From the playlist:
High and Dry - Radiohead
My Own Worst Enemy - Lit
Anti-Hero - Taylor Swift
Paint It, Black - Ciara
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Ch. 8 - The Doldrums
The next morning, for the first time in over a decade, Remus laid eyes on Sirius Black.
He'd only half-slept - which had somehow sapped his energy more than staying up might have - and he came to with the feeling that he should've woken up elsewhere. He dreamed he was somewhere different, but now that cruel consciousness had returned, he couldn't remember where. Suffice it to say, the familiar stale smell on the air and the dim, watery light leaking through the fibers of the deteriorating curtains were a welcome party that left much to be desired.
With reddened eyes, Remus peered around the room like he was seeing it for the first time; like he wasn't supposed to be there. Every chip in the paint and spot on the wall seemed to taunt him. The mattress felt grubby; the pillow, too thin; the blanket was hardly functional anymore, and yet the chill skittering over his uncovered socks was far more noticeable today. The cottage was as quiet as it ever was and that felt wrong somehow, even with the slowly worsening migraine. He supposed the whole ordeal had made him hyper-aware of these things, but he wasn't in any state to dissect that - or any of it, for that matter.
Prior to the events of the previous day, he'd planned to get up early and return to the market to see if his manager would consider keeping him on just through the end of the summer. But with little sleep under his belt, the night's heavy laden revelations weighing on him, and the symptoms starting up, he couldn't compel himself to do anything remotely productive, even if it meant a lack of wages. For someone that nothing ever happened to anymore, far too much had happened to him in the last forty eight hours, and he just needed one day of reprieve on the grubby mattress.
Surely, timing had never been worse. The full moon was tomorrow night, and everything converging all at once was definitely making the migraine more unbearable than usual. The pins and needles sensation had settled into his limbs right on cue but seemed amplified, and his knees and lower back were still stiff as hell from all those stairs. A cane was absolutely in order.
And just when he managed to drag his bones up and reluctantly face the day, there was the Prophet in the entryway.
No matter how mundane the news, the paper always seemed to raise his cortisol, even now that a decade had passed since it used to contain the rows of obituaries. Oftentimes it went straight from the entryway to the rubbish bin, and knowing what awaited him on the front page, that's probably what he should've done with it now. He stared at it for a good minute before cracking it open anyway, and was indeed greeted with Sirius Black's mugshot. Delightful. Happy Birthday, Harry.
It was immediately apparent that this was not the same photo they'd published in 1981; aside from the general raggedy, emaciated look of him, the elbow-length hair and the shaggy beard were an indication that the photo was more recent. Remus scanned the image for a long time, trying not to think too hard about all the ways that Black had drastically changed in captivity. He hardly recognized the man, now. Someone who didn't know him back in the day would have a hard time believing he was once regarded as possessing that uncanny handsomeness that seemed to smile upon all members of the Black family. But the subject of the photo looked to be a few steps above a corpse.
The subject of the photo . Not Sirius. Not Padfoot. Notorious mass-murderer Sirius Black. It didn't make sense, but that's what it was.
Remus should've felt the rage resurface, or at least become newly aware of the grief down in his bones. Really, with everything going on, he should've spontaneously combusted hours ago; but even as he stared into the photo, he couldn't feel much of anything. A numbness which had occasionally offered him refuge crept in sometime during the night, and it was simply easier to let that take hold than to reckon with everything.
Besides, the Aurors would catch Black, he'd go back to Azkaban, and that would be that…
His observation was interrupted by the swoosh of the letter box, and when Remus glanced up, an envelope sat at his feet.
The migraine began to pulsate with its very own heartbeat. At first his mind jumped to Emmeline, but there was no way in hell she was itching to speak to him again - something he should have felt more relieved about than he did.
He cast the Prophet aside and picked the letter up, feeling something bulky on the inside as he opened it.
Dear Mr. Lupin,
We are pleased to welcome you to Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Inside this envelope you will find a key to your vault.
#: 826
Should you wish to make a withdrawal, please present your key.
Thank you for your business,
Gnarblok
Head Goblin
He fished out the key and twirled it in his fingers. 826 had been his vault in the past, but inactivity had rendered it useless in the eyes of the bank. One day, the key had just disappeared; returned to Gringotts on its own. No sooner had he finished reading than another envelope dropped in, this time bearing the Hogwarts crest.
Dear Remus,
I hope you won't mind, I arranged for a vault to be opened for you at Gringotts. You didn't seem to have one. In it, you will find an advance on your salary to assist with the purchase of any necessary materials you may need for the start of term. If there is anything else I can do to help with the transition to your new position, please do not hesitate to ask.
Sincerely,
Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore
Every joint in the lower half of his body creaked as Remus lowered himself into the chair and set the letters on the coffee table before him. Amid the chaos, there was Dumbledore, standing like a sentinel of sense. He simultaneously felt eleven and twenty-one again.
It was then that he solidified his decision to live in willful ignorance. If he could just narrow the aperture of his focus to this new chapter, and only that, he could get by with shutting out everything else for the time being. He didn't see any other option. It was either spend the summer wallowing in paralyzing dread and start the school year horribly unprepared, or pretend none of it was happening at all and put his everything into being a professor.
Black, Emmeline, and the girl were like a vortex of shame and mayhem that threatened to swallow him whole. But lists, facts, and memorizing? That was something Remus could handle. Hell, that was something he could succeed at. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was to throw himself wholeheartedly into academics, and he was determined to do well. For himself; but also for Dumbledore.
He lumbered up to retrieve his writing materials.
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
Thank you so much for sorting out my vault. Your kindness and generosity throughout this process has not gone unnoticed.
I was wondering if it might be possible to get a head start on learning the students' names before the term begins. I fear if I don't start now, I'll never keep them straight. If you have any time to spare, I would love some copies of my class registers.
Gratefully,
Remus
…
Two days later, another letter arrived, along with a parcel wrapped neatly in brown paper. Post-transformation soreness and swelling kept Remus in bed long into the day, but a summoning charm was all he needed to retrieve the mail from the entryway.
He let the newspaper fall off the side of the mattress unopened, and instead picked up the parcel. As well as he could with such stiff fingers, he unwrapped the package with care, and out slid a thin book; beautifully bound, but blank on the inside. No sign of his class registers.
He shucked open the envelope.
Dear Remus,
I am loaning you this book for the remainder of the summer. I think that you will find it useful.
Sincerely,
Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore
No instructions, of course. A puzzle. But a welcome distraction from the pain, physical and otherwise. God bless you, Albus.
Remus lurched up slowly to sit and turned the book in his hands, thumbing again through the pages to see if he'd missed something. It was indeed totally blank, with not even so much as a title to give him a hint.
He reached for his wand and pointed it at the cover. "Erm…show me my class registers, please…" he muttered, feeling a bit stupid. He flipped through the pages again, and nothing. Now he felt completely stupid.
Then, he summoned his quill from the ink pot with little concern about the fact that it had dripped along its way, and wrote on the first page.
Defense Against the Dark Arts class registers.
The ink sat atop the page for a few seconds, but again, nothing happened.
Brilliant, now I've defaced it. "Evanesco."
His handwriting disappeared off the fibers of the parchment.
Well that's me stumped.
With a bit more motivation than he'd started it with, Remus went about his day to the best of his ability. He managed to drag himself into the shower, which might've made him feel better if the water wasn't so tit-freezing cold. He fixed himself a slice of toast, then proceeded to sit on the floor and stare at the book for a considerable portion of the afternoon.
He tried a few more things: lighting a fire and putting the book near the hearth, bringing it outside in the sunlight, and running it under water (which ended up being an awful idea).
Finally, he sat in the chair and mindlessly tapped his wand against the book's cover.
Tap.
Clearly, it didn't respond to verbal or written commands.
Tap.
Nor was it activated by heat, light, or water.
Tap.
So he had to be missing something obvious.
All of a sudden, there came a very peculiar scribbling sound.
Remus cast his wand aside and threw the book open to the first page, where "Third years" had appeared in florid scroll.
Bob's your uncle.
Triumphantly, he flipped to the next page. On one side was a name and a house affiliation:
Hannah Abbot, Hufflepuff.
On the other, a drawing of a young girl's face was being traced rapidly right before his eyes. Remus couldn't believe it, but he actually managed a chuckle. Cool.
He moved on to the next page.
Susan Bones, Hufflepuff.
Next page. Terry Boot, Ravenclaw.
Mandy Brocklehurst, Ravenclaw. So on and so forth.
Then curiosity got the better of him, and he flipped ahead until he got to "P."
Pansy Parkinson, Slytherin.
Padma Patil, Ravenclaw.
Parvati Patil, Gryffindor.
Sally-Ann Perks. Hufflepuff.
Harry-
Jesus Christ.
Remus nearly dropped the book.
…
"Miss Vance?" came a muffled voice from the corridor, accompanied by a series of knocks.
"No."
"...But-"
"Later."
The door to her office swung open anyway.
With raised eyebrows, Emmeline stared out over the top of the muggle media permits in her grip. "…Ceilia."
The mousy intern was vigorously wringing her hands. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I just-"
"I am up to my eyeballs in shit from; count it with me." Emmeline lowered the papers and began indicating on her fingers. "The Minister's office, the Prophet, and the BBC."
"Yes."
"All depending on me to sort out what Headquarters can and cannot allow the Minister to relay to the press."
"Yes, but-"
"As if trying to navigate the sharing of information with the muggle news outlets wasn't enough of a headache, I've got Rita Skeeter so far up my arse, it's like she's making a home for herself there."
Sheepishly, Ceilia tried to offer some sympathy. "I'm…sure that's quite stressful. Ms. Vance-"
"Have you ever dealt with the people over at the Daily Prophet, Ceilia?"
"N-...No, ma'am."
There was a rage that had absolutely nothing to do with Ceilia sequestered behind Emmeline's glare. "I hope you never have to. I'm sat here wondering if someone's charmed the stack of paperwork on my desk to slowly grow until I descend into madness, and yet every five minutes, and owl drops in with a note that smells like the mothballs in my grandmother's closet 'just checking in' to see if the Minister can share any more details for Ms. Skeeter to print in tomorrow's edition."
"I- I know you're very busy, but-"
Emmeline held up a hand to silence her, and Ceilia's complexion blanched.
"You haven't been here long, so I'm going to turn this into a lesson."
"...Ma'am?"
Then, Emmeline spoke with suspicious even-temperedness. "You have an assignment. Due tomorrow. Ask me what your assignment is, Ceilia."
"...What…is my assignment?"
"You're to walk into Headquarters."
"...Alright."
"You're to stop into any of the cubicles, preferably with their permission."
Ceilia gulped.
"And you're to ask whomever you choose what they think I would do to them if they came to my office door, I said no, and they barged in anyway."
Ceilia nodded vigorously. "Understood."
"I am so glad to know that last bit was understandable to you, since my 'no' was not."
"It's just that Madam Bones sent me to fetch you…" Ceilia cut in speedily.
Emmeline simmered from behind her papers, clutching them so tightly they nearly ripped.
"...Ceilia."
Another gulp. "Yes, ma'am?"
Ceilia visibly shrunk as Emmeline stood, smoothed her dress, then came around the desk. "You can forget the assignment," she muttered as she passed. "Thank you."
"Thank you ma'am," Ceilia exhaled as if it were a hallelujah, closing the door behind them.
As she stalked down the hall, Emmeline resolved to leave a coffee on Ceilia's desk tomorrow morning. A good one from down the road; not the instant coffee they kept at Headquarters, or whatever mud water they served in the cafe downstairs. (She'd suspected for months that they were replicating the carafe with magic to decrease costs, because every time she tasted it, it got weaker and weaker.)
She took no pleasure in frightening the interns, but there wasn't much to be done about the outright bitchiness that had taken hold of her this week.
Headquarters was, as to be expected, a complete zoo. Investigators were dashing up and down the halls with little mind as to who they checked with their shoulders on their way. A moment to stop and apologize could mean the difference between catching Sirius Black, and not catching him, apparently. After the first week, Emmeline had resolved to stay in her office and out of the (official) fray as much as possible. Not doing so would undoubtedly get her into trouble anyway.
But further along the corridor, she spotted a face she was actually glad to see.
"Rrush!"
"Good morning, Arben," Emmeline greeted him as she wove through some trainees.
The venerable caretaker finished levitating some papers into the rubbish bin which always rolled along at his side, then straightened up. "You were in a hurry. You doing good?"
"You want the answer I give everyone else, or the truth?"
Arben narrowed his eyes as if she'd asked him something mildly insulting. "What do you think?"
"Walk with me." Emmeline did not resume her previous pace, as Arben couldn't walk all that fast. "It's as if someone devised the events of this week just to torment me."
Arben let out a mirthless laugh. "Sirius Black ruining a lot of people's weeks, no?"
"Indeed." Among others. "How are you?"
"He is ruining my week, too. This place, it never close now. So much paper in all the bins."
"Regretfully, I am probably adding to your workload- Hey- Watch where you're going!" she barked at a passing investigator who nearly bulldozed Arben as if he couldn't see him. "Fucking hell, they'll need to install traffic lights if this keeps up."
Arben made some humph-ing noise and waved it off. "You come see me soon, okay? We'll drink raki and I'll make you a little something."
The sigh that Emmeline loosed made it sound like there was a pressure valve attached to her sternum. "I'd love to, but I've got a lot of bureaucratic bullshit on my desk for the foreseeable future, and I'm trying to spend as much time with Lucy as I can before the school year starts. She'll be with her Dad towards the end of August, could we plan for then?"
"Sure. Anytime is good. Arush having a good summer?"
"Yeah. She's looking forward to Hogwarts," she said with a bit too much feigned enthusiasm. Emmeline was desperately trying to be okay with it.
Arben was not fooled. "O bo bo, so big, so fast. A beautiful heartache for mama."
Perhaps it was the benefit of English not being his first language, but Emmeline always liked the way Arben put things. "Beautiful heartache is exactly how it feels," she mused.
"...Something else the matter?" he probed.
Emmeline glanced up at him innocently, but again, he wasn't fooled; Arben never was. So she gave up the ghost. "...I'll tell you about it over raki," she grumbled.
"I guess I'll buy more raki."
All too soon, they reached the door to Amelia's office.
"You in trouble, or something?" Arben questioned.
"Dunno. Maybe." Emmeline pondered a moment. "Likely."
Arben patted her shoulder before piddling off. "Good luck, Rrush."
As Emmeline rapped on the door, she braced herself for a possible slap on the wrist. She rather thought Amelia had bigger fish to fry, but perhaps the gargantuan stack of paperwork wasn't shrinking to Madam Bones's satisfaction.
"Yes?" came Amelia's tinny voice.
With that affirmation, Emmeline opened the door. "You wanted to see me?"
"Vance. Yes, come in."
There was no office in all of the Ministry more spotless than Amelia's (maybe with the exception of Dolores Umbridge, but Emmeline preferred to disregard her existence entirely when she could help it). Deep violet curtains and furnishings gave the space a sort of regal, monarchical look, and Madam Bones wore it well. She was a prim woman who stood up straight and never had a strand of salt and pepper hair out of place. In all the years that she had worked with her, Amelia had never acknowledged that Emmeline used to fight alongside her brother Edgar in the Order. There were no pictures of him or his family in the office, and he was never brought up in conversation. But Emmeline assumed that Amelia kept him close to her chest, and that everyone else only ever saw her stiff upper lip.
Amelia motioned for Emmeline to sit down across from her, though she appeared to be occupied with several other things. "How are you?"
Odd. Amelia didn't usually care.
"…Fine," Emmeline said flatly as she took a seat. The answer she gave everyone else.
"I shan't waste your time." Once Amelia had finished signing off on some document, she looked Emmeline directly in the eye. "It has come to my attention that you used to be well-acquainted with Sirius Black."
Though she made sure to keep her expression neutral, Emmeline began compiling a list in her mind of the people that knew that, then narrowed it down to who would snitch to Amelia about it. Gina Clearwater had given that nonsense up ages ago. Kingsley certainly wouldn't have said anything, nor Alastor.
"…Are you questioning my loyalty to the Department?" Emmeline asked calmly.
"Quite the opposite. Since Black has proven himself to be elusive, I thought it wise to put someone who is better-equipped to predict his patterns at the helm."
Emmeline's eyebrows bunched together. "...Ma'am?"
"I'm placing you as the lead on Black's case," Amelia announced decisively. "Effective immediately."
Something ravenous gurgled up from Emmeline's gut.
Amelia noticed her bewilderment and elaborated. "You'll be taking over the investigation. Do you have any questions?"
"Scrimgeour approved this?"
"Scrimgeour is not the Head of the Department."
"I thought-…the new position-"
"Yes, well…This takes a bit more precedence at the moment, don't you think?"
"...Quite," Emmeline agreed absentmindedly.
"I'll have someone else take over liaison duties for the time being," Amelia assured her.
The sound of a war drum beating in time with her heart distracted Emmeline from the confirmation that her promotion had indeed been completely irrelevant. No matter; it seemed they'd come to their senses now.
"I trust you don't need to hear the job description," Amelia said as she slid a stack of file folders across the desk. "There's everyone you have at your disposal. They've been informed of your appointment and are awaiting your instructions. Of course, we've pulled from other Departments to aid in the search, so if you find you need to increase your numbers, please let me know."
She didn't need a team. Black was out there wandless. All she needed to do was get him in her sights.
…Well, there was one person she might like to have.
"I want Shacklebolt as my second in command."
"Consider it done."
"...Thank you, Ma'am," she muttered.
Amelia nodded a "you're welcome," and turned back to her documents. "That'll be all, Vance," she dismissed her.
In a daze, Emmeline stood and headed back towards the door.
"Oh, and Vance?" Amelia stopped her.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Find him."
A vicious old friend roiled within her.
"...I will."
She became aware of how her heartbeat had synced with the clicking of her heels as she strode through the double doors into Headquarters for what felt like the first time in a long time. One by one, Aurors and trainees stepped out of their cubicles like they were falling in line; like they'd done for Mad-Eye. Scrimgeour wore a semi-satisfying sour frown as Emmeline passed him and stood alongside Kingsley.
"The floor is yours, Vance," he muttered, suppressing a grin.
She turned to face the multitudes.
"Right. Let's get started, shall we?"
CDD: I completely made up the book; however, Remus knows everyone's names right away on their first day of class, so it's implied he must've done something to learn them prior to the start of term. It's my favorite canon/not canon thing!
Also - Lucy Hurst ACTUALLY has an HP Wiki page, so she is technically a part of canon (and by technically, I mean from the video games which I do not personally consider to be canon. But I was sort of tickled to use the name of someone who already exists in the universe in some capacity).
Don't ask why I always pair Emmeline with childless, curmudgeonly old men. It just works, okay?