Ch. 60 - Exile
February 2nd
"How can I help you?"
"Pack of cigarettes, please. Whatever's cheapest."
…
Lyall Lupin was still not accustomed to unexpected guests.
The knock at the door didn't quite startle him, but something within him still jolted nonetheless. He suspected it always would.
He set down his book and rose from the armchair, shuffling down the hallway and pondering. It was too late for the mailman, and he didn't usually knock anyway. He was supposed to have lunch with Roshan Patil on Friday, but didn't see why Roshan would come calling any earlier than that.
And it certainly wasn't Remus. For starters, Remus usually just apparated in. Secondly, he almost never came by, especially unannounced.
In his last few steps to the door, a dull anxiety began to creep in. He suspected it always would.
But he opened the door all the same.
"…Emmeline," he uttered, surprised. The surprise distorted to concern when he got a good look at her.
She'd been crying, that much was clear; but that wasn't all. She looked a mess. Bits of her hair were coming down in strings out of the bun on top of her head. Her clothing appeared professional but was disheveled, and her bloodshot eyes were framed with dark, weary circles. He doubted whether or not she'd slept. She held her arms around herself, one at her shoulder and the other at her abdomen, and there appeared to be a significant tremor in her left hand.
The dull anxiety grew to be a little less than dull.
"Mr. Lupin," her voice scraped his ears. "I'm sorry, have…have you seen Remus? Has he been here?"
Lyall's eyebrows came together. Weren't the two of them living together? "I haven't seen Remus since last spring," he reported somberly. He'd stopped by before going on a trip at one point, but hadn't revealed much about where he was headed.
Then the anxiety grew quite sharp. He remembered the fates of the three other boys. He'd read the Prophet. As soon as he saw Black's mugshot, he'd written to Remus, but never got a response. He meant to visit, but wasn't updated on their new address or phone number. Obviously, Lyall knew Remus was devastated, but figured he just wanted some time to himself. Remus would have come to him if he needed anything. He had Emmeline, after all; or so he thought.
"Why, is he alright?
He watched as she hung her head and jostled it from side to side, the tears starting back up. "I don't-…I don't know…"
Her posture wavered.
Lyall stepped forward and gently took hold of her elbow, shepherding her into the house and closing the door behind them. "Okay, it's alright, please, come in and sit." If he hadn't been so worried about what she was going to say, he'd have been more mindful of the fact that the house wasn't very tidy. Hope would've had a cow.
He led her into the sitting room where he lowered her onto the sofa, and could feel his heart thumping as he took a seat in the chair across the coffee table. "What's happened to Remus?"
Emmeline rocked back and forth a little, running her hands up and down her thighs. Still, the left one shook. "He-…" she started, then unsuccessfully tried to clear her throat of its gravel. "He ran out of Wolfsbane. He packed up and left yesterday while I was at work."
Lyall leaned forward in his seat. "The Wolfsbane is…gone?"
"Can you think of where he might be?" she asked, wiping her face.
He worked out in his mind the same thing Emmeline had - that because James Potter was dead, so was Remus's shot at ever getting that potion again.
"…Perhaps someone else's house," Lyall offered, though his mind had retreated elsewhere, and he was having an entirely different conversation with himself in his own head. "Perhaps a friend of his?"
"No, no we don't-…He doesn't-…" She shook her head again. "Can you think of anywhere else?"
"I'm sorry, I don't know…"
Underneath the slicing anxiety, he could not help but feel badly for the poor girl. Once upon a time he'd tried to explain to Remus that bringing someone else into his circumstances would not be responsible, even if she did have second hand experiences with the condition like she claimed. Remus hadn't necessarily disagreed, but somehow, the infatuation kindled anyway, and he'd given in to it as any teenage boy would. But his son was not just any teenage boy. By the time Remus asked if she could visit for New Years, Lyall knew it was too late for him.
It wasn't that he didn't like Emmeline. In fact, he was sort of surprised by how much he did like her. She was well-spoken and polite, and really seemed to care for Remus, despite everything. In another life, he would have been nothing but thrilled for his son.
He'd felt something similar when he met the three boys and saw Remus happy for what felt like the first time, but a girl was different. A girl was a room and a ring and a resolution. Such things could not come to be for Remus, and if they did, they couldn't last. It wasn't fair, he knew it wasn't. He'd been a young man once, too - so how could he blame Remus for having the same aspirations?
There was that time she left for a while, and though Remus had been crushed, Lyall couldn't help but feel relieved. But two Christmases ago, Remus had reported that they were seeing each other again. Lyall was still quite nervous about the whole thing, but since the Potter boy had been generous enough to fund the potion…
When Emmeline realized that she would find no answers there, she shot up off the couch so fast, he thought she might tumble over. "I'm sorry to have bothered you. I'll be sure to write once I know he's safe."
He stood too. "I cannot help but notice that you don't seem well. Why don't you stay for a cup of tea and have something to eat before you go?" Hope would've been proud of his hospitality for that one.
"N-no, thank you Mr. Lupin, but I really have to get going-"
"Hold on a moment, just-…" Lyall came around and took her elbow again.
There was no sense in prolonging her misery.
"…Listen to me, please." He brought himself to look her in the eye. "Emmeline, I am being truthful, I do not know where he's gone; but if what you say about the potion is true, I can tell you that he will not come back." He looked her over, considered his next words, then decided they were too important to withhold for the sake of her feelings. "Nor should you go looking for him."
She stared at him blankly.
"...You don't…you don't want to find him?"
"Not if he doesn't want to be found," he clarified, feeling a twinge in his chest. The way she worded it made it sound so much worse…
"...But…he's your son…"
"Yes. And Remus's mother and I spent twelve years of his life trying to help him manage the lycanthropy, so I do have some perspective to offer-"
"You're just going to let him go?"
"If he needs me, he knows where to find me, and I will do everything I can to help him. But it seems Remus has made a very difficult, very brave choice to distance himself from you-"
"What?"
"Emmeline, by the time he was finishing at Hogwarts, the condition was barely manageable for us at home. Now that he's an adult-"
"How could you just- You're his father!" she exclaimed, snatching her elbow back.
"I am acutely aware of that."
She covered her mouth with her wrist. "God, he gets it from you, doesn't he?" she concluded, regarding him with revulsion. He wasn't quite sure what she was referring to.
Lyall sighed, but responded with kindness. "I love my son very, very much. But there comes a point when you must realize you cannot save him from the effects of the condition. No one can. If he has decided to spare you, you need to respect his decision."
Emmeline's nostrils flared. "I can't do that."
"I know it's painful, but he's done the right thing."
"No, I can't- I can't just let him isolate himself. I have to bring him back."
"You don't, my dear."
Something different came over her face. She pushed past him, but did not head for the door. Instead, she pivoted down the hall. By the time Lyall caught up to her, she was already on her knees, heaving into the downstairs toilet.
His fatherly instinct overtook him, and he lowered himself next to her so that he could rub her back. Only yellow bile filled the toilet bowl. There was nothing in her stomach to expel. What on earth had she done to punish herself?
"Emmeline, I must insist that you stay a while until you feel better."
"I have to find him," she sobbed, reaching up feebly to flush the toilet.
"You are in no condition to be going after him, especially not like this."
"I have to-…I can't-…" The tremor had moved up her whole arm.
This seemed so much worse than a broken heart, Lyall realized. Something was wrong with her.
With a grunt, Lyall lifted her off the floor, put his arm around her, and gingerly led her towards the stairs. Emmeline muttered and cried all the while, and he couldn't tell if she wasn't resisting because she didn't want to, or if she wasn't able to . Either way, he could not, in good conscience, let her leave like this. He wasn't sure why he felt so responsible for her.
He helped her into Remus's old room and sat her down on his bed. "I'm going to fetch you some tea and see what I have in the pantry. Please, rest. Stay the night, even," he insisted. "I'll call for a healer in the morning. Is there-…is there anything else I can get you?" Goodness, Hope would have been so much better at this.
Emmeline didn't say anything in response. Lyall didn't know whether or not she could.
He was worried that he might come back up to find her gone. "Maybe…maybe Remus will drop by in the morning," he fabled, then felt guilty for doing so. He shut the door to give her some privacy and shuffled downstairs.
She sat catatonic on the bed.
She didn't want to hear his reasoning. She just wanted Remus back. It had taken her nearly twenty four hours just to pick herself up off her bedroom floor, and only because Orpheus had come down and given her face a nudge. She'd already wasted so much time. She couldn't stay for tea. She had to find him.
The apparition to the house hadn't felt steady, and she was sort of surprised she arrived in one piece. If she disapparated now, she might not get so lucky.
But she had to leave. She had to find him.
She'd go downstairs and use the fireplace instead.
For some reason, she could not compel her feet to carry her. Her mind wasn't sending those signals properly.
Her eyes surveyed the room. All of Remus's childhood things were still here. She peered up at a stuffed dragon on his bookshelf, propped next to Bogarts for Beginners: An Introductory Guide.
She remembered the book. She remembered the dragon.
Why… why did his father have to bring her up here…
Emmeline ran her fingertips along the soft quilting of his bedspread, haunted by splintered recollections of bashful hands and having to hush each other. The memory felt so fuzzy now…
She could remember thinking that her presence made the Lupins uneasy, but that they were nice to her. That year, they'd felt so badly that the full moon was on Christmas that they allowed her to come stay for a few days around New Years Eve.
Someone had thrown a party…somewhere…she vaguely remembered having a good time. Then she and Remus left together, a bit earlier than the others.
After much consideration, and double checking that they were up to speed on a contraceptive charm, she remembered sneaking into his room that night once Lyall and Hope were asleep. She remembered being excited, even if it felt a little disrespectful.
She knew they'd ended the night quietly tangled up in each other…but she couldn't remember much about that first time, except maybe that it had been brief and awkward. She couldn't remember anything he'd said to her, or if he'd liked it, or any of it.
What she did remember was that she never once felt unsafe, not with him. Not when they faced it together.
She wanted to remember it. She didn't want to forget anything about it, please, no…
…Had he forgotten?
Had he forgotten how much they'd overcome together since then?
By the time Lyall came back up with some tea and a sandwich, she had passed out on the mattress.
…
February 3rd
He could feel them.
It always unnerved him how he could feel them when he got close. Not just their presence; fear; discord; hierarchies.
He hadn't been here in a long time. They felt different.
The sunrise was far off. There wouldn't be light for another few hours. It didn't matter. He could find his way.
…Could they feel him, he wondered? He didn't think he'd ever gotten the same sense around individuals, but the pack was another entity entirely.
He panted as he walked. The terrain never made it easy. It was cold. He was cold. He kept going anyway.
And Emmeline had read the letter by now.
He'd always carry the weight of it, on top of everything else.
Maybe, one day, the weight of it all would just collapse his chest while he was sleeping, and he'd never feel a thing.
Then, he could see James.
…James would've been so disappointed…
…Not much further now.
He hoped Emmeline wasn't wasting her time looking for him. She wouldn't find him.
Maybe she was too devastated. Maybe she was still crying.
There was a time he wanted her to cry for him. Now, the thought just made him ache.
But she was strong. She'd pick herself back up.
She didn't need him. She never needed him.
Or maybe she'd gotten angry.
He could see a world in which she'd smashed all the lamps or the plates one by one, and torn up each article of clothing he'd ever taken off her body.
Maybe she wished him dead.
Or maybe…
Maybe she felt liberated, like she'd been let out of a cage.
Maybe she'd gone out dancing, all by herself.
Maybe she'd already found someone else.
Everything about Emmeline was beautiful, anyone would be lucky…
He stopped against a tree to light a cigarette.
Yesterday, when the woman at the corner shop had set the Players No.6's on the counter, he had to stop himself from heaving a sigh. Now, they were almost gone.
He coughed a little. He'd lost his touch.
He'd thought about pocketing a few Mars bars while her back was turned, but he didn't. Now he sort of wished he had.
…James would've been so disappointed with him.
But James wasn't there.
A snap in the branches.
"Turn back and keep walking, boy."
He'd gotten lost in his thoughts and hadn't been checking in with the instinct. They all felt much closer now.
Remus savored one last drag of the cigarette before putting it out on the sole of his shoe and stashing it away for later.
"…I've come to join."
A chuckle. He couldn't see who the voice belonged to.
…They felt different.
Another crunch underfoot behind him.
"You think we just let anyone in like some charity?"
In the past, this clan had been moderately agreeable. Maybe not quite welcoming, but not totally inhospitable.
"…Killian knows me."
"Killian's dead."
Another chuckle from behind.
So they did have a new Alpha.
He was hoping the feeling had been wrong. Killian had been older, he supposed it was only a matter of time….
But the feeling made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. By the sound of it, there hadn't been a peaceful transition of power.
"…Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with, then?"
"I'm not in charge, if that's what you're wondering."
He knew that. He could feel it.
"…Then take me to whoever is."
He was grabbed from behind. He was aware of his wand, but didn't resist.
They walked him another half mile or so in silence.
When they came upon the tents, there seemed to be fewer than Remus remembered.
Some of the inhabitants were asleep, some weren't. He felt like some of them were perpetually nocturnal. He'd gotten close to that at one point. Those who were not asleep watched quietly as he was brought into a tent in the center. It was much larger on the inside than it appeared on the outside.
"Cassander."
In the light of a lantern, Remus could make out the frame of a tall, thin man with long, curly hair and several tattoos. He looked to be in his forties, but with lycanthropy, it was always hard to tell. Remus couldn't recall ever seeing him here before.
"Found this one on the outskirts to the west."
The man called Cassander scrutinized Remus's appearance, cracking a smirk. "What do you expect me to do with him?"
"Said he knew Killian."
Cassander's smile faded, then grew again. "Did you tell him I snapped Killian's neck?"
Remus tried to keep his face neutral.
"Said he wants to join."
He was beginning to regret not trying his hand with the clan in Albania instead.
Cassander came around to face Remus, then grabbed his jaw forcefully in one hand to look him over as if he were livestock.
Remus grunted.
"You've brought me a lamb, not a wolf."
A chuckle from behind. "He wanted to introduce himself."
"…I'm having a hard time believing he's turned."
"I am."
"Prove it," Cassander snarled, addressing him directly. Now that they'd made eye contact, something about his stare made Remus want to shrink.
Jerking his face out of his grasp, Remus knelt down and rolled his right trouser leg over his calf. The bite would always be his deepest scar.
He didn't like the way Cassander was looking down on him.
"Who's it from?"
"...I never got his name."
A smack upside the head.
"If you want to join, that'd better be the last lie you ever tell me."
"Am I to believe you're acquainted with every werewolf roaming the earth-?"
Another smack upside the head.
"Don't talk back to me. Who's the fucking bite from, boy?"
Packs had rivalries, and everyone knew him. His name could either be Remus's admission ticket, or a one way ticket to his grave.
Remus fixed his trouser leg and rose. If they were going to kill him, he at least wanted to be standing up for it.
"...Fenrir Greyback.".
Cassander's eyes narrowed. "...Fenrir…Greyback," he repeated, like he was weighing what the name was worth on his tongue. "You're one of Greyback's?"
Remus held his breath.
But Cassander cracked a smirk again.
"...We might have a use for you."
Somehow, Remus didn't feel relieved, especially not when Cassander peeked over his shoulder at his rucksack.
"What've you got on you?"
"...Mostly empty pack of cigarettes."
"What else?"
"...Not much."
"I thought I told you not to lie to me again."
Cassander seemed to size him up one more time.
"...Hold him down."
…
The sun was rising.
Emmeline peeled her eyes open, and for a brief moment, she felt a rush of relief.
She smelled him.
He'd come to his senses. He had come back. He was here, he-
She lifted her head, realized where she was, and squeezed her eyes shut again in frustration. Of course it smelled like him…
When she opened her eyes again and looked next to her, she saw Lyall sleeping in a chair he brought up from the dining room.
She checked her watch and wanted to cry again. Another twelve hours, gone. She couldn't waste any more time feeling sorry for herself. She had to find him.
But she had a very hard time sitting herself up. That motion alone made her see stars.
There was a cheese sandwich and a cold mug of tea on the tray next to the bed. Quietly, she picked up both and interchanged colossal bites of the sandwich with large gulps of tea to finish as quickly as possible. The bread was stale and the tea had turned bitter. It didn't matter, she just needed something to keep her going.
Standing up was no less difficult. Her balance wavered, but she remained upright. She didn't have enough energy for the staircase; going down to the fireplace would be too laborious right now, and if she splinched this stupid trembling arm and shoulder , so be it.
She glanced at Lyall again.
He didn't understand.
He'd given up.
It wasn't so easy for her.
She could take care of Remus. She could make sure there was a place for him. She could do it.
If he hadn't gone to Lyall, she had a hunch where Remus might be heading.
She just needed someone to point her in the right direction.
When Lyall awoke to the sound of her disapparating, he knew it was too late for her.
…
Knock knock knock knock.
"In a meeting."
Knock knock knock knock.
"I'm in a meeting."
Emmeline let herself in.
"I said I was in-… Cripes, Vance…"
The first person she saw in the office was not Alastor, but instead…
"Professor Dumbledore…"
Her prayers were about to be answered.
"Miss Vance. Are you feeling alright?"
"Vance, I told you to see a healer."
"I'm-…I'm so glad you're here," she breathed, attempting to hold her left arm still with her right hand.
"Vance. Mediwizards. Now," Alastor commanded, moving towards her.
She went on as if she hadn't heard him, dodging him to approach Dumbledore. "I need your help. I need to know where the werewolf colonies are."
Alastor grumbled something under his breath. "You cannae go looking for Greyback-"
"I'm not looking for Greyback , I'm looking for-…" She composed herself. "Please, if you could just show me where they are." She started searching around for a map, or even some blank parchment for him to write on. Surely there was something of use to her in Alastor's cluttered office.
"What is this about?" Dumbledore inquired.
"Remus ran out of his potion. He packed up and left yesterday-" She clutched her head, trying to get the timeline straight. "…No…No, it was two days ago now," she informed them matter-of-fact-ly as she rummaged.
With her back to them, she did not see the way Dumbledore and Mad-Eye glanced at one another.
"I think he's gone to one of the clans, so I need to know where they are," she continued, lifting stacks of paper.
"I am sorry, Miss Vance, but the packs are nomadic. They do not remain in the same place for extended periods of time, and since the war's conclusion, I've had no need to keep track of their whereabouts."
Except for the left side of her body, Emmeline stilled. "So-…so you don't know where they are?"
Dumbledore was the paradigm of composure. "I do not."
How could he be so composed at a time like this?
"Alright…Alright, that's okay, if you could just show me their last known locations, I could search-"
"Vance, I think you should take a seat-"
"Alastor, let go of me-"
"I'm afraid I cannot do that."
"Why not?" she questioned him, freeing herself from Mad-Eye's grip.
"I feel that giving you such information would lead to decisions that may put your life in danger."
She was sick of them trying to sequester and protect her. "You don't understand, nobody else is going to look for him."
"Vance-"
"I have to bring him home. I need to know where the werewolves are." For the first and only time in her life, Emmeline took hold of Dumbledore's hands. She'd given up on hiding the tremor. "Please," she begged.
"Emmeline, I cannot help but think if Remus has left, that he must have a good reason."
She felt herself starting to panic.
"He doesn't. See for yourself." She produced the letter, crumpled from her pocket, and shoved it into his grip. She was desperate. She'd forfeit privacy and let him read about their intimacy if that's what it was going to take. "He's trying to be noble, but he's making a mistake."
Dumbledore skimmed. Then, he folded the letter neatly and handed it back to her. "He cares for you very much."
Her eyelids began to twitch.
Alastor came around and forcibly took her arm, trying to usher her out. "You and I can discuss this after you've been examined."
But three paces from the door, Emmeline spun back around to Dumbledore.
"If you won't tell me where to look, you could search for him yourself."
"I cannot."
"Yes, you can!"
"Vance, you're not well-"
"You're Albus bloody Dumbledore, you're the most powerful wizard in the world-!"
"I do not possess the power to cure lycanthropy."
"I'm not asking for-..." She bit down on her tongue. If Dumbledore saw her cry, he would write her off as a forlorn, jilted little girl, and she'd never convince him. "Please, he…we can figure it out, I can help him…"
Dumbledore said nothing.
She became aware then that the bloodthirst had not left her as she previously thought. Selwyn's attack had only dominated it into dormancy. Now, it began to blaze within her like a pyre.
When Alastor came for her arm again, she shoved him off and whipped back to Dumbledore, smoldering. "You could've helped him."
"I don't understand your meaning."
"He's sick, and you could have done more."
"I did all that I could when he was a student at Hogwarts."
"You did a bit of landscaping and made arrangements for him to attend school, how magnanimous of you. 'Poor little werewolf boy, perhaps I can make use of him'-"
"Vance, now you're out of line-"
"Then you sent him into that terrifying, abandoned wreckage each month, left him there to break, and let him and his family think you were doing them a favor-"
"The house in Hogsmeade kept Remus safe."
"Was he 'safe' when he was your soldier? Was he 'safe' when you fed him to the wolves? He used to come home covered in injuries for you. He broke, and he let himself get beaten, and he lost his friends because-"
It hit her.
"Because you raised him to believe he owed you something!"
"THAT'S ENOUGH, EMMELINE!" Alastor hollered.
The realization made her sick to her stomach again.
Dumbledore wasn't going to help her, and he certainly wasn't going to help Remus.
They were no longer of significant enough use to warrant his attention.
And once she understood that, only then did she start to cry.
"We fought your war," she mewled. "I'm still fighting your war. And what have we got to show for it? What has Remus got to show for it?"
"Your sacrifices and those of your friends will never be forgotten-"
But she was already walking back out into the corridor.
Emmeline decided that day that any word out of the mouth of Albus Dumbledore was not to be trusted blindly.
It wasn't long until she felt Mad-Eye's hand on her shoulder. She expected him to yell at her for her lack of respect, but instead he looked worried.
"I'm telling you, you need a healer."
"I don't have time for this-"
"If you let the effects of yesterday go on much longer, the damage could become permanent."
"Alastor, please help me-"
"I'm trying-"
"You told me I had to be their voice…" At least, she thought she remembered that. "And they would never have just let him go like this. Help me find him."
"I'm taking you up to the medical bay."
"I'm not a child anymore, stop treating me like one," she demanded, shaking him off.
He'd taken out his wand. "Fine, I won't. If I you won't let me walk you there-"
But Emmeline leapt backwards and disapparated.
She landed flat on her back.
She was on her bedroom floor in Exeter.
She struggled to get to her feet again, and when she did, she began to pace.
Alastor would not help her.
Dumbledore would not help her.
Remus's father would not help her.
She didn't have any friends to call.
Her mum was too far.
Remus was the only person she had left.
Everything felt vast and cold, and empty.
He could be anywhere.
The world was so painfully against her.
He was gone.
He'd left.
Her pacing came to a halt in the middle of the room.
And the only thing she could think to do was scream.
So she did.
She started to scream.
She screamed until her voice lost all ability to produce sound at all.
She screamed until it was just air.
Never
getting
to
say
goodbye.
…
February 8th
The sun was setting.
He'd walked pretty far from everyone else, but the instinct would undoubtedly take over once the moon rose, and he'd want to go back to them.
Remus found himself a very distinct tree with a little hollow portion at its base to hide his rucksack in. Even though they'd taken most of his things away, he still didn't feel comfortable leaving the backpack with them. Thankfully, they'd left his wand and some of his rattier clothing alone.
The migraine was probably the worst it had ever been, and yet it still didn't distract him from the feeling that his joints would burst at any moment.
He tried not to think about the Wolfsbane.
His fingers moved to the fresh cut on his bottom lip. It had just started to heal - until Cassander punched him in the same spot again today.
He or one of his goons had put Remus through a beating every day since he'd arrived. Cassander insisted he had to be "broken in" if he really wanted to stay with the pack. He'd taken Remus's things as "tribute" that first day - the books, more than one pair of shoes, most of his clothes; the magical extension charm had allowed him to fit most of his belongings in that backpack. When Cassander saw those things, most of which had been paid for with James's gold, he decided that Remus must've thought he was too posh for them. He needed to beat any notions of self importance into submission, so that Remus knew he wasn't any better than the rest.
He propped his back up against the tree and shut his eyes. Everything was sore.
The forest was quiet.
The solitude was both a relief and a reminder.
The woods always made him think of James, even before he died. They made him miss his friends, and childhood, and how things used to seem before he learned how terrible the world could be outside the walls of a dormitory. The nights they'd all shared under the full moon had been some of the best of Remus's life; but now, those nights cast shadows on everything that would come after them. He hoped that, someday, he could look back on those times without the ache.
Except James and Peter would still be gone. Sirius's betrayal would never make sense. Remus would still feel responsible. And he suspected the ache would never go away.
James would be so disappointed with him…
…but Remus had never been able to afford James's brand of optimism. James was like Emmeline. He was always looking for ways to help Remus, sometimes to a fault. And how had Remus repaid him and Lily?
He allowed them to be slaughtered.
He allowed their son to become an orphan.
So Remus deserved those beatings, he told himself. He'd take as many as Cassander wanted to offer. And if he died one of these days, at least he'd get to see James again.
He wouldn't mind dying, he thought. But he was too cowardly to do it himself.
…Today was Emmeline's birthday.
She turned twenty-two.
And the ache was relentless.
He conjured images of her wonderful life without him to take his mind off everything sore: Emmeline in a white linen dress, running barefoot through tender green grass to sweep a curly-haired toddler into her arms. Laughing as she nuzzled the child to her bosom, her own hair unruly and free. Leading two children by the hand back to a house surrounded by fruit trees. A sturdy, kind looking fellow admiring her from the door frame as she sent the children inside to wash up for supper. Emmeline wrapping the same fellow in her arms and kissing him without a trace of dissatisfaction or regret on her brow.
Birthday parties. Christmas cookies. A puppy.
A promotion. Head of the Department. The corner office.
Diagon Alley. Shopping at Flourish and Blotts. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Time without the children. Trips to the lake.
Nights under the full moon without having to worry.
Grandchildren. Great grandchildren. A rocking chair.
A long, joyful, normal life.
She never needed him.
And yet, Remus could not help but despise the imaginary fellow from the door frame…
…for getting everything he wanted.
If only he wasn't sick. If only he wasn't sad. If only he was whole.
His imagination had always been far too vivid for his own good, and it did nothing to soothe him. It only worsened the ache. He hated himself for desiring that she do better, but not being able to stand picturing her doing it without him.
He should have never taken Emmeline back.
He should have never let her kiss him in the first place.
He should have never let the boys become animagi.
He should have never let them become the Marauders.
He should have never let anyone into his life.
It didn't stem from his concern for others. The ache was driven by his own desires. His friends had always criticized him for being self deprecating, but deep down, he knew they were wrong. Any altruism he projected was a measure of self protection. Everything wonderful that ever happened to him only led to loss and betrayal, and this stupid, stupid ache. Had any of it been worth this affliction? It felt so immense, every good thing seemed paltry in comparison.
He'd finally found something more painful and more distracting than the soreness when all of the sudden, a brilliant light materialized in his periphery.
It burned so bright that he noticed it even when his eyelids were closed. Startled, he scrambled onto his hands and knees…
…and came face-to-face with a glowing, misty wolf.
He held his breath, waiting for the moment Emmeline's enraged cries might blare through the silver light of the patronus. He almost wished they would. Even in her fury, the dulcet sound of her voice would have been the most euphoric torture…
But the wolf only stared at him sorrowfully.
The first time she ever conjured it, they'd been in the middle of a battle. He'd never told her how honored he felt the moment he realized the wolf belonged to her. The implications of it were too overwhelming and too shameful for him to articulate. James and Lily shared the deer. He and Emmeline shared the wolves.
No; it didn't feel quite that equitable. James and Lily were equals. Emmeline had seen fit to incline her life and her destiny to his lowly, melancholy existence. Despite what he was, she'd interlaced herself with him so completely and so unconditionally that her own soul could not help but manifest as a reflection of himself in that way.
Or maybe, he had been a mere reflection of her radiance all along.
Every sore muscle in his body screamed for him to disapparate; to seize her in his arms and hold her. He tensed them up as stiff as he could, so hard that they began to cramp. More agonizing than that was the fact that he couldn't act on the impulse. Emmeline couldn't see it now, but he was doing this for her, so he had to remain strong. He had to. For her.
He reached towards the wolf, but it dissipated within his grasp.
He stared at the spot it had been in, and began to feel bitter and resentful. All of this was already hard enough without her having to remind him what he was missing. Didn't she understand? Hadn't he been clear enough in the letter? This was for her. All of it, for her.
Without really thinking, he reached for his wand. It seemed he would have to tell her once and for all to let him go. If she needed to hear it from his mouth, so be it. He could endure the pain of having to say it.
He got up on his knees and held his wand out in front of him.
"Expecto Patronum…"
Nothing.
His eyebrows came together in frustrated confusion as he turned the wand in his fingers. There had to be one happy memory…
"Exp-...Expecto…Patronum…"
Nothing.
He'd just lamented every happy moment. They were somewhere in the recesses, underneath the layers of grief and toil.
They were.
They had to be.
They…
They were.
But they weren't the same.
Picturing his friends at Hogwarts only made him think of their graves or the cell from his nightmares.
Picturing Harry only made him recall the empty crib in the ravaged nursery.
Picturing Emmeline only made him imagine her sitting alone on her birthday.
"Expecto-...Exp-…" he stuttered.
Nothing. Nothing.
Remus let his wand drop and hugged his knees to his chest as he began to cry.
Alone.
He would have to get used to alone.
Alone would be better, when all was said and done.
Someone told him once that a werewolf could only truly love the moon - always yearning for something too far away to touch.
And all at once, Remus was inundated with revelation like he would drown in it.
It wasn't just a phrase. It was a parable.
Maybe it was meant to be that way.
He should have never allowed himself to get so close to love. Not that of his friends. Not Emmeline. Not a soul.
He should have admired it from afar, and let that be enough for him.
He knew it all along, and yet he'd never known it at all.
Foolish, selfish boy.
He'd craved more; more than simply pining for a distant reflection of something he would never savor. He wished he'd possessed the foresight to let that satisfy him. It would have been so much easier to reckon with that strain of loneliness than the kind he felt now. At least then, he would have never developed a taste for it.
The cold glow of the moon hadn't quenched him; he wanted to go straight to the source. Like Icarus in his hubris, he'd tried to touch the sun.
And like Icarus, his wings had failed him just the same. This was his plummet back to earth.
The sun had set, and he felt her impostor at his back, creeping closer with each minute. He'd forgotten to get undressed. He didn't care. None of it mattered.
It felt as though he'd reached the finale of one Greek tragedy, only to be standing at the precipice of another.
His life would be a series of them.
And so came the moral:
As his body began to bend to the will of the spheres, he was lucid enough to understand that he'd never been meant for the sunlight.
He'd only ever have the moon.