A/N: This is my favorite chapter of this story. I love Remus and I love delving into his life and how he feels and his struggle.

Chapter 9
"I close my eyes, only for a moment and th moment's gone."
Kansas – Dust in the Wind

The smell insidiously saturated everything in the wretched flat. Remus' sensitive nose flared open and closed, trying desperately to take in precious air without any trace of the putrid stench. He discovered it was just not possible. No amount of charms seemed to unplug the backed up drain, now overflowing through his kitchen, over his stained counters, covering his floors in a thin patina of slime.

Remus glared at the mess. The smelly slime glowed in response.

"Flouenpluddecius." He pointed his wand towards the unruly drain as a thick wave of taupe sparkles descended onto the sink.

The sink burped, causing a glob of sludge to become airborne and splatter all over his wand. An odour rivalling that which Hercules must have found within the Augean stables erupted with it, forcing Remus back into his tiny living area.

He prayed the river Alpheus would come drown him in its fury.

He scrubbed his wand with a strip of flannel, which he immediately threw in the rubbish bin. Accepting momentary defeat, he grabbed his worn peacoat, a terribly lucky find at a local Muggle thrift store, and fled into London.

The pavement shone under the evening street lights; the puddles from a recent rain reflected the harsh glare. Remus stormed down the street, splashing water from the shallow puddles, annoyed at the world, a rather typical state of mind for him these days.

He felt for his flask and cursed himself for leaving it behind, marinating in that smell. Anything within the flat was probably no longer potable by now. Passing an off-license, he made a last minute decision, popped in, dropped his last ten quid and left with a bottle wrapped up in brown paper and two pounds in change. He spent no time in opening it and then took a deep swig. Ahh, that put things into perspective.

He continued through the streets, breathing in the fresh air, especially clear after the evening shower. A hardware shop beckoned at him with plumbing tools arranged in the corner of the store window, more enticing than those of Neiman Marcus. The store had closed three minutes ago, but he knocked on the door anyway.

"Sorry, sir, we're closed," the shopkeeper said, eyeing the bag wrapped bottle and Remus' tattered clothing while pointing to the 'closed' sign.

"I need a plunger," Remus informed him. "I'll just pay for the plunger and let you close up. Please, it's an emergency."

The shopkeeper seemed to think a moment and then nodded, letting Remus enter the closed store. "The plumbing supplies are over on the left."

Remus nodded, walking directly to the section that held the Holy Grail. There they were. A nice line of various plungers, from house elf sized plungers to larger plungers that looked industrial in their dimensions. Remus settled for a friendly, midsized model. It was pink.

Digging in his pocket for change he finally came up with the money for the plumbing tool. He would need to exchange some Galleons again, not that he had many of those to exchange.

Thanking the man, Remus left the store and continued to aimlessly stalk the evening streets of London. With plunger over one shoulder and bottle in the other hand, he could pass for a cynical version of a Victorian chimney sweep.

As the last touch of day absorbed into the darkness, the rain fell again. The bottle, soon drained dry, remained in Remus' right hand, hanging limply from his cold fingers as he traced the patterns of London's streets with his aimless steps. The plunger still held high honour on his left shoulder.

He found himself outside of St. James Park, one he visited often. Stumbling on weary legs he wandered in and found a bench under a large evergreen tree, a fir he thought. It smelled clean and fresh. Everything smelled better out here. He sat, pulling his collar up around his chin, and quickly dozed off.

"Get up, buddy. You can't sleep here."

Remus rocked back, pushed by an insistent hand. He quickly lifted his plunger, brandishing it like he would a wizard's wand. "What?" he asked groggily, silently scolding himself for being caught off guard. When had he got so careless? When had things gone so south?

"Go home. This ain't no drunk tank." A man in a uniform looked down at him.

"Yeah, yeah," Remus agreed, pushing off the bench to stand up, tilting a little to his left. He lowered the plunger. Home. He couldn't go back there. The smell alone would drive him to unspeakable acts of insanity. He exited the park with no true destination in mind, his dry throat longing for a drink.

"Hermione," he declared to himself. "I can sleep in her room." After a few blocks aimed towards the heart of wizarding London with all the accuracy of an 18th century musket, Remus realised that even though he visited almost every day, St. Mungo's might not allow him entrance in his current, somewhat fuzzy about the edges, state. Then he thought of Harry's flat and knew that the place most likely sat empty, as it had for the past two months. His friend would undoubtedly be at Hermione's home.

Well, he would search for him there.

Apparating with a skill only the truly alcoholic can hope to master, he appeared in a corner of Diagon Alley intent on Flooing from the Leaky Cauldron. It wasn't polite to Apparate into someone's home unexpected, even an inebriated Remus understood that.

A drink before hand wouldn't be remiss, however, and he knew Tom would let him carry a tab.

"Remus, how you been?" Tom asked, his bald head gleaming in the dim light.

"Fine, and yourself?" Remus said, seating himself on a tall barstool, highly polished from centuries of rear ends.

Tom placed a short glass of cheap firewhiskey before Remus, who gladly took a long sip. "Not much to complain 'bout," the old man said and turned to a bevy of hags demanding service.

His drink didn't last him long and as the clock thrummed ten o'clock, he grabbed some Floo Powder and called out Hermione's address. He poked his head through, ready to call for Harry, when voices caught his attention.

"So, these three are '7, 3'. I think."

"You think?"

"Well this one could be '5, 2' instead, but why not try '7, 3'. That one might be '0, 12'…

"It can't be zero. Do you need another refresher?"

"No," the tone was touchy.

"Merlin, I miss my key."

"Hey, I am doing my best with what rudimentary algebra I have. You know, if it weren't for Hermione and the extra Muggle lessons she plagued us with, I wouldn't even know how to solve these equations."

A mumbled "not that you know now" was quickly followed by a more clear "wherever did she find the time?" and a soft chuckle.

"She's a robot."

"What?"

"You didn't know? Top of her class in wizarding school, studied Muggle math and science, co-destroyer of Voldemort, unparalleled researcher, spell developer, pinnacle of house elf rights…"

A shallow choking sound preceded a moment of silence.

"Robot?"

"Exactly."

Remus knew those voices. Recognized them well. So well, he could not find the presence of mind to truly put the two together into what he would consider friendly banter.

"There has got to be a spell to solve this algebra."

"Why don't you develop one?"

"…"

"Oh, no you don't. Get back here and help me."

"I could you know. Develop one."

"I am sure you could, with time. Time you're not skiving off for. Come over here and decipher these." There was a rustle of paper.

Remus drew in a breath to call for Harry but was sidetracked once again.

"Why don't you do this part? I'll find the runes on the painting." Harry sounded like he was pouting.

"Can't solve one again?"

"I can… I just don't want to. You do the algebra."

"Fine. You cross your eyes staring at that damned monstrosity on the wall."

"Okay." Harry sounded pleased, like he'd won the fair day prize.

Remus decided he had to see this with his own eyes, plus he didn't feel like dripping in the Floo anymore. "Harry," he finally called out.

"Remus?" Harry called back at him. "What're you doing here?" Harry emerged from the kitchen, a concerned look on his face. "Come in. You okay?"

"Sure," Remus said emerging from the Floo, wincing at the slur that came through in his speech. He stood up straighter, jaw dropping uncouthly as Draco entered the room, all pompous and arrogant as usual. Harry turned to look at Draco, then back at Remus. He seemed rather baffled by Remus' obvious distress, as if he couldn't understand how Draco's presence in Hermione's flat might ever cause a jaw to drop.

"You don't look okay. Here." Harry flicked his fingers and Remus was instantly dry and warm. Remus smiled despite himself.

"Thanks. Why's he here?" Remus pointed at Draco, who sneered in reply.

"He's helping… with Hermione. Remember? You sure you're okay?" Harry walked over to him, wrapped him with a fuzzy blanket and led him to the sofa. Remus settled happily into the blanket, rattled brain remembering something about Draco decoding Hermione's research.

"Oh. Yeah. I r'member."

Remus was sure he caught some meaningful look pass between the two younger men, but he didn't think too much about it. He was dry, drunk, and cradled by warmth. He slowly slipped away again for the second time that night.

Remus woke up screaming, as he often did, from a dream he had no desire to remember, that his psyche had graciously tucked away to the wrinkled corners of his pickled brain.

(fallingfallingfallingfallingalone)

His eyes flew open and his body sat up with a jolt only to be scrutinized by cold, gray eyes sitting across from him. His head jerked from side to side as his addled mind tried to remember (freezing) where he was. He shivered. Hermione's, he remembered, I'm with Harry at Hermione's… and Draco? The other man finally came under Remus' consideration.

"Malfoy," he mumbled, not quite sure if anything else should be said. Draco nodded at him. Remus sniffed and Draco snorted incredulously.

The room smelled clean, except for the rank sweat sliding down his backbone, and it was warm. Comforting even. His eyes closed again and he drifted off.

His next waking was far gentler. He came up supple, like daybreak.

"Remus." He could hear a voice soft and reassuring. "Remus, wake up." With a slow build up of will, he opened his eyes.

"Hi." Harry smiled at him, offering a cup of tea. English breakfast, his favourite.

"Thanks," he mumbled, mouth thick with dehydrated saliva. Grimacing at the sludge on his tongue he eagerly drank the hot tea, blowing on it between sips to cool the surface temperature. "Thanks," he said again, more clearly.

"No problem. Breakfast?" Remus looked up at Harry, his heart swelling in gratitude and nodded. Harry left for the kitchen, leaving Remus alone to think.

He didn't quite remember how he got here, other than he knew he couldn't stay at home. The sink, memories of last night swam to the front of his mind. To his shame he realised he let a stopped up sink get the better of him. He searched the room and found his pink plunger leaning against an umbrella stand occupied by brooms and brollies. It calmed him to see it and he smiled faintly.

Following a few moments to collect his thoughts, smell his breath and cast a freshening charm, and finally rise to his unsteady feet, he wandered into the kitchen following enticing smells of eggs and bacon.

"Remus, I've been thinking..." Harry opened with, as he laid a plate of food before the scrawny man. Remus pulled up a chair and descended upon the meal, glancing up every so often to listen to Harry. "Malfoy and I have been spending so much time deciphering these scrolls we haven't had time to do any footwork. Would you mind helping us with it?"

Swallowing down some half chewed toast, Remus nodded. "You know I would do anything to help out. As if I would mind." He shovelled another forkful into his mouth. He noticed Harry didn't look at him as he ate and consciously slowed down, taking smaller bites. He actually didn't remember the last full meal he'd eaten.

"Great!" Harry turned and beamed a bright smile his way. Remus couldn't help but return it. "Malfoy will be coming back this evening. I want to show you what we found out so far. After you've finished, of course. And you might want to take a shower." Harry laughed good-naturedly, pinching his nose. Remus couldn't agree more.

After his steaming shower, far longer than he would ever have got to take at home with his tiny water heater, he dried off, cast a cleansing charm on his clothing and went looking for Harry. He found the younger man still in the kitchen; table cleared of breakfast plates but now covered in piles of paperwork. He was focusing all of his attention on a scroll before him, sporadically scribbling something on the side margin of the parchment. Sometimes he would lean back in his chair and study the painting on the wall, then return to his examination of the scroll.

The tip of his tongue poked out in staunch concentration.

"Harry," Remus interrupted.

"Oh, Remus. Come on in. Can you help with this algebra?" Harry sounded worried, or annoyed, Remus wasn't quite sure, maybe both.

"So, you know what those equations mean, then?"

"Oh yeah!" Harry's eyes practically lit up with excitement. "Let me show you how this works. God, Hermione certainly was a genius… is I mean." He glanced over to Remus with a look of pure guilt. "Merlin, I hate doing that." Harry looked down at his hands, ink stained and looking raw from hours of holding a quill, previous excitement evaporated away. In a small voice he said, "I seem to be doing it more and more lately, too."

Remus roughly patted Harry on the shoulder. "Don't kill yourself over it, Harry. Just do what you can to help her. Did you find anything that would help?"

"I think so." Some of his earlier enthusiasm returned. "But I want to explain this to you first." Remus sat down next to Harry, looking over a parchment full of gibberish.

"So you have this algebraic equation here, in the corner of each coded document. Not all of them have simple solutions; multiple sets of numbers can solve each one," Remus nodded, he remembered that from the earlier scroll Harry had shown him. "So that's made this all a bit of a pain in the arse. Anyway, we have these number combinations that solve the equation. Then you look on the key." Harry pointed to the painting. "Now Malfoy and I first thought it was a book, so we were searching everywhere for a book type of key and couldn't find anything. This key, the painting, is different than what Snape and Malfoy were using. Luckily Malfoy recognized it…. Anyway, the numbers from the equation are coordinates for where to look on the painting for a rune."

Remus looked up at the painting, really studied it and saw within the artwork a grid and a series of ancient runes imbedded in the images.

"So, this equation could be either '5, 2' or '9, 1'. At '5, 2'," he stood, running his wand over the painting, highlighting the rune at the meeting point, "we find the rune anzuz and at '9, 1' we find yebo." Harry flipped through a small text titled Deciphering Ancient and Nordic Runes. Remus remembered that from his days at Hogwarts. "Yeah, yebo, which is different than gebo. Shite, this stuff is convoluted. Leave it to Hermione," Harry said with pride.

"So, after you have the rune, you also need another thing from the parchment. Using the rune, the coordinates and some Arithmancy, you lift the sigil from the parchment. In some cases you need to pass the document through a candle to heat it for the sigil to lift properly."

Remus nodded, following Harry's explanation in a way he couldn't have done the previous evening. Harry frantically wrote down some numbers in the margin again and then flicked his wand over the paper in a series of five stiff movements. A golden symbol floated up out of the paper.

"Then," Harry said with a grand flourish, "you cast this sigil," he pointed to the floating symbol, "over the parchment it came from and the thing finally unravels for you." Some more quick spellwork and the symbol faded into nothing. Immediately the document was understandable. Remus was sure he didn't see any of the writing actually change. "That's Equacrology for you. Designed by my best friend and only ever cracked by one person. Draco Malfoy." He tossed his quill down to the table, seemingly exhausted after the long explanation.

Remus was suitably impressed.

"And," Harry continued, "if the initial algebraic equation has more than one answer, sometimes you have to go through these steps multiple times to get the correct rune that can lift the sigil out of the document. This shite wears me out." He ran his hands through his hair, mussing it beyond redemption.

"I could help," Remus offered.

Beaming, Harry said, "I thought you'd never offer. Here, solve these equations for me. I'm crap at it." He gracelessly dropped a pile of papers in front of Remus.

Five hours later, after a quick lunch of crackers, cheese and very thick coffee, Draco Flooed in to find the two men knee deep in work, literally. Remus looked up as Draco entered the kitchen, still unsure of this man's place in the grand scheme of things. Were Harry and Malfoy friends, or did they just tolerate working together to solve this mystery? He hadn't asked Harry to clarify it for him; Harry apparently hadn't thought an explanation was necessary.

But Remus did know one thing that Harry probably didn't. Malfoy was nervous. Not in the fear sense of the word, he didn't get that kind of a scent off of him, but more like a new wolf trying to enter into an established pack. He wanted acceptance.

Now that was a shock.

"Potter, Lupin," he greeted. Remus offered a small smile and a nod, pushing a tower of parchment aside so Malfoy could get to a chair.

"Hey Malfoy, we got almost half of these pages decoded."

"Ah, I see you've been busy, then." Draco casually strode over to the piles of decoded pages and picked up a few to review the information on them. "Anything make any bit of sense yet?"

"Some look promising. Haven't looked over them all, still deciphering. Here," Harry handed Draco a third of the remaining pile. "You can decode these. Remus already worked all the algebra, now we just have to find the right rune and cast the spells over them."

Looking over at Draco, Remus was shocked to receive a curt nod, a monumental gesture coming from the aloof man. Draco sat in a chair and started reviewing the pile Harry had handed him.

Eventually, every piece of paper, parchment, scroll and document encrypted with Equacrology that had been found within Hermione's apartment, had been decoded and lay in piles surrounding the three men in a filing system possibly more difficult to understand than Hermione's encryption code itself.

"I'm beat," Harry said, tilting back in his chair, balancing on the rear legs.

"I could use a drink," Remus sighed before he could catch himself. Harry glanced sharply at him then down at the quill in his hands, feather split and bedraggled. Nobody said a thing. Remus slowly rose from his seat and left for the bathroom. He hated the cold silence that had descended on the once animate kitchen. He hated the sense of pity that coated every word and gesture that came from Harry. He hated that Harry felt that way about him and that it was Remus' own actions that got him here.

He stared at his scruffy face in the mirror, his sallow skin and bloodshot eyes. He looked like a walking corpse, solely powered by will and stubborn determination. How did he get here? How had he fallen so far?

With a quick splash of cool water on his face, he felt he had the courage to return to his friend. Harry sat alone in the kitchen, staring into his mug of coffee.

"Where'd Malfoy go?" Remus asked.

Harry shrugged, "It's pretty late." They both glanced out of the window, watching the sky lighten. "Or early. He returned to his club."

"Why is he helping?" Remus finally gave in and asked.

Harry looked over at him, a confused look on his face as if he were trying to puzzle something out. "He promised," was all he said.

"Why?"

"I'm not entirely sure, other than to get me to make a minor vow to him." Remus was startled at that. "I made the vow and he hasn't cashed in. Told me he didn't even know what he wanted from me." He shrugged. "So he's helping… promised to do whatever he could to help Hermione and how could I turn that down?" Harry turned his eyes over to Remus. They looked haunted.

Remus ruminated on that and realised he would have done the same thing for any of his friends. "Well, he seems like he's being a decent bloke."

"He is, and that just worries me. He must be up to something."

"Maybe he isn't," Remus said, enticing an incredulous look from Harry. "No, listen. Maybe he just wants… to be involved in something."

Harry's eyes went wide, in shock or disbelief or perhaps understanding. "Isn't that what we all want?" he asked, voice soft and contemplative.

After a short nap on Hermione's sofa, Remus felt ready to finally face his clogged drain problem at home. With trusty plunger in hand, he Flooed to The Leaky Cauldron and from there walked to his flat, dodging people who took no notice of him, ignored his very existence.

He climbed the rickety stairs to his door and eased it open, aghast at the stench tumbling out. Cupping a hand over his mouth and nose, he walked in and apprehensively went to examine his kitchen.

Every surface, every countertop, wall, utensil, pot and plate that had been left out was covered in that same slime. It seemed that whatever new life form had evolved in his drain had experienced a population explosion.

Remus took one step into the slimy den and immediately slipped, landing right on his tail bone. "What a great way to start the day," he mumbled under his breath. Climbing to his feet he wobbled over to the sink and lifted his plunger, magnificent and rubbery in its splendor.

"Think you're taking up residence here, do you?" The slime seemed to glow at him again. "Not in my flat, you don't." With a swift thrust he rammed the plunger into the drain and started the slow process of removing the well established colony.

He plunged the sink, fought the goop, and finally, after 20 minutes of sweaty work, the water ran freely down the drain. "Ha! Fight that, you infidel. Scourgify!" He cast the scouring charm repeatedly over his kitchen; so many times he was afraid he would scrub clean through the linoleum. But in the end every trace of odoriferous slime was gone, nothing but disinfected, though eternally stained, surfaces remained.

He sank to the floor in relief, cradling his plunger in his lap.

It did not take long for his stomach to grumble after such a long night and recent hard work. With a sense of accomplishment, he stood slowly, rubbing his tail bone, and rummaged through his cupboards. Some stale bread, a can of beans, a container of sugar. Surely, he had to have something more to eat. His hand fell on a half full bottle of bourbon. His salivary glands kicked in. Yes, that was just what he wanted.

He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a sip. The liquid slid down his throat with a companionable burn but the only thing he thought of during its entire journey was Harry's worried expression. His pity.

With a violent yell, he slammed the bottle of alcohol onto the counter. Bitterly, he threw it, smashing it against the wall, screaming at the unfairness of the world, at the pain in his heart and the panic waiting in his throat. The bottle shattered and a thin sheen of tawny liquid slid down the mould-speckled, decaying plaster.

He threw open all of his cupboards and his fridge, grabbing every bottle of liquor he found. He uncorked a bottle of five pound wine and poured it into the drain. It flowed down smoothly, like it would have progressed down his willing throat. He watched it go. A six-pack of lager followed it and then a bottle of whiskey. All down the drain, out of his kitchen, out of his life.

Finally he grabbed his flask, and as he leaned over the newly unclogged sink, he emptied that too. The astringent liquid slid into oblivion, mixing with salty tears as he wailed at the loss of so many years.