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.
August 25th, 1994
There was something to be said about being forewarned.
When the alarm sounded after the final match of the Quidditch World Cup, the Order members and supporters in the Ministry were the first to respond. It was mostly a safeguard—after all, no one would die tonight; killing wasn't really what the Death Eater's show of power was about.
Not yet, anyway.
No, they sought, instead, to assert that they couldn't be stopped. Couldn't be captured, despite the heavy measures taken to ensure the security of the event.
Still, Remus and Dumbledore's goal in alerting the old Order and certain members of the Light had not been so they'd engage Voldemort's men in battle, but rather to help evacuate the fleeing masses once the fires started, aiding the injured and preventing that any more Muggles got caught in the cross-spell.
Most of their allies had been fed only half-truths—there was no need for them to know what would really transpire, only that there had been whispers of an impending attack, a demonstration to be carried out by Voldemort sympathisers during a large sporting event. Dumbledore's word on the matter had been enough to call them to action.
Arthur Weasley, however, had not been amongst the informed.
Remus had had very little contact with the man. Neither Molly nor Arthur had been part of the Order of Phoenix during the first war, yet he had heard many good things about the wizard. Having taught no less than five of Arthur's children for the past year had also given Remus some insight into their family.
The personalities of the red-headed students that made up a fifth of the Gryffindor contingent were as varied as they came. Percy and Ronald struck Remus as those with the most to prove—the latter as the youngest boy of six, being cast in the others' shadows; the former for possessing an underlying Slytherin streak, a desire for greatness that stemmed from being known by his importance and ambition, rather than his courage.
The twins, on the other hand, had been an amusing duo, their antics so alike the Marauders' own that they had awakened a myriad of memories in Remus' mind—some he wished he could forget, whereas others he longed to keep, even though they tasted bittersweet. There was very little from his past that had remained lighthearted.
Diversely, Ginny had been a withdrawn young girl yet extremely dedicated in her defence work, her quiet determination to best that which had once bested her an admirable trait. More than once, Remus had taken the time to encourage her, to suggest further reading on the topics that held her interest the longest. In addition to that, he had reminded her that his office doors were always open.
While their books were both second-hand and older editions and their clothes almost as worn out as his, the Weasley kids were very clearly loved.
Remus, too, had his fair share of money struggles. Werewolves were at best undesirable, both as employees and as members of Wizarding society. For the magical population at large, it would prove more convenient should he and his kind cease to exist. Keeping them from adequate employment and the means to support themselves was simply an underhanded way of eliminating them.
Given those circumstances, he could appreciate that the final game of the Quidditch World Cup was both a highly sought-after and expensive affair—maybe even a one-in-a-lifetime experience. Had the danger been made known to him, however, Remus had no doubt that Arthur would hardly blink before keeping his family at home. No matter the costly tickets and the rarity of the opportunity, Arthur Weasley would never knowingly risk the safety of his own.
Warning him beforehand would have ensured that the Weasleys, Hermione, and Harry wouldn't attend the match. This wasn't a change that could be made without putting Hermione's future in jeopardy.
Remus and Arthur had that in common as well—the determination to keep their loved ones safe.
September 1st, 1994
The storm and the howling winds carried in the start of the school year like couriers of bad tidings. In all his years, Remus had never been one to put much faith in omens or divination. That, however, had been before.
Before he knew what was to come. Before he knew what he'd have to bear.
Now… Well, now he took the grim, foul weather as a promise.
Thunder cracked and roared outside his window, sheets of water buffeting against the glass as the gales picked up speed. Remus' gaze was both held captive by the display and unfocused as he sat in his room at The Garden with only a bottle and a tumbler for company. He'd been sitting there for too long. So much, in fact, that, without his notice, a muddied dark blue had overtaken the day's unyielding grey.
Rips of lightning tore through the sky and made for the only source of brightness around him, their regularity constant enough for him not to misplace his glass or slosh its contents. Yet the flashes were too short-lived and much too blinding to highlight the firewhisky's deep amber colour or the brown tones that ran across the wood grain of his desk. They did, nonetheless, throw into sharp relief the cream-coloured parchment he had sealed earlier.
It made him ill at ease to think that the new professor to occupy the seat of Defence Against the Dark Arts was a Death Eater. Even the wolf inside growled lowly at the idea. Despite the knowledge that Barty Crouch Jr. would remain under Dumbledore's careful watch, the fact remained that he had managed to infiltrate Hogwarts undetected before.
Once, Remus had imagined the castle to be an impenetrable fortress and Dumbledore, an infallible hero.
Reality had proven the balance of war to be much more fragile than that.
To keep up with appearances, though, Remus had still written a letter to the new professor, to offer both insincere congratulations and a syllabus of the things they had covered during his tenure there. After all, had it been the real Alastor to take up his previous post, Remus would have found him a befitting replacement for the position and extended that courtesy to the man.
Knowing that wasn't the case didn't exempt him from having to do so. The drink was meant to cleanse the bitter aftertaste writing the words had left in his mouth. Given all he knew would transpire this year, Remus feared that, by the end of it, not even Ogden's entire distillery would be up to the task.
He uncapped the bottle in the dark but waited for a bolt of lightning to tip it towards the glass, the liquid gurgling and splashing on its way out. The bottle's dull thud against the wood rang a little louder than it should have, and Remus concentrated harder on letting go so as not to accidentally knock it over. His movements had turned clumsy at some point, his sight fuzzy around the edges.
Remus reached for and raised the tumbler in silent toast—to Sirius, who should have been here all along.
His friend remained absent for the time being, and, despite his increasingly ridiculous choice of postal birds, Remus couldn't begrudge Padfoot for escaping to Spain. Had he spent the past twelve years locked up in Azkaban, Remus, too, would wish to lounge on a beach of soft, warm sands and calm, clear waters. To feel the sun on his face and breathe air not corroded by mould and the stench of human waste.
The knowledge of being partly responsible for Sirius' imprisonment—if only in the sense that he'd allowed it to take place—made his stomach churn. It was yet another thought that weighed on Remus' shoulders and soured on his tongue, and he drowned it with a generous swig of firewhisky. There was nothing to be done for it—the war had left no one untouched, and however unstoppable its nature, this time they'd at least been granted the gift of directing it towards an imperfect, but more favourable outcome.
And though the exotic birds seemed a tad excessive—Spain had no shortage of owls, after all—Remus acknowledged the choice as Sirius' usual flare and took heart from the display.
His at times absurd friend was still there—albeit changed.
The warm buzz Remus felt as he lay on his bed, fully dressed and slightly dizzy, reminded him that, while very little of what was to come was good, there was some of it in store.
The very best being that, with the Triwizard Tournament about to take place, Hermione would go searching for a quiet haven amidst the chaos of a bustling castle. Not knowing that, in doing so, she would finally find her way to him.
He fell asleep smiling.
A large shadow flew through the window of The Garden's kitchen one morning. Its occupants scurried to make room for a great horned owl as it dove towards the dining table, graceful enough to land amidst several plates of food and glasses of juice without breaking or toppling any.
Neck turning on an axis, it scanned the room. Its yellow, unblinking eyes—framed by severe-looking ear tufts—settled on Remus. Clacks from its talons sounded twice against the wooden surface as the feathered creature shifted its body, facing him fully, and presented its left leg, expectantly.
One of the reasons why Remus had had no familiars during his Hogwarts years of pets throughout his life was that most animals, with the exception of other canines, weren't too keen on werewolves. With that in mind, he slowly reached out his hand. Once it became clear the bird remained unfazed and showed no signs of fear or defensiveness, Remus gently untied the letter and offered it a quick stroke on the head.
Task completed, the owl ruffled its wings, only instead of taking flight as expected, it shook in place. Molten feathers and fluff floated above and onto their breakfast before anyone could stop it. Cries of 'oi, c'mon!', 'seriously?', and 'good thing I wasn't all that hungry' rose along the table—Remus ignored them and unfolded the parchment.
You wouldn 't happen to have a place to house a dog and a hippogriff, would you?
It contained no signature, but if the message itself wasn't enough of an indicator of the sender, the intentionally sloppy handwriting certainly was.
"Sirius is coming back," he announced.
"Of course, he sent it. Did he run out of tropical birds?" Lily asked, fishing a sodden down feather from her teacup with a grimace. She let out a snort. "At least the Kingfisher he used before was actually house-trained."
She had only just finished speaking when the owl—either in retaliation or as the next in a series of carefully planned and premeditated moves—stole three large pieces of bacon in quick succession, scarfing them all down. Given that the food was now ruined, no one attempted to stop it.
Remus chuckled. Smart animal.
A summoning charm brought an inkwell to him, and Remus took his pick of the fallen tail feathers, choosing a heavily speckled one for a quill. He lay the same parchment Sirius had used on the table and scribbled down, 'Meet me at Durdle Door, off the coast in South Dorset, a week's time from Sunday. Come at night.'
Remus attached his response to its leg and the bird pilfered a fried egg before flying off.
The wind blowing from the open sea made his landing a bit treacherous. A light spray of cold water wet his face and clothes, sending a slight chill down his body. Remus stopped his broom—an old Cleansweep Seven which, though not necessarily fast by today's standards, was at the very least reliable—and dismounted it at the easternmost point of the small beach. Though hard to admire on a moonless night, he was as near to the naturally formed arch that named the location as the sand bank allowed.
Hard, almost gravel-like sand crunched under his soles and scraped the sides of his shoes, the sound loud enough to almost drown the gently lapping waves. Remus needn't walk far to find what he was after—even under the cover of darkness, a hippogriff was hard to miss. The pitch-black dog keeping it company, however, was much harder to spot against the moss-covered parts of the limestone background, yet spot it he did. "Well, unless you can fly this way, I'll need you to change back, Pads. We still have a ways to go."
The dog lifted its snout in the air and sniffed. With a single wag of its tail, it sat, too well-behaved by far, and morphed into his best friend.
"Moony." The embrace felt much like their last had, inside the Shack, though Sirius' clothes were no longer ragged, and his friend carried more meat around his bones this time around.
On the way here, to ensure he wasn't being tailed, Remus had alternated between apparating and flying. But, given Buckbeak's presence, apparition was no longer an option. He cast a Disillusionment charm over the three of them and remounted his hovering broom. "Follow me."
Before pushing off the ground, Remus cast a glance to the left. If they veered that way, he could take Sirius to Lily and James. Dorchester wasn't far from where they were, yet, at the same time, it couldn't possibly be farther—there would still be another two years before he could reunite his best friends, provided things went according to plan.
He directed them right instead. They flew along the shore for a while, cutting through the land before they reached Poole and Bournemouth—both of which were populated areas, and it wouldn't do to risk being seen despite their precautions. It was another twenty-minute stretch before Remus started the descent.
The little cabin in the heart of New Forest was the only inheritance his father had left after his passing, and Remus' mother had moved to a less isolated place long ago.
The protective wards still stood, their magic singing as he approached. He granted his companions access, and the three of them stepped forward. The structure, apart from the stone chimney, was comprised of long logs of varnished wood. A tiled roof—that Remus knew to be brown-coloured despite the paltry light—rose and fell in a triangular shape before extending in a semi-straight line over one of the rooms and the porch.
Wet leaves clung to the entrance steps, and Remus raised his wand and cast a Scourgify to be rid of them.
Other than when James joined him during his transformations, the house had stayed uninhabited, but ever since Sirius sent him word of his return, Lily and Prongs had been giving him a hand in sorting it out. Part of his belongings stayed at The Garden, while everything else had to be moved here.
Before stepping inside, Remus eyed the hippogriff Sirius had dismounted. He inclined his head and bowed low, holding the position to convey both respect and an apology. Traces of the predator in him snarled at the show of submission, but he held firm. Once the creature accepted his display with a bow of its own, Remus approached and patted its neck. "I have him to thank for stopping me."
"What do you mean?" Sirius reached into his robe pocket, pulling out an apple. The beast hardly waited before ducking to snatch the treat from Sirius' hand.
"I attacked Harry and Hermione in the Forbidden Forest that night. Buckbeak fought me in their defence."
There was a small change to Sirius' stance. "Oh."
Remus placed his hands in his trousers' pockets. "I have you to thank as well. Sorry I threw you around."
"I'm a tough mutt, Remus," Sirius said with a dismissive gesture. "If Azkaban didn't do me in, a little rough-and-tumble with Moony wouldn't be the thing that did. You weren't yourself," Sirius said, clapping a hand on Remus' shoulder.
Before Remus could say anything to the contrary, Sirius added. "The dementors on the other hand…"
More guilt piled on his chest as Sirius shuddered, and he swallowed hard against the knot in his throat. "Let's get in, shall we?"
Crossing the doorstep struck Remus with a sense of déjà vu that his earlier visits hadn't afforded him. Cleaned up and with his belongings inside, the place hit differently. Though smaller now that he had grown, it was as if time had stood still and that, at any moment, his mother would call him to their garden, pointing out a newly bloomed flower or a thriving herb.
Remus tried to shake off the wistful feeling. He supposed he had, in an odd sense, several places to call home. Each and every one of them somehow related to a garden or other.
November 10th, 1994
When the news reached him, it was far from a surprise.
Sirius read Harry's letter aloud as soon as he opened it, recounting that his godson had been chosen as a Triwizard champion. Remus listened in silence as Sirius' bark of laughter rang in the dingy living room before it faded entirely.
"I don't know who put my name in the Goblet of Fire…" Sirius trailed off, and grey eyes searched his. "Because I didn't... Harry's being set up, isn't he?"
Remus closed his eyes for a moment before reopening them. He rearranged himself on his armchair, leaning forward and bracing his elbows against his parted knees.
"It's an impressive bit of magic, that Goblet. For it to be tricked into drawing a fourth name, let alone one added by someone else…" Remus' nod held the finality of a passed sentence, and Sirius stood up from his seat. He paced along the diminutive space between their armchairs and the mantel—no more than three very short steps long—and buried a hand in his still ratty hair.
Though clean now, Sirius' wavy curls, much like his other features, remained a far cry from how they'd been in the past. He was underweight, eyes still haunted and sunken against marked cheekbones. The sun had changed Sirius' complexion from sallow to pale but fell short of granting it a healthy glow.
Even so, freedom suited him.
Sirius slowed to a stop near the empty grate, his back towards Remus, and rested a hand on the small, empty mantelpiece. Lines creased his forehead when he turned to Remus. "Any chance your fireplace is connected to the Floo?"
"No," Remus said. Then, with a quirk of his brow, he added, "But that's easily remedied."
November 23rd, 1994
The very next day after Sirius' fire-call with Harry, Remus woke to find his friend outside with Buckbeak. The sun was only just threatening to rise, the forest around them smothered by a blanket of white and eerily quiet as if in anticipation.
Remus sighed, and the air before him misted. "You're not staying, are you?"
Sirius shot him a half-smile. "I appreciate the help, Moony. Truly. But Harry needs me closer."
"I imagined as much." Remus went back inside. He grabbed a paper bag he got during one of his excursions into Poole, stepped outside, and extended it to Pads. "Here. Muggle medication. For the fleas."
Sirius' eyes glinted with amusement and something else Remus preferred not to name. "Thanks, mate."