Trigger Warnings: This chapter contains depressing elements and thoughts of suicide.
It was a cold evening in November when Remus pushed through the kissing gate and stumbled into the graveyard. He clutched a half-empty bottle of firewhisky as if his life depended on it, forcing his feet forward. The sun threatened to dip below the horizon and the sky above was already darkening. A few pinpricks of early starlight began to dot the cloudy haze. There was no sign of the moon yet, but he could feel it coming. His body shuddered with the familiar rush of anticipation and dread. Pushing the feeling down, he staggered along, passing rows of neat headstones until he came to two identical patches of bare earth - the final resting place of James and Lily Potter.
He vaguely wondered if they'd been expecting him. His eyes pricked and the floodgate was opened. Remus fell to his knees at the foot of the graves, wracked by sobs, cursing himself for the tears he swore he wouldn't shed. He covered his face with his hands, fingers pulling at his hair, ashamed.
He knew it was reckless being near humans so close to the full moon, but he had to see them - his true friends - one last time before… Well, Remus couldn't bear the thought of facing the moon without Prongs, Wormtail, or even the other one. He wouldn't allow himself to even think the name he'd so often whispered like a sacred prayer in the night. Another knot formed in his throat, but Remus refused to waste his tears mourning the traitor.
Still, despite his best attempts, the same string of questions plagued his mind. How could he have done this to his friends? Even if he had been unfaithful to Remus and Peter, how could he betray James? James, who had been the very best of them. James, who had been his best friend and confidant. James, who had brought him into his home and had seen him as a brother. Had he ever been their friend, really? Had he always been a spy? Remus turned each of these thoughts over in his mind as he lifted the bottle of firewhiskey to his lips and downed the last of the amber liquid, relishing the sting of it as it slid down his throat.
He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. That was enough. What was done was done, and now the bastard was receiving his retribution far away in Azkaban. But that brought something else, something far worse, to the forefront of Remus's mind - Harry. He imagined the baby alone and parentless. Growing up and never truly knowing the love his family had for him.
"I wish there was more a monster like me could do," Remus whispered, "but I don't even bloody know where he is now." He pinched the bridge of his nose, "Fucking Dumbledore."
Even if he did know where the old man had hidden Harry away, what difference would it make? He'd always have the wolf lurking inside him, fangs bared and claws at the ready. He wasn't fit to be a parent. That was supposed to have been his job if it ever came down to it. If only he had confronted the bastard and Pete had survived, then maybe Harry would have an uncle who could take care of him.
He opened his mouth, attempting an apology to James and Lily. For failing them. For failing their son. For failing to recognize him for what he truly was before it was too late. But all that came out was a strangled cry.
Remus raked his hand down his face again before slipping it into his cloak pocket. He withdrew a small vial. The contents swirled with a sickly green hue. Back at Hogwarts, Remus had never excelled at potion-making under Slughorn's instruction, but procuring a poison had been easy enough with the right connections. Remus was done with this ever-swelling pain inside his chest. Done with the guilt of it all.
All that was left to do was drink it, and he could rejoin the Marauders. He uncorked the vial, but couldn't bring himself to lift it to his lips. He cursed, willing himself to just do the damn thing, but his hand was frozen in midair, fingers trembling around the tiny bottle. Bloody good Gryffindor I am, he thought. Even Pete had shown more bravery than this.
"I need more alcohol," Remus muttered as he pocketed the vial.
Thinking that maybe James had a bottle or two that had survived the attack, he got to his feet, and with a final look at his friends' graves, he turned and wended his way back through the graveyard. The streets of Godric's Hollow were mercifully empty but somewhere in the distance, a dog's bark echoed resolutely through the silence. Remus thought it sounded lonely and it reminded him of the full moons he'd spent as the wolf, roaming the countryside with his friends. A fresh wave of grief sent him reeling.
He passed each quaint muggle home, whose inhabitants knew nothing of the war. Nothing of the great evil that had threatened their quiet existence. Nothing of the brave witches and wizards who had given their lives to protect the innocents of the world. Nothing of James, Lily, Peter, and Marlene. Nothing of Harry, the infant son of the Potters who had somehow managed to defeat Voldemort when greater wizards had failed. Poor Harry, who would never hear his mother's chiming laugh or see his father's crooked grin.
"Fuck," Remus slurred to the deserted street. "If I knew where he was…"
At least then he could have left a letter for Harry outlining his favorite memories of James and Lily. Stories only a Marauder would know. Remus felt he at least owed the boy that. But time had run out.
The ruined cottage came into view. The Fidelius Charm had died with James and Lily.
If Remus hadn't been drunk enough to swallow the poison now safely stowed in his pocket, he was certainly too sober to face the wreckage of the Potters' home. It was miraculously still standing, but the right side of the top floor had been blown apart where a nursery had been set aside for Harry. It was there, Remus realized, that Voldemort's killing curse had backfired when directed at the baby. Rubble from the explosion still littered the small lawn below.
Of course, there were charms to hide the ruins from the local muggles, and Remus was sure some sort of preservation spell had been placed over the dilapidated home. Nature would not be allowed to reclaim the cottage, forcing it to become a permanent reminder of all Remus had lost. It would surely become a kind of war memorial commemorating the joyous night of October 31, 1981. The day Voldemort was defeated.
Maybe it was selfish, but Remus wasn't sure the price they'd paid for his fall had been worth it.
The garden gate was open and he followed the front path to the door. He twisted the knob and pushed it open, allowing it to swing on its hinges. He was caught by surprise as he gazed into the dark house. The bottom floor was exactly as it was the last time he'd seen it. He could almost imagine Lily's soft voice welcoming him inside as she tutted after Harry, who, even at such a young age, was already making mischief, keeping his parents on their toes. James would be in the study, ready to offer Remus a smile and a stiff drink, as the Marauders concocted some scheme or another to help the Order. But now, it all felt so wrong. There were no friendly voices. There was no sound at all.
With little effort, Remus found what he'd been looking for in the liquor cabinet. He opened the bottle, taking a long swig, allowing the fire to dull his emotions.
After several drinks, Remus had an unexpected urge to go upstairs. He couldn't explain it, but part of him had to see where it had happened. The final stand.
Remus knew that James had been killed in the sitting room, no doubt where he was standing now. Though he had been wandless, Remus liked to imagine James fighting tooth and nail to protect his family. That was hardly the truth of it, though. No one, not even brave James, could escape the scrutiny of death. At least he hadn't suffered.
As Remus wandered toward the stairs, he pictured the flash of Lily's red hair as she scooped Harry up in her arms. Each wooden stair creaked underfoot, the uppermost steps threatening to collapse as he made his way to the top floor. The door to the nursery was a splintered mess on the floor. It had not delayed Voldemort's pursuit in the slightest. Some good it had done at protecting the people hiding inside. But then again, what good did locked doors do when there was a dark wizard who wanted you dead?
Remus was hit by a wave of nausea as he crossed the threshold. He was unsure if it was from the alcohol, the grief, or the heavy magic still permeating the air. Maybe it was the impending transformation. He knew the wolf was itching just below the skin.
Here, he decided suddenly. Here was where he would end it. Somehow, it only seemed fitting. He had failed to protect his friends, but he could die alongside them.
Firewhisky in hand, he sat amongst the mess. Again, he took the vial from his pocket and inspected the poison within. This time, the green liquid looked much more inviting. He looked around the room and brought the bottle of firewhisky to his lips, taking another burning gulp, hoping for a final bit of liquid courage. As he set the alcohol to the side and readied himself to uncork the vial, something caught his eye.
There, wedged beneath the overturned dresser, was a ripped bit of parchment. It shouldn't have stood out in the disaster of a room, but Remus couldn't tear his eyes from it. He considered the vial of poison, feeling the weight of the liquid heavy against his sweaty palm, before placing it haphazardly beside the firewhisky.
He crawled to the parchment and pulled it from the rubble. His eyes scanned the page. It only contained two simple words - Peter was
The handwriting was messy and rushed, but it was clearly Lily's. Had she meant to leave a note before she'd been struck down?
Remus frowned at the unfinished statement that had been hastily scrawled onto the parchment. Peter was what? In danger? The next target of Voldemort's onslaught?
If that was true, Peter had made it too bloody easy for them. The valiant idiot had chased the traitor down knowing he didn't stand a chance. How could Lily have known that, though? If Voldemort had lorded this information over her, he surely wouldn't have given her the chance to write it down. Besides, Remus knew Lily's final moments had been spent shielding her son.
Was this piece of parchment meant to have been found later, then? Could it have been something she had known before she faced Voldemort?
"Bloody hell!" Remus exclaimed, his mind whirring to life. "But it couldn't be."
Surely James wouldn't have. He wouldn't have been so foolish. But if… if Padfoot had insisted. Then maybe. It had to be. The note had to have meant 'Peter was the secret keeper.' There was no other explanation. But that would mean… shit… Sirius.
Remus was too drunk to trust his thoughts. He stuffed the note into his pocket and got up, walking toward the gaping hole at the other side of the room. The cool air seemed to sober him up.
Could it be possible? He dared not let himself believe. At least, not yet.
As he paced, the toe of his boot bumped against the vial of poison. He stopped, watching as it rolled across the floor and settled against the debris. He considered retrieving it, just in case, but the desire was gone. If the note Lily had left behind meant what he suspected, he couldn't kill himself tonight.
Remus realized he'd been holding his breath. He exhaled slowly, staring at the dark sky. Ready or not, the moon was upon him. With a crack, Remus apparated, suddenly finding himself deep within the Forest of Dean, the place he'd frequented with the Marauders on the nights of a full moon in their years since Hogwarts. Here, he could release the wolf from its human confinement without worry.
Very much alone, he undressed, checking that Lily's note was still in his cloak pocket. Though he'd transformed countless times, he found himself afraid for the first time since he was small. How would the wolf handle its newfound freedom? Would it do something Remus would regret without the watchful eyes of its pack? Unsure, he did his best to swallow his fear.
He had a mission now. A reason to live. A friend to save.