Chapter 122: May 1998
"...Each of us stands as if to turn to stone. I weep for my fate, for what I have left to see."
-Chil Rajchman
The quiet was the first thing Remus noticed as the synapses of his brain slowly began to fire again, breaking through the syrupy haze that made him feel like he was underwater. He wanted to open his eyes, but the very idea of doing so was exhausting. They felt heavy—far too heavy to lift on his own—and his chest was on fire. He could feel his skin slowly knitting back together; the gentle tugging not exactly painful, but not pleasant either.
He had always healed up at a much faster rate than any of his fully human acquaintances or friends, but he typically required a potion or two to jumpstart the process. He wondered if he was in hospital or perhaps someone from the Order…
His brain finally caught up, and he could vividly remember what had incompacitated him the first place. The battle he had been fighting. How tired he had been as he fought for hours to hold off Voldemort and the other Death Eaters from the castle. The smoke thick air and the smell of deadly curses sizzled through it. A furious, bright purple streak of light zipping toward Tonks.
It was too quiet now, he thought. Uncomfortably silent. And that could only mean that all of the planning, fighting, death, and destruction had all been for nothing. Surely, had Harry succeeded, there would be celebrations. He would hear singing and laughter and happiness to signal that this was all finally fucking over. He sighed in resignation. Naturally, he would survive only to live and have to keep fighting. Why couldn't he have just finally bit the dust? Had he not done enough? Had he not been through enough?
God, he was so fucking tired of fighting.
His chest throbbed uncomfortably as he breathed through his nose. It wasn't the rhythmic pinch and pull of skin stitching back together, but the familiar hollow ache he'd felt the majority of his life. He could feel the ebb and flow of magic around his heart, almost as if it was the only thing holding the organ together. Merlin knew he didn't make much of an effort to keep the ruddy thing beating. He poked his tongue through chapped lips, trying to restore some sort of moisture to them. The cool air that hit his throat felt sharp and he coughed. His throat felt raw, like he had swallowed glass shards.
Don't just lie there, you idiot. Get up.
He let out another suffering sigh. Good to know he could always count on Moony to remind him he was still, unfortunately,alive.
Finally his eyes fluttered open, nearly blinding him from the harsh light that streamed in through the tall windows lining the room. With an immense amount of effort, he pulled himself into a sitting position. Remus scrubbed his dry, burning eyes with the heel of his dirty palms and looked around, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He was in the staff room he knew to be off the side of the Great Hall.
The tables he could recall being there once before were shoved against the walls. In place of the plush armchairs and cabinets that housed several different types of quick-grab foods were bodies that were carefully laid in neat rows. His eyes landed on the pale face of a young Gryffindor boy he once taught—Colin Creevy—and he felt a bitterness rise in his throat. His gaze drifted over the motionless figures lining the flagstone. He felt nauseous as the reason he was in this room washed over him.
Remus was amongst the dead.
Briefly, he had the thought that maybe he had actually died from the curse he dove in front of. And that, for some unknown reason to him, he remained behind. Doomed to haunt the halls and students of Hogwarts as another one of the many ghosts that floated aimlessly through the corridors. Perhaps he would become friends with Sir Nicholas now, and listen to his insane tales of how he'd nearly lost his head for the rest of eternity. Or maybe, he mused, he would be like Professor Binns, and teach Defense Against the Dark Arts for the rest of time.
He had always wanted to teach, afterall.
He blinked a few times, his eyelids scratching like sandpaper against his bleary eyes. He curled his toes, wiggled his fingers, and twisted his back, taking inventory of all the cracks of arthritic joints and pangs of overused muscles. Not dead, then. That much he was certain. If he were a ghost, he was sure Moony would not be growling in his head and his body would not ache the way it did. He was sure his mind wouldn't feel like it had been pulsed through an old muggle blender.
Remus finally pulled himself to his feet, grunting slightly at the effort it took to not topple over. Every breath came slow and painful, his healing chest expanding just enough to give him a precious taste of oxygen. He took a few experimental steps toward the door, stopping to lean against the wall for a moment. Remus couldn't help but look at the still faces of the ones that he'd been laying beside. There had to be at least fifty of them. In the row closest to the wall, he saw a thatch of vibrant red hair. He felt nauseated as he recognized one of the Weasley twins—Fred, he thought, though he couldn't be sure—the young man's mouth still turned up with a smile.
He turned his head and closed his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from screaming in horror, in fury. How was it that an old, impoverished werewolf had somehow made it out alive? His mind seemed to stop whirring for a moment to focus on something just out of its grasp. A memory that lingered on the edges.
Get out before they discover you.
Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, And why would I do that?
We have much to discuss and we cannot do it here.
Remus' eyes opened slowly. He stared out the window, watching the dust motes dance around in the shafts of morning sunlight that spilled across the corpses on the floor.
If I go out there, they'll kill me.
If you don't, I will kill us both. Fucking move.
Good. I could use a nap anyway.
Remus felt the irritation of Moony roll through him. And then, his legs moved. Step by agonizing step, Remus moved towards the door. He felt panic begin to swell in his chest.
Stop it! How is this possible?
You owe me, human.
I don't understand! How are you doing this?
Remus felt his hand grab the brass handle, and despite how hard he tried to fight it, his wrist turned to pull the door open.
As I said, we have a lot to discuss and we can't do it here. It's not safe. Now shut up and move.
The Great Hall was practically in ruins. The massive room was covered in a thick layer of rubble and debris. Several of the long, solid tables laid in haphazard piles of splintered wood, their benches little more than stacks of twigs and fabric. The walls were scorched and blackened, the remaining evidence from the array of spells and curses that had ricocheted against them hours prior. The charmed ceiling showed a bright blue sky, dotted with lazily drifting clouds in some places, while in others centuries old, cobwebbed rafter beams peeked through.
Remus' stomach dropped as his feet continued to shuffle through the dust, wondering what the rest of the school must look like. He thought of the Headmaster's office and the hundreds of valuable items housed there— tomes from long dead researchers, spindly trinkets that twinkled on their own, and artefacts significant to the very history of the Wizarding World that he'd never seen in any other corner of the Earth. Imagining so much history, so much magic, had been blown to smithereens in the span of a few hours was sobering. So, as Moony forced his legs to walk, he pictured the office clearly and tried to recall as many of the items in detail as he could.
A memory fizzled to the front of his mind, blurred and confusing, more feeling than actual images. He could remember Dumbledore and the tangy smell that emanated from a cup of tea. The sound of ceramic shattering against the stone floor was overshadowed by deep feelings of betrayal and anger that bled into the grooves of his brain, stinging like a fresh wound. Gritting his teeth, Remus mustered up as much of his strength as he could to stop the soles of his worn out shoes from taking another step.
Not here, Moony growled.
"We must protect what little of the timeline that has remained untouched."
"Stop!" Remus demanded, to no one but himself.
Dumbledore's voice rang loudly in his head and it felt important. But, he couldn't actually remember them being said to him, or the circumstances surrounding it. They were just there. Weaving through the empty pits of his muddled mind. Pulsing within the black spots in his memory that he had always assumed came from the toxic blend of trauma and lycanthropy.
He was desperate to stop walking—to take a second to make sense of the words he could just barely grasp. Instead, his feet found the wobbling stairs leading out to the grounds. The slabs of stone split and crumbling, rocking dangerously with every down-step he took. The grounds were more perturbing than he could've imagined.
The grass was overturned from large craters in the earth. Nothing more than a muddy amalgamation of spilled blood and gravel that had been unearthed from deep beneath the once impeccable hills. The air felt stagnant, not even an early spring breeze to ripple the water of the Black Lake or a twitch from the Whopping Willow to indicate life on Hogwarts grounds. The eerie tranquility made the hair on Remus' arms prickle.
Apparate.
We can't apparate inside Hogwarts grounds.
Look around you, dickhead. Do you think the wards are still intact? Get the fuck out of here before they find us.
Where is everyone?
I will explain.
I have nowhere to go.
Twenty four, Church Lane, Godric's Hollow
Remus took in a sharp breath. No, that's...I can't go to James and Lily's that's—
Not the Potter's, you moron. Twenty four.
Remus tried to dig up the address in his mind. He couldn't picture whatever the hell place Moony was trying to send him. He had no real reason to believe he'd be sent anywhere dangerous. In a strange turn of events, Moony seemed adamant about avoiding death at the present moment. He pictured Potter Cottage as clearly as he could, trying to remember exactly how it looked; it had been so long since he had been there.
Not there, you imbecile. Next to it. For fuck's sake, do I need to do everything myself?
He turned on his heel and with a loud crack disapparated into thin air, praying he wouldn't splinch himself or be killed upon arrival.
Remus stumbled forward and hit his knees as he landed. Pain rocketed through his thighs, his teeth chattering from the force of the impact. His palms scraped against the road, tiny pebbles tearing into his hands as he skidded to a stop. He winced, sitting back on his feet to catch his breath a moment.
He forced his head up to see exactly where he had landed—the surrounding area all too familiar. From the left side of his periphery, he could see the ruins of the place he had loved so dearly. A house that had been home to so much laughter and love. He kept his eyes trained forward, refusing to turn and look at the destruction that had been the pinnacle of devastation in his life.
Instead, his eyes fell upon a small, red brick cottage with a cream coloured door. A large window was hidden behind what looked to be years of grime and neglect. A set of shudders framed the glass, a rather revolting shade of puce that had paint curling off in thin strips, weather beaten and lopsided.
I know this place.
Of course you do, you tit. I didn't bring you here for no reason.
Remus swallowed, the action proving fruitless to remove the lump that seemed to grow thick in his esophagus. He pushed himself up, carefully moving toward the front of the cottage. He could feel the magic around it. Powerful wards set in place with magic that felt familiar, somehow.
Remus gripped the handle and turned, his heart racing and his eyes hot with tears that seemed like they should be significant. He heard the lock give and the bolt click as the door creaked open, granting him access to the shabby cottage.
The smell assaulted him first. Mildew and mould that buried his ability to breathe, momentarily. He blinked, taking a few steps further into the main room, listening as the door clicked shut behind him. It was incredibly familiar, yet he was certain he'd never been here before. The empty ache that always resided in his chest gave a jolt, as if jumpstarting the deadened heart that sat forgotten within its cavern. Something comforting flowed through him, a buzzing of magic that warmed his fingertips and tingled down his spine.
His fingers grazed the back of the chair that sat angled in front of the window, and he felt compelled to pick up the soft, knitted afghan that was thrown haphazardly over the back of it. Remus buried his face in the blanket, breathing in deeply. It smelt stale and unwashed, but there was an underlying scent of coconut and vanilla and something floral. His heart thundered again, as if his very physiology was approving of the smell.
Beyond the couch laid the open entry to what Remus assumed to be a kitchen. He set the blanket back on the chair and walked toward the room, leaning against the frame of the door as he surveyed it. There was an old table stacked with an enormous amount of books. Nearly all of them were open, and there were several ink pots and quills strewn about. It looked like someone had once sat there for hours doing research. A mouldy mug of tea was near the edge, growing cultures he was sure could probably be used for muggle medicine or something of the like.
He heard the chirping of birds from somewhere down the hall and followed it. The house was empty and quiet, but it didn't hold the same sinister silence that the castle had. This place felt welcoming and safe. He pushed open the first door, finding a small room that looked like it had been used for potion brewing. An array of cauldrons sat in different places, covered in dust—their contents surely unusable.
The birds chirped again, calling his attention to the end of the hall. The door was open slightly and Remus could see a large bed, one side ruffled up, pushed against the far wall. He pushed the door open further, revealing the master bedroom. A small nest had been made on the window sill, and a few tiny wrens sang happily as he observed them.
Remus began to feel dizzy, his vision blurring at the edges as Moony buzzed with frenetic energy inside his mind.
Remember it. You know this place, Remus. You just have to remember.
"Look at this," Remus called over his shoulder.
He crouched next to a large nest in the corner of the empty room. The window was broken, ivy climbing its way down the wall to sprawl across the floor. The nest was filled with a dozen small, blue birds. Little specks of white dotted their wings and chests, their tiny beaks a deep shade of orange. He recalled, a few nights prior, a loud screaming sound that was heard from somewhere nearby. A symphony of haunting shouts coming from a hidden space. It had been terrifying and powerful and Remus had felt strangely comforted by the song once it was over.
"I heard a strange noise the other night," Remus murmured, his hands reaching out to gently stroke the feathers of the small, blue birds. "I've never heard a Jobberknoll scream. It was bloody terrifying."
His fingers lingered on the soft, downy feathers. He felt deeply saddened to see the small birds had all perished. And to know that in death they were more valuable than their lives had ever been. Jobberknolls were rare, their feathers coveted for potions and sold at an insane price. They'd be plucked bald, and each beautiful cerulean feather would be given to the highest bidder. It seemed disrespectful. He knew that if he took them to the apothecary to sell them off he'd be more financially stable than he had ever dreamed of being. But, even entertaining the idea of it made him feel sick.
He heard light footsteps behind him, a sharp inhale of breath, as the witch knelt next to him. A wild bundle of curls fastened high on top her head, slender fingers brushing against his as she reached out to stroke the feathers.
Remus blinked several times, pushing a hand through his hair. The vision or memory or whatever the fuck it was felt so incredibly vivid. He knew this place. The very fibres of his muscles could remember the comfort of this house. His magic hadn't stopped vibrating within him since he set eyes on the front door.
And, more importantly, he knew that witch.
.
.
a/n: I realize last chapter, I forgot to add a quote at the start. My bad. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this one. Let me know?
