised in a mumbling sort of voice and Remus had felt terrible. Sirius had never said sorry to him before, not even when he'd accidentally spilt ink all over Remus's transfiguration notes. And he'd replied with something adult and sensible, something Dumbledore would have said, something about it all being over, and not mattering because after all no one was hurt.

Then Sirius's face had cleared a bit and he'd said 'Alright.' And left. Except as far as Remus was concerned it wasn't alright at all. He'd thought about his friendship with Sirius and James for a long time after that and eventually come to the unfortunate conclusion that it probably wasn't a friendship at all. It couldn't be, not when he owed them so much, and gave so little back in return. Not when Sirius had used him to get back at Snape for some stupid prank joke that had its origins in a long standing argument that even Remus couldn't remember starting.

Oh but I'm alright, I'm alright

Still, he'd got over it. Gone back to school, taken his exams, but it seemed like there'd always been something, something in the way of the relationship between the four of them. With retrospect, it had probably been Peter, but at the time, he had thought it was him.

It might have been something to do with Lilly and James too. Their marriage had been a happy one, but sometimes Lilly would get a little depressed. It was the War, James said, and the continual strength needed to keep going. Remus had sometimes thought privately that it was more likely to be fears for James's safety, in the early years of their marriage he had insisted on taking missions that steadily got more and more dangerous.

'Why?' Remus had asked him once, 'Why not stay safe with your wife?'

James had shrugged, and a small cloud of anxiety had drifted over him at the mention of his wife. 'I fight because we have too. I'm always on missions with Sirius anyway, we'll be fine together.'

Remus raised an eyebrow and James laughed. 'Me and Sirius aren't as bad as you think.'

I'm just weary to my bones

He turned away from the graves, and started to head back to his flat. The sky was dark and slightly cloudy, but he could still see the moon behind the trees. It was waxing gibbous, not too long now.

He sometimes wondered whether the gradual decline in their relations might not have been something to do with the wolf after all. James had changed after the werewolf incident, becoming more mature and less likely to agree unthinkingly to every idea Sirius suggested. He'd also been slightly wary around Remus; Remus certainly knew that once Harry had been born he'd never been invited around to do babysitting, not on his own anyway. He'd sat up with Sirius sometimes, but never anytime near full-moon.

He could feel when it was full moon, mostly without even looking up at the night sky. It was a sort of permanent ache within him, although that was more likely to be due to the lack of sleep, proper nutrition and, yes, lack of moral too. His spirit felt weary, almost broken; especially now Sirius had gone. James and Lilly death had been bad enough, and Peter's death too (as they'd thought at the time) but he'd spent twelve years learning to accept it, and the sudden reappearance of Sirius and Peter's admission of guilt had shook him. At first it had seemed exciting, Sirius being back, but it had changed.

It had changed because they had changed. Azkaban had hurt Sirius, and the jobless, pain filled years had hurt Remus. He'd looked at his friend and seen a man who was not broken, but bitter, and that was even more dangerous. Sirius had not changed completely, but subtly, in different ways. And while headstrong wilfulness may be charming in a boy of twelve, it is more frightening in a gaunt and angry man of forty.

Still, you don't expect to be bright and bon vivant

So far away from home

He reached the front door of his half-owned house and pulled it open, stepping into the crowded clutter of whoever it was that now lived on the first floor. He climbed the stairs slowly, feeling no pleasure at being back home.

It hardly seemed like home anyway, not now. He'd moved out of his small house several months ago, after reasoning that there was no use keeping it when he spent so much time at Grimmauld Place. Now he was in an even smaller house, he'd rented the top floor and spent as little time in the place as possible.

They said home was where the heart was. His heart certainly wasn't in this old damp building; it was lying in pieces next to the graves of Lilly, James and Sirius.

And somehow the grave of Peter too. Certainly the boy he'd known at school was long dead. Sometimes he thought the boy who had once been Remus Lupin was also dead, a cold corpse outside the Shrieking Shack.

His real home had been Hogwarts, but that was several miles and eighteen years ago. It had been…strange going back to be a teacher there, like opening an old box and watching a thousand ghosts fly out. He'd left at eighteen thinking he'd never return, and yet he'd been back there, listening to the sound of footsteps and the old familiar gossip that might change words yet somehow never changed content.

It had seemed unreal, talking to Snape and hearing rumours of Sirius, and it made him smile now, to think that all of them had been at Hogwarts that year. All except James.

And then at the end of the year it had all suddenly escalated. He'd found himself back in the shrieking shack (and that was somewhere else he'd thought he'd never see again), at full moon. They'd all been there, Black, Pettigrew, Potter, Lupin and Snape; it wasn't only Sirius who'd sometimes treated Harry as if he were his father, Remus knew Snape did too.

He'd wondered briefly, before the wolf had taken over, whether Snape was remembering the last time they'd all been in the shack together.

So far away from home

He lay down on the bed and stared blankly up at the ceiling. Sirius, James and Lilly were gone, him Peter and Snape were left. Who would be the next one?

And I don't know a soul who's not been battered

He thought of Snape. Of all of them, he was probably in the most danger. It was hard work being a spy, and serving two masters who both insisted on near-perfection could not be easy.

Not for the first time, he wondered idly, just why it was that Dumbledore trusted Snape so implicitly. When had Dumbledore first started trusting him? What had Snape done to prove his innocence so conclusively? And when had Snape actually become a Death Eater? Had it been at school? Had Sirius Black sent a Death Eater to be hurt, if not killed, by a werewolf that night?

He suddenly realised that he'd never once worried about Snape's reaction the night he'd first found out about the werewolf. He'd assumed that to Snape it had just been another stupid childish joke, but thinking about it, it must have come as quite a shock to realise that there were people who would be happy to see your body mauled to pieces by an angry monster. Because the wolf was a monster, Remus knew that.

That night had overstepped the mark; it had been the end of the jokes. Remus frowned at the peeling whitewash that covered the ceiling. Maybe to Snape it had never been a joke.

What had he done after Dumbledore's lecture? Maybe he hadn't crawled back into his shell, retreated into silence as he'd done after all the other taunts from Sirius. Maybe that night had set him loose on the world, a young man, hurt, bitter, longing for revenge.

And Voldemort had offered it.

I don't have a friend who feels at ease

With thoughts of Voldemort his mind turned to Peter, little Pettigrew who even now could be sitting by his masters side, planning death for Harry, maybe for all of them. Somehow he couldn't fit his mental image of Peter Pettigrew as an enthusiastic young boy onto the idea of Peter Pettigrew as a ruthless Death Eater. It didn't help that he'd spent twelve years imagining Peter as a hero either, and bitterly regretting that he'd not seen more of him in his final days. The days after James and Lilly's death had been nightmares, what with the ministry hunting for Sirius, and everyone celebrating Voldemort's downfall. There had been no time to just sit quietly and mourn, no time for the slow acceptance of death.

Instead he'd thrust it into the back of his mind. Dumbledore had come to talk to him about it at one point, and he remembered, yet again, staring blankly past the man and saying 'Yes Dumbledore.' Once again Dumbledore had told him that it wasn't his fault, he'd been busy with no time to worry about James.

And once again he'd been told it was the fault of Sirius Black.

After than he'd gone up to the attic and, with quiet deliberation, took all the pictures he had of Sirius Black (even the wedding photos) and burnt them. It had been a small act of rebellion against a man who'd killed James, killed Lilly and once, long ago, had tried to kill him.

I don't know a dream that's not been shattered

Or driven to its knees

Well they were all lost now. Snape was trapped between the two most powerful wizards of the century, James and Sirius were dead and Peter, well, who knew what Peter was going through. At Hogwarts it had all seemed so clear, so obvious. James had said he wanted to be an auror, and then of course Peter had wanted to be one too. Sirius's career plans had veered wildly, depending on his mood at the time. In his first few years, he'd wanted to train dragons and then, like many young boys, he'd gone through a period of wanting to be a professional Quidditch player. Curse breaker, sweetshop owner, Minister for Magic, he'd considered them all at some stage.

In the end of course, he'd come into his uncles inheritance and spent most of his time working for the Order. He'd tried a job once, working as a clerk for some fledgling business, but he'd got bored after a week.

And James had slid into the ministry work provided by his father. In a way it had been almost inevitable, despite the plans and ambitions they'd had at school. Peter had joined the ministry too, and Remus had drifted between temporary jobs, finding whatever work he could.

He'd been amazed when Dumbledore had offered him the post of teacher. Was it safe to teach children, when every month the wolf would run free? The wolfsbane potion had been an elixir of life for Remus, and he got a simple, shameful, slightly Sirius-like pleasure from the fact that it was Snape who had to make it.

Teaching had been one of the best jobs he'd ever done. He'd enjoyed it, and to his surprise he'd discovered he was good at it. Even thought he'd known from the beginning that as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher he'd be unlikely to last more than a year, he'd dared to hope that perhaps this time would be different. Or that even if he lost the Defence post, he could stay on and teach something else. Having finally found a job he loved, it had seemed only natural to assume he could keep doing it for the next few years.

He should have known better.

But it's alright, it's alright

He should probably consider himself fortunate to have been a teacher at all, even for one year. He sometimes wondered about the students he'd left behind, especially when he'd found out the Umbridge was teaching them. It had made him, not angry, he'd stopped feeling angry long ago, but distinctly annoyed to know that while Umbridge was permitted to torture (and it had been torture) students at will, he was forbidden from teaching because he was a werewolf.

The wolf was a monster. But Umbridge in her own way was just as bad.

He didn't feel upset. He'd decided during his sixth year summer holidays that the way to stop being hurt was to stop feeling upset. And it had worked. To a certain extent. He kept his feelings neutral now, along with his opinions. Everything that could damage him, everything that could hurt him, was driven to the back of him mind.

It came out through the wolf. The violent raging fear, the terror of death, the pain that filled his heart would take over the mere anger of the wolf, driving it wild with despair. His howls became more desperate, and any furniture that was accidentally left in the basement on the nights he transformed would be splinters by the next morning.

But while he was a man it didn't show. The anger was inside, the fear was hidden behind the placid, adult mind he'd spent years building up.

Twelve years in fact.

For we lived so well so long

When he thought about it though, he had to admit that he was lucky to have as many good memories as he did. He'd had a normal education, normal friends even who'd helped him and comforted him. His work may not have been particularly steady, but he hadn't starved. He'd seen some of the werewolves who worked for Voldemort, snarling, ragged pitiful things who'd been cast out by their families, or hunted down by local authorities.

He remembered the day his friends first told him they knew. It had been after a transfiguration lesson, in an old deserted classroom. Sirius had knocked his bag over and he'd been late to leave, staying behind to pick collect his scattered belongings.

James had shut the door, and the menacing little click of the lock had sent shivers down his spine. He'd turned to see Sirius standing, arms folded with a slight smirk on his face while Peter peered anxiously at him from behind James.

'Is there anything you want to tell us Remus?'

He couldn't recall ever being so scared in his life.

'About where you go every month?'

He'd dropped his bag and thrown his arms over his head, he'd been so certain they were going to attack him, hating him for being different and somehow evil. He'd seen what they did to Snape.

James had gasped, shocked, and come running over. 'Remus mate, it's alright, we aren't going to hurt you. We sort of know'

He'd looked up slowly.

'We worked it out.'

'I worked it out.' Sirius countered proudly from across the room.

'It must be awful for you. Really painful…'

Still when I think of the road we're travelling on

I wonder what's gone wrong

When had it been, that the four friends had turned into two dead, one traitor and one old, tired almost lifeless shell?

His head hurt now. Too much thinking. He levered himself off the bed and went into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. There were a few grains left in the tin so he upended it, scraping around the rim to collect any little flakes that might have stuck there. The milk was off (he should have got some on the way back from the funeral) so he had it black.

He wandered slowly back into the bedroom, ignoring the banging sounds from downstairs. He had no idea who his latest housemate was, and had very little desire to find out. He thought briefly of abandoning the place altogether and living at Grimmauld Place; common sense suggested it was a sound economic idea, but there were too many memories in Sirius's old house.

Sirius had never thought he'd end up back in it. He'd complained at length, quite violently, when Dumbledore had first suggested it, arguing that he'd been quite happy cruising around Europe with Buckbeak. Dumbledore had explained patiently that that was no longer safe, not with the ministry so determined to find him, and eventually after the insistence of all his friends, had capitulated with bad grace.

Safety, they had said. Even Remus had thought it would be safer for Sirius to stay at home. Well, now he was dead. He probably would have lasted longer on his own after all, although Remus doubted it. Sirius was no good at keeping out of trouble; he'd be running back to London every other day to ensure Harry was safe.

Sirius took his duties as Godfather very seriously. They were all he had to remind him of James. Remus remembered the christening; Sirius in a rumpled suit nevertheless managing to look dashingly smart. Peter grinning and staring at Lilly with a slightly hopeless look on his face, and James, every inch a proud father. Remus smiled at the memory. He wondered if James had ever known about Peter's schoolboy crush on his wife, he'd only found out in seventh year, when searching for a sheet from his charms essay he'd found a picture of Lilly under Peter's pillow.

I can't help it, I wonder what's gone wrong

He took another sip of his coffee, staring at the fire, which was already starting to die down. He needed more fuel, and with Sirius dead it wouldn't feel right to continue taking it from Grimmauld Place.

He frowned at the fire, a face was starting to appear, and it looked like…

'Wotcha Remus.'

He jumped, Tonks had been the last person he'd expected and to be completely honest the last person he wanted to see at the moment. It was bad enough trying to cope with blank numbness in his mind that Sirius's death had caused without having to confront his feelings about her.

He took a gulp of the coffee, trying to buy himself time. 'Hello Tonks.'

She smiled at him 'Saw you at the funeral.'

'Yes.' He bit his lip. What did she expect him to say?

'Are you feeling alright?' He nodded, trying to work out when the last time he'd felt anything even approaching alright had been.

'Well, if you need anything…' She looked hopeful.

'Tonks,' He began, and stopped, unsure of how to continue. He knew what she felt for him; she'd blurted it out one evening when they'd been sitting alone in Grimmauld Place. He'd told her that he liked her too, very much so, and beat a hasty retreat. They hadn't really spoken much since then.

It wasn't safe for her. It wasn't fair either, for her to be expected to spend the rest of her life looking after a man who turned into a monster. And where would they live?

'Tonks, I'm sorry but…' He stared at the mantelpiece, unwilling to face the hurt in her eyes, 'I…'

'Are you sure you're alright Remus, you look awful.'

He almost broke down at that. He wanted to. To collapse, there and then, into a sobbing howling mess on the floor. To cry, as he'd once seen Molly do, until there was nothing left inside. To break down the barriers in his head and once, just once, let some of the wolf into the man.

He coughed slightly, and took another gulp of the coffee. 'I'm fine. I think I just need a bit of time alone.'

'Right.' She gave a sad little smile and her hair seemed to droop. 'Well, I'll be seeing you round.'

'Yes.' He nodded.

'Bye then.' She gave a small wave and vanished with a pop.

He clenched his teeth together tightly and placed the coffee on the bedside table. He'd have to remember the milk next time he went out.

He pulled his coat off and folded it neatly, dropping it onto the chair then lay back down on the bed, and tried to empty his mind. He felt drained and weary, but sleep seemed to completely evade him.

And I dreamed I was dying

Maybe he'd be the next one dead, buried in the graveyard next to James, Lilly and Sirius. The more he thought about it, the better it sounded; it would be a relief to finally leave, to finally be allowed to sleep. He was unclear what happened after death, but if there was anywhere else, James and Sirius would be there. Maybe Sirius would be his old self again, as he'd been at school, and James would be the happy mature young father he'd become in the last few months of his life, but without the threat of death hanging over him.

It wasn't that Remus was thinking of suicide, which would be unfair both to Harry and the other Order members. He had a job to do after all. It was just that suddenly he thought he could understand some of what Sirius had been feeling over the last few months. A hopeless, endless dread that makes danger, any danger, seem like a release. The feeling that had made Sirius angry and melancholic, and made Remus feel numb.

I dreamed that my soul rose, unexpectedly

Sirius, James and even Lilly, had died easily. Avada Kedavra was known for many things, agonising pain was not one of them. Sometimes Remus thought that his best option would be to get involved in something really dangerous in the ministry, such as tracking down escaped Death Eaters, in the hope that a quick A-K would carry him off.

His loyalty to Dumbledore was what prevented him. Dumbledore needed someone working with the werewolves, even though Death by Fenrir Greyback would be far more excruciatingly painful than any curse.

Did Avada Kedavra hurt? There was no information one way or the other. It was at least quick.

And looking back down at me

Smiled reassuringly

He closed his eyes and watched the images drifting across them. Sirius, James, Lilly and Harry, even the occasional glimpse of Peter and Snape. Peter's father had died in their third year, and he remembered Sirius predicting confidently that none of them would die, they would become the most powerful wizards in the world.

It gave him a sudden uneasy shudder to recall that Voldemort had thought that once, and maybe was still thinking it.

But Sirius could never die, not because he protected himself with ancient evil curses, or fabulous forgotten elixirs but merely through the power of being seventeen. Young Sirius had been immortal, even as they'd taken him to Azkaban, even as the Death Eaters had threatened to rip his soul from his body.

They'd never managed it. Twelve years in Azkaban he'd survived on youth, hope and a burning desire for vengeful justice. Azkaban hadn't broken him.

His father's house had.

And I dreamed I was flying

He was beginning to drift off to sleep now. Certainly the memories were becoming more free-floating and his mind was fading out of the real world. He didn't dream of horrors, but instead of the good times. James completing a much-attempted 360 degree spin on a broomstick. Sirius trying the same, crying 'Look at me!' and promptly falling off.

The Quidditch matches, banners of bright red and gold, and he'd watched James racing round the court, heart in mouth…

(and later, in his seventh year, he'd brought his arithmancy notes to the match and spent the entire game crouched under the stands trying desperately to learn Thribbit's Law of Grammatica)

He'd liked flying, although he'd never been as good at it as Sirius and James. He'd enjoyed escaping from the world below to another place of light and beauty. The freedom it gave, the feeling of speed and exhilaration and even the slight terror of knowing that all that stood between you and a rather nasty death was a short pole with a few jinxes on it.

And high up above my eyes could clearly see

The Statue of Liberty

Sailing away to sea

Sirius had told him once in first year that if you flew high enough on a broom you could see the whole world stretched out like a map. He'd tried it one day, when James had been at Quidditch practise (with Peter in tow) and Sirius had been in the hospital wing. He'd gone up so high he'd started feeling dizzy, but to his disappointment the furthest he'd been able to see was the edge of the forbidden forest.

He'd told James, and James had laughed and told Sirius, who'd laughed even more.

'It was a just a joke Remus.'

He'd done that again in seventh year, flown as high as he possibly could just to watch Hogwarts and all the troubles associated with it fade away into a small model castle. He'd stayed up until he'd almost frozen to death and come down, teeth chattering uncontrollably, to find they hadn't even noticed he'd gone.

There was another crash from the downstairs lodger but Remus didn't notice it. His body had finally slipped into sleep, filled with the memories of a young boy and his friends in a world that seemed too far away.

On his bedside table, the coffee slowly turned cold.

And I dreamed I was flying…