From the playlist:

The Dangling Conversation - Simon and Garfunkel

Basket Case - Sara Bareilles

i miss myself - renforshort

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Ch. 21 - The Lost Echos

The conversation with McGonagall made him feel a bit better heading into his second appointment of the day. He expected the next one would be significantly more uncomfortable.

Since the last letter, Remus found himself conflicted - which was a feeling he detested more than almost any other. His prior meeting with Emmeline had been almost excruciating in its awkwardness, so there was no reason - no reason whatsoever - that the idea of seeing her again should be satiating something in him. Her correspondence had been just as impersonal as it had been before, probably more so, and presumably, this meeting would be just as unpleasant. It was going to be unpleasant. So he shouldn't have been…well, looking forward to it wasn't the right way to put it. But something in that realm. Distantly. Very distantly.

It couldn't have been more than some residual, evolutionary baseness, he reasoned again; a reverberation of something in him that scrounged for crumbs of connection, no matter where they fell from. Surely, the allure had more to do with the novelty of having plans than it did with getting about as close to being avoided as one could be while in someone else's company. Because he shouldn't have felt an ounce of hunger for that. That would be pathetic.

He liked being useful. That was it. That was all there was to it.

This time when he stepped out of her fireplace and dusted himself off, she was not there to greet him.

"...Emmeline?"

"Kitchen," she called.

But he hesitated. He wasn't quite sure why.

After about seven seconds, she rounded the corner to peer at him. "Alright?"

"Sorry." He shook his head, realizing the purpose of his pause. "I don't know why I was expecting to have to answer an identity question…"

"No, I er…I understand," she excused him. "Some of it doesn't go away." It being that vestigial paranoia that snuck up out of nowhere. She didn't have to clarify.

"No. No, it doesn't, does it?"

He felt rude for thinking it, but Emmeline still looked exhausted; probably more so. And it wasn't the sweatpants. (Unfortunately, those were very nice on her, which seemed wholly unfair.) He should've guessed after the outcome of the operation how she would take it out on herself.

"But Mad-Eye would probably wag his finger at me, so." She drew her wand lazily. "Are you Remus?"

She didn't appear to be attempting to make a joke, so Remus bit back his smile. "Yes, I am Remus."

"Good." Stashing her wand, she turned back toward the kitchen. This time, he followed. "I picked up some more chocolate for your students."

Remus glanced at the stack of six bars on the table she'd motioned to. "I am right by Honeydukes," he reminded her. Though he supposed it was nice to know that she wasn't just skimming his letters like her responses had led him to believe.

"It's alright. It makes me feel moderately useful."

He clamped his lips around a knee-jerk consolation that nearly crossed them. She wouldn't have wanted it.

As he got closer to where she'd pointed, he saw that the kitchen table was covered with manila folders, several pieces of parchment bearing various Ministry stamps, and that map she'd brought along to the pub. You could barely see the wooden surface.

She must've noticed the corners of his mouth start to twitch up again. "Is something funny?" she accused him. "I'll be honest, I'm not really in the mood."

"No, it's not. I'm sorry, I know this is very important, but…it just reminded me of cramming for N.E.W.T.s. That weekend before the exams, in the back corner of the library with all the books and papers covering the table. Do you remember? We had that dreadful Defense Professor that year…Merlin, what was his name?"

Her lips parted to say something, but she changed her mind.

"I swear Alastor was the only reason I passed the subject...Ichabod!" he recalled finally. "It was Professor Ichabod, wasn't it? With that plumed hat?"

There was no recognition in Emmeline's face whatsoever.

"...Don't tell me you've forgotten," he scoffed playfully.

"...Remus-"

"You really don't remember?"

"Remus, please, sit down," she requested rather sternly.

He struck the smile from his face and did as she asked, taking care not to displace any of her paperwork as he lowered himself into a chair at the table. What he'd said to offend her, he didn't know. After their last conversation, he hoped he might avoid another faux pas today. Not five minutes in, and he'd already screwed up somehow.

Emmeline sat across from him and laced her fingers together, which already seemed like a bad sign. "There are some things I don't remember," she began. "I can't remember them, because…" She cleared her throat. "…My memories were tampered with."

"...You mean…You were obliviated?"

"Not quite, no…"

It was evident that the Auror was trying to mince her words; deciding how much she would disclose, and whether or not divulging it ultimately benefited the objective.

"I was attacked by a Legilimens," she stated clinically.

Remus opened his mouth, then shut it again.

"So, no. Professor Ichabod does not ring a bell," she muttered with a hint of indignation that didn't really seem directed towards him.

His brain seemed to trip over this information. "...I've never heard of Legilimency causing lasting effects on someone's memories."

He lost her eye contact then, and Emmeline shifted in her seat. "You have to understand, the way it all happened was very... violating."

I beg your pardon?

Noticing the distress come over his face, she elaborated. "It happened during a trial. I was testifying, and the defense got in my head to paint me as disturbed and call my credibility into question."

"Merlin…When was this?"

It looked as if the Auror was wrestling with how to answer that, too. "...A long time ago."

By this point, Remus was finding it difficult to stare at the stone shaped like Emmeline and not grow just a bit irritated, particularly upon learning this. But he let none of that past his thoughts.

"I'm so sorry…" he offered sincerely.

His sincerity was met with a disingenuous nod. "Thank you."

"...I don't mean to pry," he started, very much meaning to pry, "but I still don't understand how it was possible for the Legilimens to expunge memories from you."

"The way the healers described it to me was that my mind tried to fortify itself following the incursion, but didn't know how." When it came to the cold hard facts of it, Emmeline was a bit more forthcoming; but the voice that trickled out of her was fatigued, and over the course of her explanation, her eyes, already unfocused and evasive, drifted dismally to her hands. "I had no Occlumency training at that point. The Legilimens forcibly wielded my worst memories against me to send me into a fit in front of the Council, and in the aftermath, my consciousness identified the memories themselves as the source of the weakness; so it started dropping things. What happened in the courtroom simply pushed it over the edge."

Just then, Remus remembered that old stationary box Emmeline used to collect polaroid photos in. For someone who was otherwise not very organized, the labeling and organization she'd put into that box had been commendable, and stewarding those memories that way had been very important to her. The box had been the only possession she'd saved from a burning building, once. She may as well have told him that somebody set fire to it.

Remus had never considered himself to be very good at these sorts of things. He had no idea what to say to her, except:

"…Let me make you some tea."

"I can make my own tea," she contended as he started to rise.

"I know you can," he said quickly. "But will you allow me to?"

He could see the Auror and all her constant vigilance squirming at the thought of letting someone else prepare a drink for her with her back turned. But after a moment of consideration, she drowsily agreed.

"...Sure.

He gave the kettle a tap with his wand to expedite boiling the water, but took his time preparing the tea - without magic, despite the fact that his fingers felt stiff. Taking a guess that the box of plain old English breakfast on the counter might be her preference, he retrieved a teabag, laid it neatly in the mug, and kept a close eye on it while it steeped. It was the only thing he could think to do, since he couldn't think of what to say. The piercing silence that hung between the kitchen table and the stove was almost unbearable.

And then, a sort of alarming thought occurred to him: exactly how much had she forgotten? How much had she forgotten about him? How much of the hospital wing, and Welsh crepes, and their friends, and all of it, was just…gone? Was he the sole proprietor of those memories now? He'd been a terrible steward of them.

When he deemed the color in the mug to be an acceptable one, he searched for a spoon and removed the teabag. "Do you still like your tea the same way?"

"I think I'm out of milk."

He took it as permission to check the fridge. "Indeed you are."

"I haven't had a chance to run to the shop," she grumbled, rubbing her face.

"...Is it closeby-?"

"I'll drink it without milk, Remus," she sighed - a little exasperated, he might've thought.

Out of an interest not to push his luck, he brought the mug to the table - sans milk - and set it in front of her on a sliver of visible wood.

"You didn't have to do that," she said again.

"I know," he said. Again.

But she took the mug in her hands and hugged it to her chest in a way that seemed traitorous to the Auror's determination to be impenetrable.

"Forgive me, but…how much did you lose?" Remus dared to ask as he sat back down.

"Certain things about my childhood that my mum had to fill in for me. Some moments from school, some from what came after…a few other things," she listed vaguely. "Small things, here and there. But enough to drive you mad, because the gaps where the memories used to be feel empty. It's not like being obliviated. It's not like being blissfully unaware that they were ever there in the first place."

Small things here and there struck him as an understatement, considering she didn't seem to remember a single Defense class from their seventh year. Not that they'd been particularly memorable, but that didn't help to quell his growing anxiety. The more she described it, the more helpless he felt.

"If someone were to remind you, like your mother did, would it come back to you?"

"…It's like hearing stories about someone else," she murmured, trying to press her lips together in a smile; trying to be lighthearted about something devastating, because if she was, the Auror would have signaled to Remus that Emmeline was okay with it. It irked him that she thought him so gullible. He didn't rightly understand how she was maintaining such a detached attitude throughout this whole conversation. "And anyway, there was nobody left who would've been able to fill in most of the gaps," she added as her lips were about to meet the rim of the cup.

She certainly hadn't worded it as pointedly as she could have, but that didn't lessen the sting whatsoever. Because there was one person left who could've filled in most of the gaps for her - it was just that he'd fucked off for about twelve years, so of course she hadn't counted him. She knew as well as he did that it wouldn't have made him turn around.

"Was the plumed hat very funny?" she asked absentmindedly, scratching at a drop of something that had crusted onto the edge of the table.

"It was. Looked positively absurd with the galoshes he seemed to favor."

"Now you're just making things up to tease me."

"No, I-...Emmeline." She granted him some of her finite attention, and he capitalized on it, speaking solemnly. "That would be…After what you've just told me, that would be reprehensible. I wouldn't do that." It sort of bothered him that she'd insinuate he might. "...If you…You know, if you have questions about any of it…" he offered sheepishly.

But she turned towards the map. "It's getting late. Should we perhaps-?"

"Yes," he surrendered. "Yes, absolutely."

Any microbe of nonchalance was quickly shed as she got to her feet and leaned over the map. Remus had, on one or two occasions, seen Mad-Eye do something similar. "Alright, so. After Warrington, I came to the conclusion that, unless we got word of a credible sighting, there were just too many possibilities for us to try to predict his whereabouts. I can't risk scattering the entirety of the Department across Great Britain hoping we run into him again. So I looked for the spots on the map where there weren't multiple possibilities." She tapped a dot far up in the highlands, and a red line appeared. "If he wants to get to Hogwarts, he'll have to go through Fort William."

Remus stood next to her to see for himself. "The surrounding areas?"

"Mountainous. There's no way in hell he's going to beat the snow."

"And the chances of him opting to swim through a frozen lake are slim, so-"

"So he has to take the road. He has to take this road, through-"

"Through Fort William. Brilliant."

"My question now is, how can I ensure he doesn't get past us?"

"...Do you have a map just of this area?"

"Way ahead of you." She shuffled the documents on the table until she'd slid another map to the top. "You can see there isn't much around the town."

"...Then not only will he have to pass through; I imagine he'll have to risk a stop there."

"If anything, probably just to spend a few minutes next to a fire."

"Right. He never liked-"

"He hated the-"

"-cold," they said at the same time.

"Sirius can do without comforts," Emmeline continued, "but not-"

"Not to that extent. At that point, it's a matter of survival."

"Exactly."

"So you station Aurors in the places that offer hospitality. Every single one. Pubs, inns, taverns, etcetera." As he said this, yellow dots sprung up on the map. "...Did you do these?"

"I didn't make the maps, but I played with their properties a bit." She shrugged. "I have to think like my target, don't I?"

"Very nice work," he commended her, impressed.

"Thank you."

Remus assessed the dots. "...Looks to me like if he wanders into one place, the town isn't so big that the others couldn't come running. Might require a bit of damage control with the muggles, but that may be a necessary evil."

"Agreed. It'll have to be people who came to the Department after he was put away, I've realized. People he won't recognize from the old days."

"Yes, right. And no red robes."

"Merlin, I know. I hate those uniforms."

"Scarlet is nice, but not very conducive to blending in."

"I can get them muggle clothes."

"I think that would be wise."

Much to Remus's dismay, she'd reached for that infernal notebook, and leaned over it to scribble. "We should be able to pull this off, I think."

"I know you'll pull it off."

"...Thank you again."

…Was that it?

"No problem."

"So I'll-"

Keep me informed.

"-keep you informed."

"Right, then. I'll do the same."

And there she was, with her face in her bloody notebook once more. It made him feel like he ceased to exist. Once she noticed him surreptitiously depositing the chocolate in his pocket, she shut it and straightened up, headed for the fireplace.

"I don't want to take up any more of your time. I'm sure you've got plenty of things to get done for your classes this week." She didn't ask about Quidditch, or coming in to speak to his seventh years, or even the potion. The Auror had resolved not to know more than she needed to.

He trailed behind her. "And again, if you ever have the desire to…I'd be more than happy to sit down and answer any of your questions…about anything that's missing."

"It wouldn't be fair to make that your responsibility."

"That wouldn't bother me. I think the alternative bothers me more."

You left and asked her to forget about you. Now she has, and you've told her that bothers you? What the hell is the matter with you?

"Let me just get through the case before I think about that," she decided.

"That seems reasonable," he lied. It didn't seem reasonable in the slightest. It just seemed like she was determined not to trust him past a cup of tea.

But he hadn't done anything to earn her trust. She was having a much easier time remembering that than he was.

"Will you go with the others to Fort William?" he asked, digging his hand into the floo powder. He never liked the way it got under his fingernails.

"Yes. Although as the most recognizable of them all, I'll have to stay out of sight."

"What does that entail?"

"A bit of bushwhacking, I reckon."

"Well...stay warm," he urged.

"Remus," she huffed.

Uh-oh. Pushed his luck right off the ledge.

"Please figure out some other way to say goodbye to me, alright? I can-"

"-take care of yourself. I know. That doesn't make me wish for you to be cold," he said instead.