— Chapter Four —

Confrontation

Before Molly or Tonks could stop him, Remus was in the hallway.

"It was you, wasn't it?" he demanded, catching Snape with his hand on the front door. "You sent that note." There's a spy… Snape's words chased the spidery handwriting round in Remus's thoughts—just like Potter, so wrapped up in your girlfriend you can't see what's right in front of your eyes!—a spy—right in front of your eyes—your girlfriend—He felt as if the world was dropping away beneath his feet. He had to swallow before he could find his voice. "That's where you're going now, to take care of her."

Snape's lips curled into a smile. "I gave you fair warning—if you're too stupid to see it, you deserve all you get—"

"Fair warning?" Remus hit back, furious. It was enough to wake Mrs Black, but he didn't care. He was speechless. He could barely think—Eleanor was the spy? Eleanor? But—she couldn't be! His mind raced through a hundred innocent explanations—mistaken identity, crossed wires, some terrible misunderstanding—

"Where is he? Filth! You can't hide him from me forever! Blood traitors, vile creatures, how dare you! Return the rightful heir to the house of my fathers! Putrescent Mudbloods—"

"Shut up you old hag, he's dead!" Remus rounded on the painting, and the stunned silence that followed his outburst was filled with looks of compassion from Tonks and Dumbledore that he refused to meet, too angry to snap at Molly's pleading, "It was to protect you, Remus—"

How many of them knew? Were they all in on it? He felt betrayal the likes of which he hadn't since James and Lily's deaths. And anger—he was so angry with himself—how could he have been so stupid? How did he not see it? How long had they known—had they been laughing at him all that time? How could he have let himself be played for the fool twice? But above all, he was furious with Snape, thinking bitterly that he'd sent the book to make a fool of him—to make it hurt all the more, for finding out that everyone but him had known the truth all along.

Finally, he understood why James and Sirius had hated him so.

"I'll do it—and don't you dare stick your nose in any further, Snivellus, or it'll be the last place you ever stick it!" he vowed, heading straight for the fireplace.

"Remus—no," Tonks blurted, and withered at the ferocity of his glare.

"You always were fool, Lupin." Snape hissed. "She'll put you under an Imperius Curse and then you'll be someone else's fool."

"She's a squib!" he sounded desperate, even to himself—had that been another lie? The world was falling away from under him again, snatching at shreds of conversations, searching for anything to cling to that might have been the truth. He wanted to tell them all they were making a terrible mistake…but words seemed so inadequate. "You have to let me—let me talk to her, at least! Please, Albus—" He couldn't meet Dumbledore's gaze—he didn't want the final confirmation.

"I must ask you not to go."

For a moment he didn't know what to do with himself. The hallway was too claustrophobic, forbidding architecture closing in—now he understood why Sirius had hated the house so much—he had to get away. The only exit open to him was the staircase, and he fled up it, finding sanctuary in the silence of the study, leaning back against the closed door.

He didn't know which felt worse—the helplessness, or having been played for an absolute fool. Part of him couldn't believe it—wouldn't believe it until she said it herself—the rest of him was too afraid to get caught up in lies and deceptions, afraid to have his heart broken anymore than it already was. He didn't know what to think any more. He wasn't even sure whom he could trust; it felt like everyone had betrayed him a little in some way—from Tonk's silence to Molly's insistence he stay for dinner to keep him out of the way—even Dumbledore's words rang hollow to his ears, now that he realised the reassurance had been for Snape's benefit, not his own—

Anger boiled up inside Remus to think he'd been sick with worry for Snape's safety in all this—wringing himself with guilt for having over-looked the note, thinking it had meant the Death Eaters had learned of a spy in their camp—he'd been filled with wretched thoughts of raising the alarm too late. And now he was wondering if she'd been lie from the very start, all those years ago; had anything between them been genuine? A bitter laugh broke free; he was a fool.

He took to pacing the study to distract himself from his own stupidity, but all it did was burn off the anger and leave the wretchedness behind, and he sank miserably into a chair, staring at the worn tapestry. He'd broken the sticking charm on it a week ago, but hadn't been able to bring himself to take it down. Somehow it had felt like rolling up the moth-eaten family tree would be erasing the Black family name from history, and he hadn't liked the thought that there'd be no one left to mourn their lost son and brother. It hadn't seemed fair.

Nothing seemed fair anymore when he thought of the friends he'd lost to Voldemort. And painful as they were, thoughts of Sirius were at least a distraction from what Snape and Dumbledore were doing at that very moment, somewhere in London.

He felt worn out, utterly spent—a wretchedness he couldn't describe; words weren't enough. It simply felt too big to be contained within him, and he was afraid there'd be nothing left of him once the grief was spent.

Footsteps outside the room broke in on his thoughts, and he turned, forcing a smile as the door opened.

"Hello, Harry."

"What was all that shouting about?"

"Oh, nothing to worry about," he lied—and caught the look on Harry's face that said he wasn't a child anymore—smiling darkly that Harry was probably the only one in the house that hadn't been in on the deception. "Just…a conflict of interest with Severus," he admitted eventually, looking away from Harry's green eyes—his mother's eyes—that seemed to know it was much more than that. For a second Remus was caught thinking he was sixteen again himself, and it was James in front of him—and he had to turn away from the half-remembered conversations that came flooding back.

It's not like you to be so vocal, Moony, James would have prompted. He'd always been so good at reading the subtleties that Sirius's temper and impatience missed. He'd never have let Remus off without an explanation for his outburst, even one directed at Mrs Black—though that was where memory and imagination blurred; James had never been to Grimmauld Place—and however much Harry might look like his father, he wasn't…

Remus suddenly felt old, and alone.

"I'm sorry—" Harry offered, looking away, ashamed, when Remus met his eyes. "For getting your best friends killed." It was obviously something he'd been planning to say for a long time.

"Harry—" Lupin crossed the distance between them in a second, but was pushed angrily away as Harry turned his back, glaring at the tapestry.

"That's what you were all arguing about, isn't it?" he accused. "Ever since Sirius died it's all anyone's done—argue."

"No, it was nothing to—" but Remus stopped short, because, in so many ways, it was…if Sirius was still alive, he'd not have over-looked that book for two weeks—he'd have known it wasn't from Sirius—he'd have found out the truth in time to do something more than feel like the wizarding world's biggest fool… But it wasn't fair to blame anyone else for his own stupidity. "Harry, none of this is your fault."

"But it is!" he spun, and every wretched thought clogging up his heart tumbled out. "It was all my fault—I played right into Voldemort's hands…I should never have gone to the Ministry—I should never have stopped Occlumency lessons, I should have gone to see Snape again—you told me to and I didn't—it's my fault Sirius…" Remus didn't know what he could say—words weren't enough.

"Nobody blames you, Harry."

"Well you should," he looked down, fiddling with the sleeves of his jumper. "I'm the reason James and Lily died, I got Sirius killed—" he looked round, blinking fiercely. "I'm the one he wants—it should …" His voice broke, offering no resistance this time as Lupin pulled him close. "It should have been me," he whispered, but Lupin gave a gentle "No, Harry."

"You—you're just saying that," he said miserably, wiping his face with sleeve.

"Absolutely not." Somehow, someone else's grief was easier to deal with than his own. "If you had died that night—instead of James and Lily—if…" Lupin stalled, the consequences of Voldemort escaping his fate all those years ago too terrible. He sighed, "They'd have died of a broken heart, they loved you so much. And Sirius—I…" He found himself groping for words; they simply weren't enough. Sirius was dead—and he was the only one left that had truly known him…and he couldn't find the words to tell anybody.

"It wasn't Azkaban that left him hollow," Remus said heavily. "It was losing his best friend—blaming himself for it every day he sat in prison, hating himself for still being alive…you didn't know him before—these last few years the light was gone from his eyes, he wouldn't smile anymore—not the way he used to…Inside I think he was already dead." He was looking down, hands in his pockets. "You were the only thing that was keeping him alive."

And then it was gone with a sigh, a determined set to his face. "You have to finish what they started, Harry. You must." Or everything will have been for nothing…

Somewhere in London that night, Eleanor was being cornered by the Order of the Phoenix—and although the lie that was the girl he thought he'd known had died that evening with Snape's words, he knew it wouldn't make her trial at the Ministry any easier to bear.

— The End—