A/N: Warnings include but not limited to: Time Travel, Canon-Divergence, Blood & Violence, Explicit Language, MM,FF, and Het Pairings, Marauder's Era, PTSD, Anxiety, Panic Attacks.
On A03 as well.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to the Harry Potter Universe and characters created by J.K Rowling or Warner Brothers. Standard disclaimer applies for each chapter.
Chp 1: Falling Backwards
Helplessness and fear consume Remus when they get the news from Kingsley and Tonks.
Harry has been lured into the very trap they have been trying so desperately to avoid all year.
Frustration and irritation quickly follow.
Because Sirius never listens, he won't wait at the house and Remus barely has time to send off a message to Dumbledore and hope it makes it in time.
When has he ever listened? Remus thinks, a little bitter and more so anxious, and fuck, could the man not think things through for once in his Merlin-be-damned-life!
Though Remus supposes that stubbornness has always been one of Sirius's greatest flaws, driving him to act without regard for consequences.
…And in truth, he could not blame Sirius for not wanting to be left behind.
It's been a point of contention these past few months, with Sirius feeling useless and hating being stuck in the house he despises, and every other past hurt and grievance simmering between them as the tension mounts.
Fuck, he hates this…
The Ministry is strangely empty when they arrive with Remus and the others doing the checks that Sirius is not.
People...spells...traps...
Then a maddeningly slow descent towards the Department of Mysteries.
The very air grows cooler in the elevator and Sirius practically bristles impatiently, brushing off Remus's hands when he tries to reassure him.
"Just stop." Sirius growls. "I'm tired of you telling me to calm down when you can't possibly understand."
Remus brushes off the stab of hurt, feeling his face flush when Tonks and Kingsley wince in sympathy.
Sirius doesn't mean to snap, he tells himself. Sirius is just worried about Harry.
He can't afford to take it personally.
Doesn't make it hurt less…
The elevator finally slides open and Remus for once thanks his heightened senses when he hears commotion not too far from the Hall of Prophecies (though a room labelled as a Death Chamber fills him with dread), embracing the instant relief that they're not too late before their group pushes through doors leading into an antechamber with a strange dais and archway in the centre.
Without words, they descend upon the Death Eaters.
Amidst the echoes of spellfire and shouts, Remus forces himself to focus on getting to Harry, even as he struggles with his worry for Sirius, who charges ahead.
The battle rages on, and while Kingsley, Tonks, and Sirius manage the Death Eaters, Remus deflects spells and weaves between them, ducking an unknown curse and retaliating with a Stupefy that hits its mark.
Merlin please, let them all survive the night...
Desperation tightens Remus's chest as he shouts over Harry and Neville's words, urgently pulling them out of the line of fire, to get them moving out of the room.
"Harry, round up the others and GO!"
Please Harry…please get to safety.
Remus blocks a spell from Malfoy, his attention split between in all directions, and then with great relief, he hears Neville's exclamation that Dumbledore has arrived.
Hope surges and mingles with anxiety as he continues to fend off Malfoy's erratic attempts to get to Harry.
Harry, who's staring at Dumbledore's fight and not making any further attempt to leave.
Why isn't he moving?
But then, his attention is caught by something else: Sirius.
There's a wild grin on his friend's face and though he's matching Bellatrix spell-for-spell, taunting her, Remus's heart constricts with a sudden terrible fear.
"Sirius...don't..."
Remus is moving towards the dais before he can even think about where this fear has come from.
He just knows that he needs to get to Sirius, who's now laughing.
Why is he laughing?
"Come on, you can do better than that!" Sirius yells to his cousin the moment Remus is at the foot of the dais, the oddly veiled arch looming behind them.
Sirius brushes away one spell, missing the second -
-and Remus yanks Sirius sideways and out of the path of Bellatrix's wand.
The spell hits his chest, sending him careening backwards into the archway where the veil flutters momentarily, almost caressing his face.
The last thing he hears or sees is Sirius's scream of denial and a desperate attempt to run towards him before Kingsley and Harry grasp at his arms to hold him back.
Remus finds it oddly comforting knowing that Sirius is safe and that Harry hasn't lost his Godfather.
Colours blur as he falls, eerie whispers assault his ears, and then, with a sudden jolt, everything goes dark.
Remus experiences a jarring sense of weightlessness.
The darkness presses in from all sides, a suffocating shroud that blots out all sense of direction or purpose, with nothing but his own thoughts remaining in the emptiness.
He is filled with a strange sense of calm.
What would happen to Sirius and Harry now?
Would they continue to be safe?
Would they mourn him?
He couldn't imagine what would happen if he hadn't reached Sirius in time.
He thinks he would have gone mad from the grief...
…he wishes he'd had more time to resolve everything with Sirius.
Time passes oddly.
It feels as though he has been falling for minutes, hours, days, weeks...
Each passing blink feels like an eternity and nothing all at once.
Nostalgia sets in.
He remembers his parents.
Their love both before and after he was bitten, and the sorrow that followed in the years after.
His father's continuous guilt at Fenrir's attack.
His poor mother's optimism for everyone, even when she was fading away.
He recalls the wonder of magic and making friends at Hogwarts…the sense of normalcy it afforded him after living without it for so long…
The reality of life, his condition, and the world around him as it went from hope and joy to so much devastation and loss...
Regrets start to surface.
Remus finds himself ashamed of so many choices he has made.
Could he have made more of a difference in his friends' lives?
Could he have made more of a difference in his own life?
He wants to scoff but no sound leaves his lips.
If only he had learned to not fear himself or all the what-ifs that had controlled his every thought...
What if he tried harder to be brave?
What if he didn't fear losing his friends?
What if he had trusted himself to be more than the lycanthropy he was cursed with?
Would James and Lily have lived?
Would Peter have betrayed them?
His throat tightens and his eyes itch, but there are no tears to fall.
These regrets are pointless in the face of death, he supposes.
Remus starts to grapple with the realization that he may never escape this darkness.
Was he even dying?
Or would he be trapped in this endless limbo for eternity?
To be a prisoner of his mind until all sanity was stripped bare and nothing remained?
Was he even breathing…
Remus feels panic well at the thought and has an urge to claw at his throat.
He feels terror, unlike anything he's ever felt before.
Time continues for what feels like hours but maybe it's only been a few minutes.
The dread grips him like an invisible noose that doesn't ease or worsen, leaving him wild with despair.
Please...please...
He doesn't know what he begs for.
The end to this nothingness?
Death?
Then something changes with no warning.
The darkness flickers and pressure builds in his chest...
Remus becomes aware of pain—the sharp sting of scratches, the throb of torn muscles.
His thoughts cease and...
With a start, he finds he can open his eyes but his vision blurs and something restricts his movement.
He realises that he's chained, his body lying prone on a cold, earthy floor while the air is thick with the musty scent of old wood and the iron tang of blood.
What had happened?
Where was he?
This wasn't the Ministry?
Where…How…
He'd definitely fallen through the strange archway...
But where had it brought him?
Why was he chained?
The sound of approaching footsteps makes him tense and a familiar voice, warm and filled with concern, breaks through the silence.
"Remus? Are you awake, love?"
It's not possible…
"Mum?" He whispers, tears welling in his eyes.
"Your father is busy undoing the wards. I'll come get you as soon as they're down." She replies.
He sobs softly at the words, a mix of emotions swirling within—confusion, sorrow, joy.
If this is a dream then I don't want to wake up…
An overwhelming exhaustion settles over him heavily and Remus feels his eyes dip closed against his will.
Remus wakes when feels gentle hands on his face and he finds he cannot stop the tears that form again when he looks up at his mother.
"Mum," he croaked, his voice hoarse.
"Shh," she soothed, brushing his hair back. "You had a pretty rough transformation last night."
Her warm eyes crinkle and she taps his nose softly.
"Your fathers already healed most of the bad breaks. Let's get you cleaned up, love." She murmurs.
Remus can't trust himself to speak.
His throat feels tight with emotion, and words seem inadequate to express the turmoil growing within him.
The moments that follow are a blur of sensations and fleeting thoughts, each blending into the next in a haze of confusion and exhaustion.
Before he knows it, his mother has him out of the cellar and upstairs in his room, seated on his old bed and moving about the room with quiet efficiency, fetching bandages and ointments to treat the minor wounds and pains that his father has yet to get with magic.
Remus can only watch with quiet awe.
It's been too long since he's seen her.
Has he replaced darkness with wistful dreams?
Surely if this was the afterlife, it wouldn't feel like a memory?
"Mum." He whispers and can't help the surge of longing when she stops her fussing to look at him.
"Yes, love?"
Remus trembles and he reaches out to grab one of her hands.
I've missed you so much...He wants to say.
"I love you so much." That is what he says instead.
Hope Lupin huffs a laugh and squeezes his hand affectionately.
"And I love you too, you silly boy." She replies with a wink. "Now sit tight while I get you some food. Do you think you can eat now?"
Remus hesitates, but in the end nods and watches her leave the room, breathing deeply to try to calm his frantically beating heart.
His eyes trace details of the room - his room! - taking in the well-worn bookshelves' that are almost overflowing, the desk with scattered parchment, numerous scribbled notes, and quills, the bare walls, and threadbare carpets.
He takes it all in, willing himself to remember every detail, every sensation, afraid that if he opens them again, this might be gone and he will awaken in the darkness of that abyss, still falling…
Remus then notices the wand on his bedside table, which makes him frown, as he's pretty sure his wand dropped before, he fell into the arch.
He reaches for it, and warmth shoots up his arm and fills his chest.
The familiar weight and feel of it, the way it hums with recognition, brings a rush of emotions too complex to name.
This feels too real for a dream…
"Lumos." He whispers and the tip of his wand lights up.
Remus stares at the light for a second then utters the spell to cancel it before he climbs out of bed, his heart suddenly racing again and a million thoughts clamouring for his attention.
He shifts through the items on his desk, racking his memories until he finds an old newspaper to check the date.
It reads 8th July 1976, and if last night was the full moon and he's at home, then the current date is July 12th, 1976.
Remus drops the paper and the room seems to spin, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
It's the summer before he went to Hogwarts for his sixth year.
With a trembling hand, Remus lifts his wand again to conjure a mirror.
His reflection stares back, younger and with fewer scars, softened by youth and missing the years and tragedy that he hasn't yet lived.
Remus touched his face in disbelief.
Could this really be happening?
Is it possible that the archway hadn't led to his death, but to some kind of temporal displacement?
His mind races, a torrent of thoughts and memories blending, making it hard to distinguish reality from fear.
It's too good to be true…surely…
He presses his fingers to his temples, trying to focus, trying to breathe and stave off the building nausea.
The pain in his body is real enough—the familiar ache of his post-transformation injuries, the bruises, and scratches from the night before.
He flexes his fingers doubtfully, wincing as the cuts stretch and throb.
It feels real…
Tears burned Remus's eyes and he buried his face in his hands, dropping to his knees.
He ignored the sting of his injuries, choking on the hoarse cry that left his lips, the overwhelming rush of grief and confusion just too much to contain.
Had he really been given a second chance?