Chapter 123: May 1998

"Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards."

-Soren Kierkegaard


Remus stared, unseeingly, at the rumpled bed as he scraped through the melted, stringy bits of his mind, while he tried to make sense of the overwhelming deja vu threatening to swallow him. There were parts of his brain that, for the majority of his life, had felt sluggish and gooey. Hazy pockets in his memory that remained just out of reach and gave him headaches when he focused on them for too long. He'd always thought it was an inevitability that he would lose chunks of time to his lycanthropy as some sort of trauma response to the pain and fear of the transformations. But, somewhere deep down, he'd always wondered if it was something more than that.

He'd always struggled to recall anything from his early years as a member of The Order of the Phoenix.

He could remember their wedding as if it had just happened. Crystal clear images of a white gown and dress robes as they all danced, sang and drank champagne under a tent in the late summer heat floated easily to the surface. He could picture the next few months after the wedding—being inducted into The Order, his first few missions with James and Sirius, and Peter being sent out on the missions that would lead him to betray them all.

But then, it gets fuzzy. After a few months worth of recollection, everything feels different—blurry and minced. As if the memories had been pulled from his head and tampered with; replaced with bits and pieces that didn't always make sense together.

When he needed to produce a Patronus, it was one of these disembodied moments he called upon. A soft voice singing a song he didn't particularly like as fingernails dragged through his hair. He'd thought for a long time that it had been some strange memory of his mum from when he was a kid. Or perhaps even Lily. Although, he was sure this voice was different from either of theirs and it felt too intimate. He could hear her voice, even now, if he tried hard enough.

"What's your favourite song?"

"Blackbird."

"Blackbird? Well, that's hardly their best song. Why Blackbird?"

She laughed. A melodic, tinkling sort of thing. Her head tipped back, wild curls falling over her shoulder to cascade down. God, he loved her hairhe wanted to bury his face in.

"Well aren't you a judgemental thing? I like the song; it's pretty."

Remus felt his shoulders lift slightly, the words leaving his mouth in a muffled jumble. She probably thought he was an idiothe could never form a proper sentence around her. "I-I guess it's pretty. There are far better ones though."

He looked at her from the corner of his eye, trying to gauge her reaction. Her lips curled around her teeth, a beaming smile still on her face as she teased him, "Okay then, what's your favourite? Something predictable like Let it Be? Or All You Need is Love?"

He remembered then, that he had a warm Chelsea Bun (though, not so warm now) in his hand and popped the remainder into his mouth as he shook his head.

"Definitely not," he said through a swallow. "Eleanor Rigby."

She looked thoughtful for a moment, taking a long sip of her coffee and looking out to the back of Lily and James' garden. She turned slightly, her knee bumping against his. He didn't think she even noticed that she brushed him, but the contact sent a jolt up his spine.

"Eleanor Rigby? That song is so…" she pulled her brows together, searching for a word. "Depressing."

"It's not," Remus defended, feeling his own lips quirk ever so slightly. The bud of a smile pulled from him by someone other than James, Sirius, or Lily felt foreign these days. "It's thoughtful and understanding."

It's about being lonely, Remus. That's terribly depressing."

He liked the way she said his name. The way every letter seemed to flow with ease past her lips. She had the tiniest hint of a lisp and he found it completely endearingthough he was sure no one else had picked up on it.

"It's an understanding to people who feel lonely to look at the bigger picture," he explained, more animated than he had been in quite some time. It felt natural to talk to her. She seemed genuinely interested in what he had to saylike she really cared about his opinions on his favourite Beatles songs. "Eleanor thought she was alone, and that no one listened or paid attention to her, but Father Mackenzie did."

"But she died never knowing that someone was there for her, that someone cared. Eleanor spent her entire life thinking she was alone," she whispered.

"Sometimes lonely people don't realize they aren't alone," Remus answered, before he could stop himself. He felt his face scrunch up, knowing he had made the moment awkward. He was really good at that, particularly with her, and he wanted to kick himself.

"Remus…"

"Anyway, it's just a song, yeah?" Remus replied, wiping his damp palms on the fabric of his pyjamas, forcing a happier tone into his voice. "Poetic interpretation and all that."

"Yeah, interpretation…"

He could tell that she knew he was speaking from experience and it made him deeply uncomfortable. Christ, she'd only been around a couple of weeks and it felt like every time she looked at him, she knew him. Could really see himlike she was looking straight into his soul. He felt hollowed out beneath her gaze but it couldn't ignore the way his magic buzzed around her or the way Moony had become calmer than ever. He felt so full of strange feelings that he didn't know what to do with them.

Remus blinked several times—he'd been doing a lot of that today. But, it seemed to be the only way he could alleviate some of the pressure building behind his eyes. He turned away from the bed that held the wrinkled blankets and the pillows that seemed to call to him. Fuck he could really use some sleep. His mind was nothing more than a swirling, confusing mess of images that felt like memories but made his head throb and his stomach knot.

He caught a glimpse of his tired face in the large mirror that hung above a low chest of drawers and moved to inspect the reflection. God, he was getting old. He looked like he'd been beaten within an inch of his life, and he supposed—technically—he had.

Look at me.

Remus furrowed his brows, leaning closer to the mirror. Staring back were not the muddy-green, dull eyes he was used to seeing as he continued the burden of living every day. Instead, his irises shone a brilliant shade of gold against the light reflected off the mirror. He startled, jerking his head backwards, closing his eyes to rub them.

What did you do to me?

I saved you. Show some fucking gratitude.

I didn't ask for that!

You're needed here, despite the idiocy and lack of respect you have for our lives.

Remus felt anger swell up inside of him, "I DIDN'T FUCKING ASK YOU. I DIDN'T WANT YOUR HELP."

He bellowed to the reflection staring back at him. He watched as his nostrils flared in anger, his grimy cheeks reddening beneath the layer of caked-on dirt and blood. He pulled at the skin beneath his eyes, trying to force them to shift back to that shitty, mud-puddle green they'd always been. He concentrated hard, stuffing the wolf angrily into the back of his mind. Moony didn't even protest, confining himself with an air of superiority that just served to further piss Remus off. He could feel Moony receding, yet his eyes remained gold. Why were they still gold?!

"What did you do to me?" Remus hissed, his nose almost touching the reflection, flecks of spit hitting the mirror.

I saved you.

You've done nothing but damn me since you showed up thirty-three years ago, you fucking beast. Un-do it! Un-do it right now!

As you wish, human.

Remus' chest heaved as the fire that he'd felt when the curse hit him in battle returned. He gasped, stumbling back to clutch at the front of his robes, pulling them open as swiftly as his fingers would allow. He tucked his chin to look down as whatever magic Moony had enacted to save him stopped, causing the slow stitch of skin to unravel.

Remus cried out, watching in horror as blinding, white-hot pain seared into his chest. The skin shrivelled and burned, revealing the gristle of his muscle, sizzling with heat as whatever curse he had been hit with began to eat through his flesh once more. He dropped to his knees, gulping for air while tears streamed down his cheeks. In over thirty years of his bones shattering and fusing themselves back together once a month, Remus had never felt pain like this.

You've made your point! Make it stop. Please, make it stop! He begged, the taste of blood filling his mouth as he bit down on his tongue.

Thought so.

A few seconds passed and the pain subsided, the burn numbing to a dull throb. Remus sat back on his feet, panting as he tried to catch a breath, bringing his trembling fingers to his chest to feel the skin start to smooth back over. He stayed on the floor for several minutes, working to catch an even breath.

"Okay," he spoke, slowly. Shakily. "Okay. You win, Moony. What do you want me to do?"

The wolf inside his mind had become embodiment of his lycanthropy, at some point along the way, a face he'd subconsciously put on the beast. There was no fluffy fur or tufted tail—it wasn't as if he had an actual canine in his head. Instead, the version of Moony that he had always pictured looked much like he did but Moony was more; more predatory, more aggressive, more ruthless. It was how Remus imagined he would look had he ever tried to stop repressing his Darker nature and actually embraced it—animalistic and terrifying. More like Fenrir Greyback.

This picture of himself smiled, all pointed teeth and disturbingly saccharine.

I want you to listen to me.

You've got my attention.

Good.

A flurry of images began racing through his mind, working backwards through his life. Starting with points in time he could remember clearly—his time in hiding over the last several months, Potterwatch segments with Lee Jordan, the Twins, and Kingsley, his fizzled relationship with Tonks, and Sirius' death. The strange show of images seemed to slow when it got to his time teaching at Hogwarts, focusing on a memory he'd promised himself he'd keep buried.

"You're helping him?" Hermione cried, her face crumpled with disgust. "You're the reason he's here, aren't you? You've helped him into the castle. We trusted youyou're a Professor! You want Harry dead, too!"

"No," Remus said, his chest feeling hollow and his eyes prickling a bit. His arms fell from the embrace with his oldest friend, hanging limply at his sides. "No. I don't"

"Don't listen to him, Harry!" Hermione spat, her eyes red as they filled with angry tears, "He's a Werewolf! It's why he's been missing classes and always looks so terrible! He- he wants to kill you, too."

Remus stared at the girl, so bright, so clever, and felt the pang of betrayal. He frowned, his eyes locked with her defiant gaze. If any student in this school were to figure out his secret, he should have known it would be her. But, that didn't explain the heartbreak from seeing the look on her face as she spat the words like they were poison.

"Not up to your usual standards, I'm afraid, Hermione," he said, softly. He fought to keep his voice steady, to keep this puzzling pain from shaking the words, "Only one of three. I have not been helping Sirius into the castle and I certainly do not want to see Harry, or any of you for that matter, dead. I am a Werewolf, however. You got that part right."

He could never explain the shamefully inappropriate nature of the betrayal he felt when Hermione had shouted in fear about his status that night in the Shrieking Shack. How could he explain that to anyone without sounding completely perverse? How could he explain that something inside of him broke when the girl said the words with such terror in her tone?

Of course, she would be afraid. Her bloody Professor is a Werewolf and she had trusted him to mentor her. That was a natural reaction! But, the sadness he had felt when she sounded so disgusted had not been. He was used to people being revolted by him. It shouldn't have bothered him. Yet, it had—deeply.

He remembered the look on Sirius' face. Staring at the girl with complete confusion, his eyes moving back and forth between her and Remus. His mouth opened, as if he wanted to say something, but thought better of it and snapped it shut. Sirius had done that a lot around Hermione, come to think of it.

"I don't understand," Remus said, talking aloud to no one but himself. "What does this mean?"

Pay attention.

Remus huffed out an annoyed breath but closed his eyes again,

What do you remember of 1980?

Remus crinkled his face up as he tried to recall the year. It was blurry, like everything else around that time seemed to be.

I can't...I don't know. I know Harry was born and

Not what you know happened, Remus. What do you remember?

Remus' eyes opened in wide surprise. Moony never called him by his name. Not like this. Flesh suit, moron, cunt, idiot, useless lump...he'd heard all of that plenty of times. But, not his name and never with this level of care. Whatever Moony was trying to show him was important.

"Okay," Remus sighed, closing his eyes again and trying to focus. "Okay, let me think…"

1980.

What had he been doing in 1980?

God, he was so young then, just twenty years old. He had been in The Order for a while, since he'd left Hogwarts, and he could recall flashes of missions. The dank, rough insides of werewolf dens in places that were foreign to him at the time. He could remember Hamish and how much help he'd been when Remus needed it. He saw dozens of people the day after the moon, curled up in corners and crying as they tried to mend their wounds. He felt Moony nudging him away from the memory of the dens.

If not the dens, then what else could it possibly be?

"It was so long ago—a lifetime ago! I can't remember," Remus grumbled, exasperated.

You can and you must.

"Can't you give me anything? A hint of what I'm supposed to be remembering? A name? Anything?"

I've provided you with more hints and attempts to get you to remember this before now than I care to admit. But, apparently, you've been too stupid to take them for what they are.

Remus huffed and adjusted his legs to keep them from cramping beneath his weight. Merlin, he just wanted to lie down for a quick kip. He spread his legs out in front of him, laying back to rest on the hard, wood floor. He knew he'd regret it if he did end up falling asleep here, his back would ache for a week, but he was just so fucking tired. He folded his hands and brought them to rest on his abdomen, just below the wound on his chest, closing his eyes again.

Right. 1980.

There had been so much death that year, of that, Remus could recall clearly. He could remember Sirius breaking down at Marlene's funeral and the argument that had ensued afterwards where they'd fist fought beneath a tree. He could remember the Prewett's and their deaths, how devastated everyone had been to not see the lively, ginger twins at the table anymore. There'd been the transformations that had seemed far worse than any he'd had before and he had chalked it up to entering adulthood, coming into himself in the middle of a war, and all that rot.

Fleeting images of a head of brown curls circulated in nearly every memory he trudged up, but the face...the face wasn't always visible. A glimpse of a smile or a bat of an eyelash that looked washed out, like an old photo sitting in the sun for too long. And then, he saw little bits of parchment curled up on his desk in the room he occupied at Potter Cottage. Parchment with familiar, curly handwriting stuck to the top of chocolate bars. I get by with a little help from my friends.

Remus felt his lips pull into a smile, recalling the way the parchment felt against his fingers, the way his heart thumped when he saw the little notes. He had kept them all. Month to month they'd been left for him, along with the best damn pain relief potions he'd ever taken. He remembered thinking that she knew—she knew and she didn't care. He'd been too afraid to bring it up, to tell her, to let her in.

Moony began to get excited, urging him toward another black pocket in his mind from that year. Remus' face scrunched up as he concentrated, trying to dispel the layers of fog that hung heavy over the memories.

She'd told him she knew. He could remember it clearly, she'd just come outright and said it. And, out of fear, he'd pretended he hadn't the slightest of what she was talking about.

"By your reaction, I think you know exactly what I'm talking about."

She'd never been afraid of him. She wasn't revolted or disgusted or coming for him with pitchforks and fire. She had looked at him like he was still a person—like she wanted to know him. But, fuck, why couldn't he remember what she looked like?

They were having dinner. He remembered being deeply annoyed with his friends—Lily had definitely had her hand in it, as she always did when it came to doing things she thought Remus needed to do, but wouldn't. He'd never thanked her for that; for pushing him when he needed it.

Stop getting melancholy over your dead friends. Now is not the time.

Fuck you.

Focus.

Remus' nose twitched in agitation but he shook it off, trying to focus on the memory again.

"You have no idea what I'm capable of!" Remus was angry but he wouldn't shout, not at her. She didn't really deserve the anger. But, she needed to understand that he was dangerous. And she just kept pushing him, smiling sadly at him like he was a lost puppy and not a Dark Creature who could kill her if the moon so decided.

"Neither do you."

Her reply was simple, stunning Remus momentarily. He stared at her, disbelief etched across his face. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" It came out much harsher than he had intended but, whatever. It didn't matter. The second she realized what he was, what he could do, she'd run screaming in the other direction.

"You think you're this big, terrifying beast but, Remus, you aren't. Werewolves aren't inherently bad."

"You don't know that, Hermione—"

Remus sat up so fast the room spun around him. His palms hit the floor, catching himself before he fell over.

Hermione.

He pulled himself to his feet, stumbling a bit as he walked out of the room and through the hall, his fingers reaching out to trace the walls. He could see her clearly now and she was everywhere. An imprint of her in every inch of this house—of their house.

He could hear her light footsteps, her sleepy hums, her laughter. He could see the way she would stop what she was doing to look up at him and smile. He could taste her scent, heavy and sweet, with every breath he took and it was dizzying. He could feel her fingernails dragging across his scalp as she sang Blackbird and peppered his cheek, jaw, and lips with soft kisses.

She was everywhere.

Remus inhaled deeply, feeling like he'd just run a fucking mile. He fell onto the sofa, his elbows digging into his thighs, his head cradled in his hands.

"Hermione Granger?" Remus said, miserably. "That's what you want me to remember? That I was in love with a student?"

It wasn't just love and she wasn't your student. Look closer.

Remus closed his eyes and let Moony guide him through his memories again.

.


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a/n: bbyboi is finally catching up to the rest of the class. Three cheers for Moony?

Hope you liked it! See you next week

xo