Falling Leaves
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
PLEASE READ THIS FIRST! IMPORTANT INFO!
Okay, so I had originally released this chapter on Friday, but mainly due to lack of a flashback/recap kinda thing (and a 3-year distance), I ended up confusing some of you (shout-out to Sparkybishy for alerting me!). If that was the case for you, I'm so, so sorry!
In this chapter we go back to Adult Remus, it's a direct continuation of chapter 12 - I've now included the tail end of it here, but if you get to the end of the part in italics and still have no idea what's going on, I urge you to go back and reread it whole (it's been 3 years since it was posted, after all). I tried to find an alpha to see if doing this solved the issue, but no one was available and I chose instead to write this note. I truly hope things are clearer now and that you'll enjoy it!
June 18th, 1996
In the end, she allowed him far more than that. It was only when Dumbledore came to him that Remus noticed the time. Evening had fallen, but the Headmaster of Hogwarts made no mention of it.
What he did ask was, "Are you supposed to be here?"
"I'm not." Remus had to swallow through the knot in his throat before continuing. "She wrote that we would catch a glimpse of each other, but never more than that. Something's wrong. We must have changed too much, or overlooked that part..."
And the worst thing about it was that he didn't remember. And he didn't believe he could ever forget something like this.
"I'm sorry, my boy, but have you considered that not divulging it was Miss Granger's choice? And you know the consequences if you stay." Few times over the years had Remus feeling the urge to revolt and scream at Dumbledore. Now was such a time. And Remus wanted nothing more than to scream that she would have told him - BECAUSE WHY WOULDN'T SHE? - but he knew the old wizard would take his screams as he had likely taken Harry's already, and it still wouldn't change anything. And it wasn't until Remus reached that reasoning that Dumbledore placed a hand on his back and spoke, "Come. We have plans for tonight."
As they made their way through the halls unquestioned and unstopped, abuzz with activity after the events of the day as the building was, Remus stared straight ahead and tried to narrow his focus—concentrate. How healers did it he couldn't imagine, to put aside one concern in favour of another, and the attempt sat poorly with him. Both cases were dire, but one of them he possessed the ability to help, and the other… The other lay quite literally out of his hands.
So Remus made them into fists and pressed, letting the sting of his nails on his damp palms ground him to the here and now. Breathing exercises helped, but pain worked faster and time was short. He hastened his steps, more purposeful now. The pet-tep of their soles on tile floors in an otherwise silent, empty corridor, echoing off the surrounding tile walls as it did, did as much to lend him comfort as their dark green, almost black colour.
Their march came to a halt, cutting off the crescendo. It was quite unusual. Not at all like locking mechanisms ought to be designed. Remus had been faced with a fair share of doors in his life, most of them being shut in his face following a full moon. Some—a very far few—he'd looked forward to opening. Never one he'd analysed in quite as much detail as this, though.
Never one he'd wished never to cross, no prospect of recovering what it would rob.
The knob turned with a squeak in Dumbledore's large, bony hand, and the door screeched open, revealing pitch-black darkness. No sooner had they stepped inside and the door snicked shut at their backs.
Remus took one cautious step forward, balance compromised by the lack of sight, his awareness of Dumbledore due entirely to the sound of the other wizard's breathing. Something crunched underneath his shoe and he drew to a stop.
Two beams of light flared out of the tip of their wands, bleeding into the blackness. As Remus lowered his, its glimmer revealed rows upon rows of shattered, jagged glass, their glittering faint. There was but a narrow cleared path in the middle.
Remus released his breath.
Wrong exit.
They backtracked, scant dots of white light gleaming off the centred brass knob as they approached. One more time, Dumbledore twisted it and it turned, muted now. Whispering, the wood opened to a round room, arranged as a lowered amphitheatre, a caressing breeze quivering feather-light against his face despite the lack of windows. No dark tiles in sight, the ground and walls made of uneven stone, crumbling pieces here and there, and light a bluish glow at its centre.
Innocuous, almost, but for the cadent murmur haunting the place. Remus avoided looking at its source.
Two cloaked figures awaited them at the bottom as he and Dumbledore descended, the upper part of their faces cast in shadow by their hoods. It set his wolf's teeth on edge, to be unable to see their eyes, a prickling running down his neck and travelling the length of his shoulders. Remus tipped his head to the side and shook off the feeling.
He recognised the Unspeakables—by scent, yes, but also by the orange-brown colour of their stubble. Their presence there had been arranged beforehand. The slightly taller Unspeakable offered Remus a garment identical to the ones they wore, his amused smile dispelling the sombreness of the moment even as Remus still struggled with his disquiet.
They knew what was at stake, wouldn't jeopardise it.
Remus held onto the garb for a moment, immobile, as Dumbledore made his way toward the room's central piece, allowing Remus a moment to himself as if they had all the time in the world.
In a way, that was precisely what they had had.
Time was a gift and a curse both.
A beat or two later, the cloaked pair lowered their heads in a nod, a gesture Remus returned, the acknowledgement the last he saw of them before he followed Dumbledore's footsteps and knelt before the Veil.
"Are you ready, my boy?" Dumbledore asked.
"Am I ever?"
Remus forced all thoughts aside for the moment and settled himself on the ground before the looming archway. He could hear Sirius' warped voice there, shouting just out of reach, but resisted the urge to comfort and calm him down. They needed his outrage, not peaceful acceptance. He had nothing to fear there—Sirius had never been one for the latter.
Dumbledore gave him a nod, and Remus raised his hand to touch the sheer, ethereal fabric that divided the worlds. It felt like icy satin under his fingers—smooth, chilling.
Inviting.
Yet it was not the balm of death that he craved.
When Dumbledore spoke the incantations, Remus grabbed hold of it. It resisted. Like it had over a year ago in Grimmauld's Place library, crashing light bled out of Remus' every pore. A meteor shower, white-hot, reaching to the other side. Unlike that time, however, a rash spread throughout his skin as though fire spiders were crawling over it, every graze of their hairy feet leaving an itching, searing trail in its path.
He set his jaw and tightened his grip.
As the last words were spoken, Remus tugged, parting the drapes just a crack.
The link was strong, feeding off years of friendship, acceptance, love. He could feel it, the ritual working—Billowing. Stretching. Expanding like a living thing.
And when his best friend materialised before him, the same light that had escaped Remus pouring over and invading him like a phantom, Remus reached inside and yanked him.
They fell backwards, air gasped into Remus' lungs, cool sweat clinging to his skin and a weight on top of him. His eyes took their time to adjust to the faint blue glow now that the blinding light was gone, contained inside Sirius' body. After it did, the Unspeakable's amused smile of earlier made sense.
Of course Sirius would come back to life stark naked, was there any other way?
With gentle, still trembling hands, Remus turned them on the ground, so Sirius was no longer on top of him.
Remus drew himself to his elbows, then struggled into his knees, hands supporting his weight in front of him. He watched as Sirius sat up with a heaved breath, grey-blue eyes a starry sky as they snapped open, lit up with mystery far beyond any of them. It was eerie—like Remus' wolf's eyes, but more angelic in nature. When his gaze swung towards Remus, some focus had returned to it, until the otherworldly light gave way to a more human gaze.
His first words to Remus were, "That day... It wasn't your soul you were anchoring."
No cosmic truth then, just worldly conclusion.
Remus wet his lips, parched, salty sweat touching his tongue. He didn't know how much of Sirius' realisation, if any, was enlightenment he had obtained in the in-between, or if he was only then connecting the dots about the soul-binding rite they had performed the year before, at Remus' request. He sagged, taking a moment for the rush of blood that threatened to make him collapse to run its course. It sang and screamed in turns. It was over.
It was—finally—over.
It was only just beginning.
And Remus' only reply was, "What do you think?" and then, to lessen the unintended bite to his tone, he added. "Welcome back, Padfoot."
Sirius clasped Remus' shoulder, uncaring by his nudity as usual. "You knew it. You've known it all along."
"Yes."
"How?"
"Not here," Dumbledore spoke to their right, and Remus was only then reminded of the Headmaster's presence.
Remus pushed himself to his feet, limbs aching and weary, then offered Padfoot a hand up. He took it.
"You'll know once we're safe. There's a place I need to take you." Remus reached for and extended the folded cloak. "Wear this. And lower your hood, we can't have anyone see you."
As they left with a disguised Sirius in tow, none of the Aurors paid them any heed. Either Dumbledore's influence was too great or the Minister wasn't expecting an attack so soon after what transpired. It was a foolish assumption.
Dumbledore was stopped for a chat by a pandering Ministry employee. The older wizard signalled that they continue without him. After they had exited the building, Remus held onto Sirius and Apparated.
As soon as their feet hit the ground, the shift in the air made itself noticed. Far from the smog of London, the air here was purer, an earthier tang clinging to it, yet it was made denser by the dry heat, enough so to surpass pleasant and border on stifling.
Due either to that or to a stroke of luck, the street they were on lay deserted. There was a hospital just down the road, but no sirens blared and any visitors had long since left, leaving them to simmer in near silence.
Remus drew to a stop next to a lone terraced house, a flying bug or two grazing his skin as a swarm flung themselves at the streetlamp and the lit lightbulb out front.
Remus slipped a folded note to Sirius. He knew very well how it went: The Garden is located at Number 2 Hawthorne Road, Dorchester. It felt like déjà vu—like the night they'd taken Harry to the Order's headquarters for the first time. Except then Hermione had been inside—safe if a bit disgruntled.
The house rose like an earthquake on rewind, all brownstone walls and square windows, a mirror image of its only twin. Remus climbed the single step and unlocked the door with a wand swirl.
"So… Would you care to explain?" Sirius asked.
Remus kept his stride as the frontdoor clicked shut behind them. With the gleam of moonlight and the lights outside filtering in through the windows, Remus chose against conjuring any inside—it wasn't as if he didn't know the way by heart. "Not particularly."
Keeping in motion was essential—the strain of pushing his limbs and sustaining his body upright the only distraction from the caustic memories of Hermione—body still, so very still on the Ministry floor, then bandaged and trashing, brutal wounds oozing blood. But they flashed before his eyes regardless, burned into his retina, blinding, torturous.
"I had thought when you said it wasn't me you were interested in…" Sirius started, walking just a step behind him as they made their way through the empty living room and up the stairs. "I'd thought you were trying to impress someone in some convoluted, Remus sort of way, or trying to safeguard yourself somehow. The dementor bit was a jape, but—was there even a bird involved in all this, Moony?"
Remus objected to the word 'bird' being applied to refer to Hermione but didn't protest it. "Sometimes I doubt that myself. But you wouldn't be here otherwise."
He turned left at the top of the stairs onto a corridor, feet never stopping.
A thump sounded, fist against the wall, flesh on brick.
"I DIED, REMUS!" Sirius yelled. "WOULD YOU BLOODY STOP WALKING AND TALK TO ME?"
Remus gritted his teeth. He wanted to pick a fight. Would rather Sirius hit him instead, drawing blood, blooming bruises all around - then, perhaps, when the outside reflected the inside, he'd feel a sliver of relief.
"No."
"No?" Sirius asked.
Padfoot deserved better. Not tainting his return was the very least Remus could do.
"I'm taking you somewhere, Sirius, and we haven't quite arrived yet."
"Is that so?"
Remus didn't reply. Contrary to what he'd just said, they had arrived. This door had no ornaments, no oddly placed, mystifying doorknob—it consisted of sturdy wood and wrought iron, none of which gave the slightest indication of what lay ahead.
He turned the handle, finding it unlocked as he'd imagined it would be.
They were expecting them. Not by the door, as he'd half suspected, but nearly.
Lily Potter sat barefoot and cross-legged on the sofa, flaming red hair a cascade of molten metal over her shoulder as it captured and reflected the firelight. Her posture was relaxed but not slouched, a gentle hand trailing up and down between the shoulder blades of the room's other occupant, sat next to her.
The man in question, on the other hand, had his elbows on his knees, one hand dragging his curling dark hair into a backward mess; the thin round frame of his glasses resting on the ridge of his nose a contrast to his thick expressive brows.
A near carbon copy of Harry.
Both were silent, yet the air swirled with a life of its own, stirred up by chaotic energy. Unlike Lily, James hadn't looked up. The fireplace's glow reflected off his glasses and face, his tears two amber beads painting slow, orange-coloured rivulets on their path down.
Sirius' steps faltered at Remus' side, breath entering his lungs harshly. He stared forward unblinkingly—as if the image of his brother in all but blood would flicker and die before him if it escaped his gaze. When James' eyes raised to meet his, Sirius tripped forward, out of the dim corridor and into the light.
Stuttering their way out of Sirius' lips, half-worded questions, punctuated by expressions of disbelief, sounded gibberish—his body and hands were a vibrating bowtruckle as he stopped before James' now standing form. Sirius raised a hand, in a manner not unlike the one Remus had earlier to touch the Veil, the tips of his fingers hovering in the air next to James' face, hesitant.
Then he slapped him.
Remus took an aborted step forward.
"Ow!" James worked his jaw, his glasses holding on either out of sheer stubbornness or due to one of Lily's spells. "What the bloody fuck was that for, Padfoot?!"
"Not imagining it, am I?" Despite the hit, there was an awed note to his tone, voice low. Sirius had lowered his gaze to his hand, examining his open palm. "It's real. You're here."
James grumbled like a malcontent cat. "Could've told you that, Pads. Nice to know you're chuffed to see me."
There was a half-smothered, choked snort to their left, and Remus didn't have to look at Lily to know what she was thinking.
Idiots, the lot of them.
Sirius closed his fist and Remus feared, for a second, that a punch would follow, but Padfoot launched himself against James and gripped him tight. "You weren't speaking, James, that's highly unusual for you. I had to make sure."
Once he had ascertained no more violence would be dispensed, Remus stepped back. He ought to leave entirely, allow the trio to get reacquainted in private—hadn't he been the reason they were apart? Or that Lily and James were kept from Harry? The more despicable one though had to be letting Sirius be wrongfully imprisoned, to spend twelve years locked behind the bars of Azkaban, fed from by Dementors, not once paying him a visit. It had been perhaps the greatest point of contention between him and Dumbledore. It wasn't fair, any of it. It hadn't been, however, the only injustice he'd allowed, though it was the single, most personal one–and still he had acquiesced. Maybe he ought to stay instead, remaining excluded even in presence an atonement.
He'd told himself over and over that Hermione's wording had left no room for interpretation—Harry had been raised by his aunt and uncle just as Sirius had been arrested for the death of Peter and the muggles nearby. Told himself that the spell Dumbledore had placed on Sirius–a modified version of the one they had been researching for the victims of the Cruciatus Curse–would shield and preserve his mind. That imprisonment wouldn't do his body any favours, but wouldn't rob him of what little sanity he'd always had, nor of what recklessness of his youth lingered. At the end of the day, however, these were but rationalisations, and Remus had laid in a heap, unmoving, clutching Hermione's letter and enchanted galleon to his chest as he mumbled apologies to the wind.
Logic and regret wouldn't exempt him.
And if he were to leave now, where would he go? Hermione's bedside was off-limits–what else did he have? He lowered his head, eyes to the ground as Sirius and James embraced still.
A poke to the side startled him. "Don't."
Lily. Farther from the fireplace, her hair had lost its eeriness, making her now less of a fire nymph but no less striking. It was her kindness, however, that Remus valued the most, not her beauty. Life had gotten… not easy, never that, but more manageable once Lily had learned the truth, the whole of it.
"I—"
"I know which battle you're losing right now. There's no place for demons here, Remus, don't let your mind tell you differently. You saved them," She looked at her husband and his best friend, eyes soft, and gently bumped her shoulder against his arm. Remus fought to focus on her words. "Saved me. Is it reasonable to expect it to be on our terms? To fight fate and win… You've done plenty. Your rest was well-earned—a peaceful one, not whatever flavour of self-torture it is you're doing. We're all proud of you, you know."
Proud…
Proud, proud, proud.
Remus tugged on the collar of his shirt and shook his head.
"I might have lost. I might have screwed it all up." He blinked, much too slowly, then swayed. Hermione's face floated before him, darkening at the edges.
The voices came from a Quidditch's pitch away.
"Remus?" - urgent, concerned - "James!"
"Moony? Moony, what's wrong?"
Marvellous. Now he'd spoiled James and Sirius' reunion as well.
The voices dimmed further and he only caught bits, "ritual— too much—"
"Quick—sofa—"
He felt limp limbs being pulled, none-too-gently.
"Rennervate!"
The blow of the spell snapped his eyes open and set off a ringing in his ear.
He was leaning, slumped, against the back of the sofa James and Lily had occupied.
"Remus, mate, are you all right?" James asked, just as Lily placed a hand to his forehead and declared him non-feverish. "Gave us quite the scare, there."
He raised a hand to appease them. Once it became clear he wouldn't collapse again, Lily asked, her voice low, "Remus, what did you mean…before?"
"Hermione—" He managed, then swallowed thickly against the lump in his throat, but to no avail. No more words were forthcoming. His lungs ached with a thousand silent screams he, himself, couldn't produce. Had they arrived earlier—had he not waited for Sirius to raise the alarm—
Their fault. His fault.
"What about Hermione?" Sirius asked, "And Harry? The children—"
"Harry's alive." Remus rasped, trying to draw a breath.
"And Hermione…?"
He seethed, some of his voice returning, laced with venom. "She duelled Antonin Dolohov."
The silence tasted like dark liquorice–bitter. They all knew what that meant.
"She battled Dolohov — Hermione is a talented witch, but she's no auror. She hasn't any formal training and she faced Antonin fucking Dolohov! And none of us was there to help her." He clenched his hands, pressing his fists against his eyes until the sight of Hermione's prone form was warped by streaks of light. "I'll kill him."
"Remus—"
"It's all wrong, Lily, don't you see? I've read that journal–nowhere in it did she mention getting hurt, she was fine when I next saw her! I did this. I DID IT!"
Remus' ears caught the two Marauders whispering, a "How close to his cycle—" from Sirius, to which James replied, "Tomorrow."
But he paid them no mind, and neither did Lily. "There must be another explanation. Tell me, Remus, was Sirius' death one of her memories or an account? Think."
He didn't want to think, couldn't tolerate it. But he closed his eyes nonetheless, and let the memory come to him.
"The latter."
"There you have it - you know what that means, don't you? If she never witnessed it in the first place, whatever happened must have been the reason, even before you changed anything. You didn't screw it up." Lily took hold of his hand and squeezed. "Take heart, Remus, everything will work out. It already has."
Her words instilled a flicker of hope. Lily had always had that gift.
Sirius, unable to be left out even though he lacked proper context, piped up. "Hermione's a tough witch. Besides, Harry must be with her."
"And whose harebrained idea do you suppose this was? Storming the Ministry of Magic on an ill-begotten, foolhardy rescue mission?"
Sirius winced. "You have a point. But do remember that she loves Harry," Then, realising exactly who else was in the room with them, Sirius grimaced and clarified, "Hmm, as a friend, best mates really." He looked at Remus once again, "She'll be brassed off if you take this out on him. I'd avoid it if I were you, I still recall the speech she gave me regarding Kreacher. Though apparently, the git deserved whatever I threw at him."
Remus let out a harsh, ugly laugh. "Or, had your treatment of him been decent, you could have prevented this entire situation."
Sirius squinted at him. "You've started to sound like her, just a tad. Could anyone be bothered to enlighten me? Ever since I died, things stopped making a bleeding sense."
It was Remus who replied. "You wanted to know who it was. You asked me how I knew. Hermione is the answer to both."
"Hermione? Yea tall, straight-laced, ball of avenging fury Hermione?" Sirius asked after supplying Remus with another dose of Firewhiskey, with the barest hint of disapproval from Lily. They gave him the abridged account of the facts once Remus had started to feel better, but not before Sirius had picked Lily up off the ground and gathered her against his chest–under her protests that, if he slapped her too, he'd be bald for the foreseeable future. Padfoot had refused to let any of them out of his reach ever since, which eventually resulted in the quartet half-sitting, half-laying in a circle on the carpeted floor. "She's the bird?"
And there went any measure of privacy. And whatever little remained of his patience.
"She's no bird, Sirius. She's a remarkable witch—I'd say, by this point, you owe her a couple of Life Debts."
Sirius waved his hand yet frowned, a perfect mixture of disregard and concern. "Yes, yes — isn't she a little, well, young?"
Remus snorted. He downed the glass and reached for the bottle.
"It's clear tact is still your finest trait, Padfoot—" James said.
"—My dashing good looks and charming personality are my finest traits," Sirius interjected. "Tact—can't boast what I never claimed to possess, James."
"—But do try and catch up. They were the same age when she met Moony here. He's been pining over her since. They're the perfect pair, too. She changed the future for him, he named this place after their secret spot. D'you how hard it is to compete with that? Impossible standards, and I don't mean figuratively."
Remus exchanged looks with Lily, their own—silent—conversation going somewhat in the following vein:
Why do we put up with them?
You I never knew, but I'm married to the least obnoxious one.
You truly think there's a least obnoxious one?
It's a small margin: no shagging jokes.
Fair.
Remus would have tried, but neither of his friends would be side-tracked from the topic at hand. Neither one turned into a cat as Animagi, but their curiosity was unmatched. He'd have to put an end to it. Remus raised his voice so it drowned theirs, "And as I've told Lily countless times, it was a long time ago and there are no expectations—"
Lily raised herself onto her knees and rested her hand on his arm.
"Of course not, Remus. We all know you're better than that. And I would never press…" Lily said, and her gaze bored at him, eyes like her son's as she betrayed him, "But does that mean there is no hope?"
He didn't want to answer, but he knew why she chose to ask.
His task had come to an end. For nigh on twenty years, he'd had a purpose. Up until today, the future had held little mystery to him, all its darkness brought to light, leaving only pleasant or inane choices to fortune. And though he had still fretted over those, he had never once been lost.
And now October wasn't far, its end marking the last of Hermione's visits to the past. It was time he decided his next steps, unaided by her in any manner. His previous ones had all led him here, a map he had followed, all ways leading back to Hermione, all ways ending in her, making it so that he'd once again see the girl who set out to save his world.
And the answer, on his part? He would wait.
It wasn't up to him, after all. Had never been a question of whether he loved her still.
He'd love her quietly, from afar, or he'd love her fiercely, at her side, but he would love her regardless.
He set his tumbler on the ground, sound muffled by the carpet, and tapped its rim twice. Lily's hand fell, and Remus cleared his throat. "That, I don't know."
A/N: It was entirely my fault and I got really upset by this blunder, but I truly hope it hasn't ruined the story for any of you =/
Drooble's Best Blowing Gum to everyone who read, followed, and added the story to your favorites, and a special thanks to peggy77, MaeSilverpaws1, and River-Mel.O.D for the reviews!
Y'all rock!