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Chapter Text

Penance, Year One

Penance, Year Two 

Penance, Year Three

Sunday, May 13, 2001  

Teddy stood in front of the mirror, admiring himself. His face was split in a massive grin as he ran his little hands down the front of his black dress robes. His vibrant purple hair clashed horribly with the blue bowtie around his neck, but he looked thoroughly delighted. 

Remus knelt beside him on the floor of Madam Malkin's, smiling at the glee on his son's face. Even so, he felt his heart twist - Teddy looked so grown up. 

Where has the time gone?  

Behind him, he heard an excited gasp. Turning, he saw Molly rushing to Harry, who had just emerged in his wedding clothes. Molly gushed and fussed, to Harry's obvious embarrassment. Remus felt his mouth curl into a smile at the scene. 

He tried not to think of how much the young man looked like James. 

Turning his attention back to Teddy, he adjusted the arm of his little sleeves, frowning thoughtfully before giving Teddy a mock-serious look. 

“Now, no growing between now and the wedding, young man,” he warned, laughter audible in his voice. Teddy gave a solemn nod, as if accepting a great responsibility. 

Remus laughed, rising from his knees. His joints protested - won't be able to do that much longer.  

“Oh, don't you look handsome!” Molly was making her way towards them. Remus craned his neck and saw that Harry had disappeared back into the changing area. 

“Are they all done?” he asked as Molly bent forward, gushing over Teddy in his dress robes. 

“Not quite. I'm afraid Ron's robes were a little tight, so he needs some more adjustments.” Remus nodded awkwardly, unsure how to respond. 

“Er, well, I'm probably going to start checking out,” he said, eyeing the cash register. “Teddy will be ready for lunch soon.” 

He started to lead Teddy towards the dressing rooms, but Molly held up a hand. 

“Harry's paying for everyone's robes, dear,” she said, as if he were being daft. Remus frowned lightly. 

“No, I'd rather pay for Teddy's myself,” he said, unsure why his pride felt so bruised. 

Molly shook her head in exasperation. “Don't be ridiculous. He's paying for everyone else.” 

Remus’ frown deepened, but he forced his shoulders to relax, trying to hide his irritation. “I'm not sure I'm comf-” 

“Oh, hush,” Molly tutted, waving him away. She turned towards the fitting area. “Now, I need to check on Ron, but if you want to get a head start at the Leaky Cauldron, we can meet you once we -” Remus shook his head, cutting her off. 

“I think we're going to skip the pub,” he said blandly, even as images of angry patrons and flailing fists and brightly lit hexes flashed in his mind. He shook away the sound of Teddy's imagined screams in the background. 

Molly looked mildly affronted. “Oh,” she said, hesitating for a fraction of a second before rallying. “Well, if you’d rather not -” 

“I’d rather not,” Remus confirmed, firmer than he intended. He took a slow breath, softening his tone and offering her a smile. 

“I don't want to run into any trouble,” he muttered, giving her a pointed look. Molly finally nodded, understanding dawning on her face. The pity in her eyes made Remus’ mouth turn sour. 

“Of course, dear, I understand.” He nodded in thanks before nudging Teddy along to fetch his normal clothes. 

*** 

Tuesday, May 15, 2001  

Elaine skimmed her notes from her last few sessions with Remus, preparing for his arrival. 

He had been doing fairly well, as of late. He claimed he was drinking significantly less, admitting to a few slip-ups. She was inclined to believe him - he was looking a bit healthier, his skin a little less sallow, the circles under his eyes slightly smaller. She guessed he had gained a few kilograms since starting the new potion and she had to admit he had been a little easier to deal with - less evasive, less bitter. For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t dreading the hour ahead. 

He wore a soft, natural smile as he entered the office, closing the door softly behind him. He loped easily to his chair and sat, crossing his ankle over his knee. 

“Good afternoon,” he said warmly, with a small nod. Elaine nodded back. 

“Good afternoon,” she replied with a smile. “Have you been having a good week so far?” He seemed to give the matter some thought. 

“It's been… fine,” he said, sounding pleasantly surprised to say so. “Nothing out of the ordinary.” Elaine took a note, her smile widening slightly. She looked up, shifting her face into a more serious expression. 

“Well,” she said in a business-like tone. “It's been about eight weeks since you started Depressione Remedium - how are you feeling?” 

Remus shrugged noncommittally. “Good? Or at least better. I -” He scrunched his face as he searched for his words. He patted his hands together softly as he thought. 

“I can live with this,” he finally said, ducking his head, his voice little more than a whisper. “The way I was before - I'm not sure how much longer…” He swallowed hard, turning his face away. 

Elaine nodded in understanding. “I'm so glad that you decided to push for this,” she said, trying to catch his gaze. “I still want to keep an eye on your stats, but this seems to be making a big difference.” He nodded in agreement, his head still turned away. 

“About that,” he said, suddenly sounding edgy. “Do I have to - what I mean is, do I…” He seemed to lose his nerve, but Elaine thought she knew what he was trying to ask. 

“I told you when we started discussing this that I'll need regular medical reports to make sure everything remains stable. You're on some serious potions, Remus. You need to take them seriously.” 

He looked up, his face set like he was taking orders from a superior. She could suddenly see the man who had worked in an underground organization. The resistance fighter. The soldier. 

“I'm taking this very seriously,” he said with surprising intensity before dropping his eyes back to the floor. “Just tell me when you need the information.” 

Elaine nodded, a little taken aback. She took a note. “Well,” she said carefully. “The healer at Werewolf Services suggested a six-month follow up, but I think I'd like something a little sooner, just to be on the safe side.” 

She saw him deflate slightly, but he quickly re-squared his shoulders. 

“I, er, I can plan to go back after the June moon,” he said bluntly. Elaine noticed his fingers trembling almost imperceptibly. She frowned. 

“Is that alright with you?” 

Remus gave her a look as if she had asked something ridiculous. “Yes, I - of course,” he said breezily. Elaine's frown deepened slightly as Remus’ eyes darted. She opened her mouth to say something, but he beat her to the punch. 

“I don't want to go to Harry's wedding,” he blurted out, seemingly against his will. His fingers curled around the arms of his chair, clenching against the upholstery. He breathed heavily for a moment, looking surprised with himself. 

“I -” He looked down at his knees and pulled a thoughtful face. “I don't want to go.” 

Elaine leaned forward in her seat. “Do you know why? Is there any particular part of the day you're worried about?” 

Remus shrugged and frowned at the floor. “I've never really liked weddings,” he admitted, a touch of shame in his voice. “They always used to feel like a slap in the face - something I could never have.” Elaine couldn't help but feel like the words had been rehearsed - like he had prepared them as an escape plan. 

Still, she decided to play along - to see if she could beat him at his own game. 

“I can see where that would be painful,” she said gently. “Is it easier now that you've been married and had a child?” Remus gave a little chuckle as his mouth curled into a dark smile. 

“Well, the only wedding I've been to since my own ended with the downfall of the Ministry, so it's hard to tell.” 

Elaine took a note to revisit that particular statement another time. 

“Is it upsetting to you that you don't want to go?” she asked. Remus flinched almost imperceptibly - she supposed he hadn't prepared for that question. 

“I - yes, I suppose. That is, I feel guilty for not wanting to go,” he said, his fingers thoughtlessly pinching around his wedding ring. He seemed to lose his focus for a moment, staring at it. 

"I don't know why," he added with a small sigh. "It's like I should want to be there. For Harry.” His face grew distant and mournful. “For James and Lily. Sirius.” 

Elaine nodded, satisfied to have gotten to something real. “You don't owe it to anyone to go if you aren't comfortable,” she pointed out, but he immediately shook his head. 

“No, I'm going. Teddy's the ring bearer and - well, it just wouldn't be right to skip it.” He was looking at the bookshelf, running his fingers between each other nervously. Elaine studied him for a moment, trying to decide where to push. 

“Are you looking forward to Teddy’s role?” she asked and, again, Remus seemed taken aback by the question. 

“Oh, I, er - I suppose so,” he said, his voice unsteady as he found his bearings. “We picked up his dress robes the other day - I think he's getting excited.” His mouth twitched and Elaine smiled encouragingly. 

“Do you think you'll have fun with him at the reception?” she asked, trying to nudge him towards a less bleak picture of the event. His soft smile remained on his face this time. 

“He loves to dance,” he said with quiet fondness. “I'm sure he'll have a good time.” Elaine frowned lightly. 

“Do you think you'll be able to have a good time?” His smile faltered and he shrugged indifferently. 

“I'm going to try,” he said, not sounding particularly hopeful. Remus’ gaze flickered towards the clock on the wall, and he shifted in his seat, his posture rigid. "I should go," he said abruptly, as if to escape the conversation before it could dig any deeper. 

Elaine opened her mouth to protest - to try to draw him back in, but she hesitated, trying to determine if it was better to let him go this time. 

His hand was on the door by the time she decided to speak. 

“Remus?” He turned to face her, looking mildly concerned by the pointed look Elaine gave him. “Make sure you schedule that appointment,” she said firmly. He nodded, his mouth twitching in a half smile, before he slipped through the door. 

* 

He paced the length of the sitting room, rubbing his chin between his fingers. His eyes were hard as he argued with himself. 

He didn't want to be a liar anymore. He didn't want to risk the fragile trust he had built with Elaine. Didn't want to be the man who ran from his fears. 

But the thought of stepping foot in Werewolf Services again, of sitting under those sterile lights while some indifferent healer prodded and tested him, filled him with a visceral, almost nauseating dread. 

There was no way in Hell he was going back. 

He threw open the desk drawer, shoving aside the bottle of whisky he kept on hand, exposing the secret compartment at the bottom of the drawer. With a series of wand movements, he lifted the enchantments protecting the contents of the stash. 

He pulled out his journal, placing it on the desk to write in later, and set about digging through the rest of the contents. His fingers quickly landed on the report he was seeking, but he continued to rifle through the small collection of shameful things he kept hidden. A truly dreadful poem he had written that he was secretly attached to. An incriminating photo Sirius had once taken that Remus had never been able to bring himself to burn. A box of expired condoms. His marriage certificate. 

He slammed the lid back down on the hidey-hole and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He looked over the medical report from his physical, trying to become familiar with the numbers, several of which meant nothing to him. He jotted down the ones he would have to look up, making notes to research normal ranges and average fluctuations. 

He tapped his chin with his quill as he considered his plan, trying to ignore the voice in his head as it scolded him. 

Coward. Liar.  

He leaned back in his chair with a sigh, staring at the writeup thoughtfully. His gut squirmed at the thought of what Elaine would say if she figured out what he was planning to do. What she would do. It was almost certain she would refuse to refill his prescription. Highly likely she would refuse to meet with him anymore. The possibility of her reporting him crossed his mind, but he doubted it would get that far. 

He sat up, shaking his head, assuring himself that she would not find out. He could forge a document in his sleep and, while his medical knowledge extended almost exclusively to wound care, he still had three weeks to learn enough to write a convincing physical report.  

His heart hammered with excitement at the challenge. 

Chapter Text

Friday, May 25, 2001

The wind blew through the open window, fluttering the papers on each student desk. It brought with it the sweet scent of May blooms and pine from the forest. Remus looked up from a practice exam he had been grading from an earlier class and smiled at the industrious first-years scrawling away at their own tests.

“Do you need me to close the window?” he offered, noting how most of the students were pinning down their papers with their arms. He received a loud mumble of conflicting responses.

“How about a compromise?” he suggested, closing all but the front and rear-most windows. The papers settled against the desks, a cooling breeze still bathing the room. Remus smiled warmly before turning his attention back to his work.

For a few moments, the classroom settled into a familiar rhythm - students working diligently, quills scratching faintly against parchment. It was peaceful, in a way that made Remus feel both content and bittersweet. He always loved this time of year, the transition into summer, with its promise of freedom and growth.

His gaze softened as he looked at their young faces, all so eager to learn, to prove themselves. The thought of what they'd be capable of in the years to come brought him a quiet sense of pride.

Lucky to be here.

*

Remus popped the top button of his collar as he hurried through the corridors towards his office. He glanced down at his watch, trying to decide if he would have enough time to swing by the library before Kingsley was due at his house.

Teddy was already cramming books and toys into his bag by the time Remus arrived. “We go home now?” he asked eagerly. “I see Uncle K?”

Remus waved to Winky before turning to Teddy, his eyes wide with exaggerated excitement.

“Not yet - we're going to have an adventure!” he said breathlessly in an attempt to get Teddy on board. Teddy perked up, trotting towards Remus with a look of wonder.

“Where we go, Daddy?” he asked, reaching up his arms so Remus could pick him up.

Remus looked around cagily, making Teddy giggle before he whispered to him conspiratorially. “The library.” Teddy's mouth formed an ‘O,’ his eyes shifting mischievously, as if his father had suggested something naughty. Remus chuckled and hiked Teddy further up his hip.

By the time they reached the end of the corridor, Teddy had wriggled to the ground, much to Remus’ secret relief - the boy seemed to grow heavier every day.

Teddy was panting heavily by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, gripping tightly to the banister as he descended as quickly as his short legs were capable of.

The entry hall was bustling with students finishing up their day, their chatter echoing off the high ceilings. Some offered Remus friendly waves, while others smiled at Teddy, who beamed back at them like a prince surveying his kingdom. Remus chuckled to himself, watching as Teddy strutted confidently towards the library doors.

“Shh, Daddy,” Teddy whispered dramatically, tugging on Remus’ sleeve as he drew up beside him. “Quiet.”

Remus bit back a smile. “You’re absolutely right,” he whispered back with equal solemnity. He scooped Teddy up, perching him on his hip before slipping inside the heavy doors.

He stepped quietly down the main aisle, dwarfed by the impossibly tall bookshelves that rose on either side of him. The cavernous room was even quieter than usual, with only a few seventh-years scattered around the tables, cramming in revisions before dinner.

Remus stepped up to the front desk, his stomach flipping nervously as he cleared his throat to alert the librarian of his presence.

“Hello…er…” Of all the members of staff, the librarian was the only person who Remus was unsure how to address. It felt ridiculous, as a professor, to refer to her as ‘Madam Pince’ but he got the impression that referring to her as ‘Irma’ would not go over well either.

“I wondered if you could point me to some books on healing. I have some research to -” He was silenced by her glare which, he realized, was directed at Teddy. He felt a swoop of - not guilt, exactly, but he couldn't help but feel like he had committed a grave infraction.

“I'll leave if he starts to fuss, but he's quiet and…” he fell silent again, feeling like a frightened first year.

Begrudgingly, Madam Pince bent over a piece of parchment and scrawled down some numbers. She handed over the slip of parchment. “Don't let him touch anything,” she warned. Remus hurried to the back of the library, eager to escape the librarian's piercing gaze.

He scanned the shelves for the reference numbers she had provided, silently begging Teddy to stay quiet. He quickly found what he was looking for and filled his free arm with a handful of volumes on basic healing.

They made it back to the front desk without incident. Remus set the books down and waited for Madam Pince to inspect them. She did so with a slow, scrutinizing gaze, her lips pursed as if she expected Teddy to explode into mischief at any moment.

“I expect these returned in their proper condition,” she intoned, stamping each book with a sharp thump.

“Of course,” Remus assured her, tucking them under his arm once more. He wondered if her coolness was due to Teddy, or if she could tell by looking at him that Remus was guilty of dogearring pages.

He tucked the books into his bag and scurried away, as if she might call him back for a proper scolding.

Back in the safety of the halls, he set Teddy down, allowing him to run ahead.

Between Teddy's short legs, Remus’ bad knee, and the added weight of the books in his bag, it took them several minutes to reach the top of the stairs. Remus was embarrassed by how heavily he was breathing, but he pushed through, nudging Teddy along - they still had two flights left to reach Remus’ office.

He took another look at his watch, alarmed by the time. He bent down to encourage Teddy to pick up the pace, nearly crashing into Professor Anderson as she turned the corner.

“Careful there!” she laughed, sidestepping just in time to avoid a collision. Remus stammered out an apology as Teddy continued to run past the professor as if she wasn't there.

Remus started to follow him, but Melanie brushed his shoulder with her hand, seemingly oblivious to his rush.

“Coming out tonight?” she asked, looking unsurprised when he shook his head.

“No, unfortunately I have a guest coming over tonight,” he said with a smile, pointedly looking over his shoulder for Teddy, hoping she'd get the hint and let him go. Instead, she raised her eyebrows and smirked.

“A lady friend?” she teased. Remus’ face fell immediately at the insinuation, his gut twisting.

“No,” he said, a little more defensively than he had intended. “Just a friend.”

There was an awkward beat before Melanie gave him an apologetic look.

“I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking - I'm sorry,” she stammered, clearly kicking herself for the faux pas. Remus softened his face and voice.

“It's fine,” he said lightly, even though his heart was still pounding. He rocked back on his heels awkwardly, unsure how to escape the conversation without looking like he storming off.

Luckily, Teddy came to his rescue, barreling back down the corridor, his eyes wide and urgent. 

“Daddy, I gotta potty!” Teddy shrieked. Remus barely concealed his relief as he scooped up his son.

“Sorry,” he called over his shoulder as he hurried to the loo. Melanie let out a half-hearted laugh as Remus disappeared, Teddy clinging to his neck like a lifeline.

"Er, good luck!" she called after them. Remus barely had time to wave before the door swung shut behind them. 

*

Remus reeled, nearly dropping Teddy as his heavily laden bag swung around him, throwing him off balance. His back slammed against the back of his fireplace, knocking the wind from his lungs. He let Teddy slide to the ground as he steadied himself, bracing his hands against the sooty bricks, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

“Always the picture of grace,” laughed a deep, rumbling voice from the room beyond. Remus let out a soft huff of a laugh.

“Uncle K!” Teddy squealed. Remus heard a quiet grunt that told him Teddy had flung himself at Kingsley. Pressing away from the bricks, Remus ducked out of the fireplace, smiling sheepishly.

“I don't suppose you could forget you saw that?” he asked without much hope. Kingsley’s lips clamped together in an attempt to contain his laughter.

“Er, no - I don't think I'll ever forget you looking like that.” Remus rolled his eyes and loped towards the bathroom, snorting with laughter at the sight of his reflection.

He looked rather like a chimney sweep, his face smudged with shoot, his hair covered in patches of black where ashes had rained down on him.

He felt Kingsley settle in the doorway, chuckling under his breath. “You should see your back, mate. Those robes might be officially ruined.” Remus made a half-hearted attempt to inspect his back before shrugging.

“Well, Andy's been after me to retire these anyway,” he said lightly. “Do you mind if I -” He thumbed over his shoulder towards the shower, a light blush rising up his cheeks.

“Yeah, yeah of course,” Kingsley said, stepping back from the doorway. Remus wished he had kept his mouth shut and just washed up at the sink with his wand, but it felt even more awkward to change his mind now.

“Right, thanks,” he mumbled, dropping his eyes to the ground as he flicked his wand to summon a change of clothes. “I'll be quick.”

He hurried through his shower, the water running grey and gritty down his body as he rinsed out his hair. He felt as though he was on display - as though he was standing naked in the middle of the sitting room, rather than behind a locked door and drawn shower curtain.

Once the water ran clear, he shut off the tap, drying and dressing as quickly as possible. He buttoned up his jeans, tugging a light jumper over his head.

He ran a comb roughly through his hair as he threw open the bathroom door to join Kingsley and Teddy in the sitting room.

“Sorry,” he said lightly, sweeping into the room, only mildly embarrassed to realize that he was in his socks - his shoes lay forgotten by the tub.

Kingsley looked up from where he sat cross-legged on the floor with Teddy. He wore an unreadable expression on his face. His eyes were searching and thoughtful, even as he smiled warmly. “You look good,” he said, his voice deep and steady. Remus smiled self-consciously.

“I don't know about that,” he chuckled nervously. “I'll accept ‘not horrible.’”

For a moment, Kingsley looked like he might argue, but he merely hummed, turning his gaze back to Teddy. “Well, you look better than you have lately,” he said in a compromising tone.

Remus shrugged. “Working on it." He wasn't sure why he didn't want Kingsley to know about the potion, but he kept that particular detail to himself. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he rocked nervously, feeling oddly naked without his shoes.

“Er, are you hungry?” he asked, more for a change in subject than anything. “We haven't eaten yet.” Kingsley’s eyes ran over Remus before he turned and smiled at Teddy.

“I could honestly go for some pizza,” he said, sounding genuinely enthusiastic. “It’s been ages since I’ve had any.” Teddy jumped up excitedly at the mention of pizza, his face lighting up with the sheer joy of the idea.

“Pizza!” he shouted, hopping in place. Remus smiled indulgently.

“Well, then, pizza it is!”

Chapter Text

Friday, May 25, 2001, continued

They enjoyed one of the nicest evenings Remus had had in a long time. After apparating to a pizza takeout in London that Kingsley swore by, they popped by the Leaky Cauldron, Remus waiting outside with Teddy while Kingsley ran in for some bottles of butterbeer. It took him several minutes to escape from everyone who wanted to shake his hand, but he emerged from the pub smiling and laughing. 

When they arrived back at the edge of Remus’ security wards, Kingsley threw an arm over his friend's shoulder, giving him a little shake before helping Teddy down from Remus’ hip so the boy could run through the field towards the ramshackle old cottage. 

They sat around the coffee table, making a picnic of their pizza and butterbeers, laughing as Remus and Kingsley swapped old stories. Teddy quickly lost interest and busied himself with creating a gallery's worth of drawings for Kingsley to take home, each as dreadful as the last. Nevertheless, Kingsley accepted each offering with gasps of amazement and gratitude. 

A record played softly in the background, the flickering lamps casting a warm glow over the darkening room. Remus felt a gentle happiness settle in his bones. It had been a long time since he'd felt so light, so at ease. 

Home. 

The word popped in his mind, unbidden, catching him off guard. The peace that had started to envelop him dissipated at the thought. 

Quit playing ‘happy family,’ the voice in his head scolded. It was the harshest it had sounded in weeks. 

He rose, his knee catching painfully as he tried to straighten it. He felt the ache in his back that he should have expected after sitting on the ground, the strain in his hips. 

“Come on, Sky Boy, time for bed,” he said, waving Teddy over. Teddy groaned in protest but didn’t argue, rubbing his eyes as he tottered over to his father.  

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Remus said, scooping Teddy up and making his way toward the stairs leading to Teddy’s bedroom. Kingsley merely smiled softly at the pair.  

By the time Remus made it back downstairs, Kingsley had cleaned up the leftover pizza and was sitting on the couch, using his wand to chill two new bottles of butterbeer. Remus accepted his bottle gratefully, sinking into the opposite side of the couch. 

They sat companionably, sipping their drinks quietly, simply enjoying each other's presence. Remus felt the same sense of peace start to settle over him again. He resisted the urge to push it away. 

He shifted so he was facing Kingsley, his leg hooked under him, elbow resting on the back of the couch. Comfortable. Easy. 

“Do you know what you're getting Harry and Ginny for the wedding?” he asked, sounding rather hopeless. “I haven't the slightest.” Kingsley gave him a quizzical look as he sipped from his bottle. 

“There was a list of charities in the invitation - they want people to make donations in lieu of gifts.” Remus gave a small shrug. 

“I know, I'm going to do that, but…” He took a sip from his butterbeer, letting his words die. 

Kingsley gave him a look like he was trying to read his thoughts. “I'm sure they'd be fine with something small, but they don't need much.” 

Remus hummed in agreement. There wasn't anything they needed, really. They'd be moving to Grimmauld Place, he had heard, and he knew Harry had more money than he could ever possibly use. Still, he felt as though the occasion warranted a gift of some kind. 

“I was thinking about carving them a love spoon,” he mused aloud, looking down at his half-empty bottle thoughtfully. “My dad made one for my mam, even though he isn't Welsh.” He tried not to focus on his failure to make one for Dora. 

Frowning, he chuckled a self-deprecating laugh. “Now that I say it out loud it sounds stupid,” he said, shaking his head at his foolishness. 

“Nah, mate. I think it sounds nice,” Kingsley said in a surprisingly soft voice. Almost tender. Remus looked up with his eyes, his head still ducked with embarrassment. 

He felt something in the air shift, or perhaps it was something in himself. He wanted to move closer, to narrow the gap between them just a bit. He felt his pulse quicken, his stomach tighten. 

A tapping at the window broke the spell. Both men snapped to attention, Remus rising to his feet. He mindlessly opened the window to accept the owl's missive, sending the bird back into the night. He scanned the envelope with his eyes before tossing it on the small pile of mail on the side table. Kingsley gave the pile a cautious look. 

“You can open it if you want,” he said, nodding to the top envelope. “I don't mind.” Remus shook his head, shrugging off the letter even as his face fell. 

“Not tonight,” he said distantly, his fingers brushing against the stack of letters. He turned away, feeling the familiar weight of old, unresolved thoughts settle back into his chest. 

Kingsley watched him with interest, gauging the shift in Remus’ mood. He seemed to determine that Remus was done for the night. 

“I should probably be heading out,” Kingsley said with a stretch. “I have a guest coming in the morning.” Remus quirked his eyebrows and smirked sarcastically. 

“A lady friend?” he asked in the same teasing tone Melanie had used with him earlier. Kingsley frowned, clearly confused. Remus waved his hand dismissively at his own lame joke. 

“Never mind, it was just something -” He cut himself off as Kingsley’s face shifted from confusion to something more akin to evasiveness. His jaw tightened, his dark eyes darting. Remus felt his heart ice over. 

“Oh.” The word barely left his lips before his stomach twisted. A tight pain settled in his chest as he dropped his gaze. He had been joking. Just joking. 

Kingsley tucked his hands in his pockets, his face unusually sheepish. 

“Er, yeah,” he muttered, rocking uneasily. “Well, not a ‘lady friend’ - I wasn't going to say anything just yet…” Remus nodded to the floor. 

“I understand,” he said roughly, his voice little more than a whisper. “Figuring out where you stand.” 

Kingsley cleared his throat, his eyes drifting to the fireplace. “Er, yeah. We met while I was in Australia back in February and, well, I think -” He let out a sharp breath, meeting Remus’ eye. 

“I, er.” Kingsley sighed, as if the words pained him to say. “I'm going to invite him to Harry's wedding.” 

Remus knew what he really meant - he was planning to go public. 

This is serious. 

No, I'm Sirius, Sirius said in his head - an old habit he had never been able to break. 

“Is that wise? Coming out as… you know…” He waved his hand aimlessly. Kingsley gave him a sad look. 

“It's not exactly a secret,” he replied with a small shrug. “I've never really hidden it - but yes, it will probably be ugly for a bit.” 

Remus’ face creased thoughtfully. “Maybe you should wait,” he said carefully, telling himself he was speaking in Kingsley's best interest. “You know the media's going to try to swarm the wedding, and you wouldn't want a scandal coming out in the middle of Harry's…” He trailed off, suddenly too tired and oddly nauseous to finish his argument. Kingsley nodded thoughtfully. 

“Yeah - I'm going to talk to Harry once I know for sure - that is, I don't want to bring it up until I know Chip's on the same page.” 

Remus looked up, his face dubious. “His name is Chip?” he asked, failing to keep a hint of mockery out of his voice. Kingsley rolled his eyes and smirked. 

“You don't get to make fun of anyone's name, Remus,” he said dryly. Remus’ face tugged into a reluctant smile. 

“Fair enough,” he said, swallowing back a retort - he wasn’t in the mood for banter. Kingsley eyed him anxiously. 

“I, er, I was going to tell you soon, just -” He let out a sharp breath, his eyes wandering around the room. “Are you okay with…” 

Remus looked back at the letters before forcing a broad smile. “Of course!” he said brightly, patting Kingsley's shoulder. “I'm happy for you.” He almost meant it. 

Kingsley didn't look convinced. "I know things between us have been… complicated.” 

Remus' smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly steadied himself, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Complicated’s one word for it,” he said lightly, doing his best to look amused, but the effort fell flat. 

The silence between them stretched for a few beats, heavy with the words that weren’t said. He couldn’t tell if it was the weight of the conversation or the lingering exhaustion from the day, but he suddenly felt tired. Bone-deep tired. 

Kingsley finally sighed, sniffing lightly. 

“I just - I should have told you sooner, but I just -” He hesitated, and Remus recognized the look on his face. He had seen it before, when Kingsley had started to say something that might shake the careful balance between them. 

Remus’ mouth went dry, but he continued to smile. “I'm happy for you,” he repeated, his voice quiet but firm. Kingsley gave him a grateful smile, his eyes shining. He opened his arms, pulling Remus in for a hug. Remus stiffened, awkwardly bringing his hands to rest between Kingsley’s shoulders. 

“You're a good mate,” Kingsley said in an unusually raspy voice. Remus didn’t respond. He wished Kingsley would let go. His spicy scent, usually such a comfort, turned cloying. Overwhelming. Suffocating. 

Finally, after far too long, Kingsley released him. Remus hid his relief behind a gentle smile. 

“I'll, er, see you at the wedding,” he said by means of farewell. Kingsley gave a single nod. 

“Yeah, mate. I'll see you there.” He reached for the Floo powder and was just about to step into the fireplace when Remus called after him. 

“Have a nice visit with Chip.” He sounded genuine, at least to his own ears. Kingsley gave him a final sad smile before disappearing in a pillar of green flames. 

Remus’ smile fell as soon as Kingsley was out of sight. He paced moodily, running his fingers through his hair, biting his nails. 

He had no right to be disappointed, he knew. He had done nothing but push Kingsley away the past three years - for good reasons, he knew. 

They could never be anything, he told himself. It would be the end of Kingsley's career - possibly his own as well. Everything Kingsley had done in Remus’ interest would be called back into question. 

Not to mention, of course, that he would sooner die than let his father know the truth about him. The idea was enough to make him coil into a ball of nerves. Edgy. Sharp. 

His hands began to shake as all the feelings he had pressed down the past few weeks rose to the surface. Disgust. Shame. Fear. Loneliness. 

With a sigh, he slumped into his desk chair and reached for the bottle of whisky he kept in the top drawer. 

For a moment, he just held it, the weight of it familiar in his hands. Then, with great effort, he placed it back in the drawer and shut it firmly. 

He glanced toward the pile of unopened letters and picked up the one that had arrived earlier. He turned it over in his hands, his fingers brushing absently over the unornamented seal. 

He wanted to open it. Wanted to read the hateful words. Wanted to pour salt into the wound that Kingsley’s news had created. His nails dug beneath the seal, but he tossed the letter back down, as if it had bitten him. 

He breathed heavily, trying to tamp down his rising agitation. He thought he was past this, past the spirals into despair. Past the bitterness. The desperation. 

He rushed to his feet, ready to outrun the rat as it scurried, urging him to reach for the bottle, to erase the last few hours. He skulked down the hall, throwing open the medicine cabinet for his nightly potion. He gripped the miniscule bottle like it was his salvation, but he knew better. 

He swallowed the tiny dose, capping the vial and returning it to the tray, avoiding his reflection as he closed the mirrored door. 

He brushed his teeth. Splashed water on his face. Slapped his cheek as if he could knock the image of Kingsley entangled with some faceless Australian from his mind. Water droplets dripped from his chin, running in rivulets down his throat, sending an unpleasant shiver down his spine. 

Pressing away from the sink, he stormed back down the hall. He intended to go straight to his bed, to bury himself beneath the blankets and pretend he was happy for his friend, but his feet carried him towards the desk. 

Without a thought, he opened the top drawer, twisting the cap from the whisky bottle as he made his way to his dark, lonely room. 

Chapter Text

Thursday, May 31, 2001  

He stood, knee deep in the lake, his students gathered in the shallows, barefooted with trousers rolled up high on their calves. Smooth stones sank into the silt beneath his feet as he sloshed about, searching for his quarry. He saw a fish dart away as he drew nearer, but his eyes quickly snapped to the round, white bulb he had been seeking. With a victorious smile, he plunged his hand into the cool water of the mountain lake, plucking the rough-shelled treasure from the riverbed.  

He couldn't have hoped for a better day for this lesson. His seventh-years had requested tutorials on field medicine and survival techniques - as a reward for their high marks on their practice exams, he had complied. When he had arrived that morning and felt the warm sun streaming through the castle windows, he knew it would be the perfect day for their latest excursion.  

So far, they had covered life basics - shelter, food sources, water purification. Today, they could enjoy something a little more hands on.  

He extracted a large knife from the sheath he had attached to his belt. He allowed himself a moment to feel the thrill of drawing a blade - was there a more epic feeling in the world? - before addressing the class.  

“Piece of advice - always keep a knife on hand when you're out in the field. I know we tend to rely on our wands, but if you ever find yourself disarmed it's always useful to have a backup on hand. Plus,” he added with a cheeky smile. “You'll look pretty cool.”  

The class chuckled, a few students exchanging grins as they watched him expertly handle the knife. The lake water lapped at their ankles, and the crisp mountain air carried the scent of pine and damp earth.  

Remus adjusted his grip on the knife and held up the round, white bulb for them to see.  

“This,” he said. “Is an example of Bulbus lunaris, commonly known as the moonward bulb. It’s excellent for field medicine - antimicrobial properties, helps prevent infection, and, if you’re desperate, it even works as a mild pain reliever.” He tossed the bulb from one hand to the other, then began peeling away its outer layer with practiced ease.  

“Now,” he continued, slicing the bulb neatly in half with his knife. “It’s not as strong as a potion, but if you don’t have access to a healer or your potions kit, you can use the juice to clean a wound. Rub the crushed bulb directly onto a cut, and it’ll help prevent infection. The smell, however, is something you’ll have to live with.”  

A few students groaned in exaggerated disgust as the sharp scent of plant rose in the air. Others leaned in with curiosity. One boy, Irving Chambers, wrinkled his nose. “Professor, wouldn’t a simple healing charm be easier?”  

Remus gave him a knowing look. “Of course, if you have your wand. But let’s say you don’t. Maybe you’ve lost it, or it’s been snapped in half during a nasty fall. I've found myself in plenty of situations where magic wasn't an option and having a backup plan and the proper tools ended up making all the difference.”  

He saw the way their minds raced, picturing all sorts of dangerous scenarios their professor might have faced. He chose to keep the actual stories to himself.  

Eager to cut through the shift in mood, he tossed the cut-up bulb to Irving.  

“You won’t always have your magic,” he said, his voice gentler now. “But you’ll always have your wits. And a bit of knowledge can save your life.”  

He checked his watch - ten minutes left of class. He had planned to wrap up with a demonstration on making a simple poultice, but he looked out over the lake, smiling as the Giant Squid waved a tentacle, as if in greeting.  

“Well,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “I think we could take the last few minutes and simply ‘chill out.’” He smirked with exaggerated self-consciousness. “Do you kids still say ‘chill out’ these days?” he asked with a mock wince, as if bracing for their judgment.  

Laughter rippled through the group. A few students exchanged amused glances, while one particularly bold girl, Marigold Vance, grinned and said, “Not really, Professor, but we’ll let it slide.”  

Remus sighed dramatically. “How generous of you.”  

With a flick of his wand, he dried his hands and stepped back onto the shore, watching as some students waded further into the water, splashing each other in playful retaliation. Others took the opportunity to lounge on the sun-warmed rocks, chatting idly.  

He leaned against a boulder, pulling his socks and shoes back on, enjoying the sound of laughter coming from the shoreline. He indulged himself for a brief moment, closing his eyes and turning his face to the sun, soaking up its warmth.  

*  

His students were well on their way to the castle by the time he finished clearing away the makeshift classroom he had pulled together. The sun was still high in the sky, despite the late hour - summer was well on its way.  

He slung his bag over his shoulder, feeling surprisingly energetic as he traipsed along the lakeshore. He took the long way around to the castle, habitually avoiding the courtyard - he had no desire to relive the memories that place held.  

The grounds were relatively quiet. Most of the students were settled in the Great Hall for dinner, but he could see a few stragglers hanging around the grounds, soaking up what remained of the day.  

His eyes flickered towards the Whomping Willow in the distance, as if it had called out to him. He slowed to a halt, frowning thoughtfully as an idea came to him. He hesitated for a moment, thinking, before pivoting on the spot to march towards the tree.  

Ignoring the anxious roiling of his stomach, he approached the tree with an air of confidence he didn’t quite feel. After over twenty years, the willow still felt like a promise of pain.  

He pointed his wand towards the roots, levitating a fallen stick and using it to jam the well-known knot that brought the tree to a standstill.  

Keeping one eye on the stick, lest it fall and leave him trapped in a net of thrashing branches, he peered up at the tree, trying to select his quarry.  

He finally selected a particularly thick branch that hung low, inviting his knife. He briefly considered the wisdom of doing this the muggle way, but he couldn't shake the feeling that using magic would be cheating, that it would somehow diminish the gift.  

Plucking the knife from its sheath, he reached up and began hacking away at the branch. The tree trembled, but the stick pressing against its knotty root held it frozen. Defenseless.  

He found himself getting caught up in the violence of the act. Each stroke of the knife sent splinters flying, the sharp scent of fresh wood filling his nose. The rhythm of it was almost hypnotic - strike, split, tear - until, with one final wrench, the branch came free.  

Remus stumbled back a step, the weight of the severed limb unexpected in his hands. He breathed heavily, staring at the jagged edge where the branch had once grown, feeling an odd sort of satisfaction. The willow, so long a silent witness to his suffering, had given something back to him.  

The branch thrashed desperately in his hand, like a headless chicken that had yet to notice it was dead. He held tight as the violent struggle subsided into ever-weaker twitches, until the bit of wood gave a final shiver and lay lifeless in his hands.  

He let out a breath, running a hand through his damp hair. He turned the branch over in his hands - it was sturdy but not too thick - perfect for what he had in mind.  

Satisfied, he tucked his knife away and slung the branch over his shoulder before stepping back from the tree. He raised his wand to dislodge the stick, but he paused, suddenly remembering.  

He ducked back under the branches and ran a hand along the trunk, searching. After a minute, his hand brushed against a bit of raised bark. A scar. Rising to his toes, he grinned, even as tears pricked his eyes.  

After twenty-five years, it was still there, etched forever into a broad branch.  

MWPP  

He couldn't remember who had carved it, or when, but he recalled the sense of gratitude and love he had felt every time he had seen that carving, knowing that he would not be alone with his monster that night.  

He ran his fingertips over the rough, weathered letters, tracing each initial with reverence.  

Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs .  

The ghosts of his youth whispered in the rustling leaves above, but he did not turn away. He let himself stand there, breathing in the scent of earth and wood and mountain air, his fingers pressed against a relic of a time when love had been loud and reckless, when his friends had made sure he never faced the darkness alone.  

His throat tightened, but he exhaled slowly, grounding himself in the present. He had come here for a reason.  

He stepped back, raising his wand once more to remove the stick, watching as the willow shuddered to life, its branches groaning and whipping violently in protest.  

*  

He sat on the couch, a hunk of the willow branch in one hand, a small, sharp knife in the other. He braced his elbows on his spread knees, scraping away layers of wood in long, deliberate strokes. Fragrant shavings fell like snowflakes onto the threadbare rug.  

The branch had been harder than he expected, its core dense and stubborn, but that only made the process more satisfying. He worked slowly, shaping the wood with purpose.  

“Daddy?” Teddy asked, looking up from his puzzle. “What you doing?” Remus smiled to himself.  

“Overestimating my abilities as a whittler,” he said dryly. Teddy tilted his head in confusion. Remus chuckled softly and waved Teddy over.  

Teddy climbed onto his father's knee, peering curiously at the bit of wood in his hand. Remus held it up for inspection, looking at it thoughtfully.  

“You see, Teddy, this is called a love spoon. I'm making it for Harry and Ginny.” Teddy looked at the chunked-up branch dubiously.  

“Spoon?” he asked, squinting his eyes. Remus chuckled softly, running a thumb over the rough edges of the wood.  

"Not quite yet, but it will be.”  

Teddy stared at the wood, then at his father, clearly trying to understand. "This for Harry and Gin?" he asked, his brow furrowing in concentration. Remus nodded with a gentle smile.  

“If it turns out - I haven't had much practice,” he chuckled, turning his attention back to the piece of wood in his hand. He held it closer so Teddy could see the design, marked out carefully in pencil.  

“There's a heart - because Harry and Ginny love each other. And this right here is going to be a lock and key, because they take care of each other and keep each other safe.”  

“Safe,” Teddy repeated, almost to himself as he reached out to prod the wood with his fingertips. Remus pointed to the last detail.  

“And these loops are going to be a chain,” he concluded, not bothering to try to explain the concept of links. “It's a tradition. People carve these for people they love.”  

Teddy looked up at Remus’ face. “You love Harry, Daddy?” he asked innocently, tilting his head.  

Remus hesitated, his throat suddenly tight. He turned the roughly carved wood over in his hands, thinking.  

“I, er - yes, I suppose I do,” he said, his voice unexpectedly thick. “The way he loves you,” he clarified, eager to dispel any possible misunderstanding. Teddy nodded in understanding, stroking his fingers against Remus’ sleeve.  

“I love Harry,” he lisped to himself. Remus smiled, his heart so warm it almost hurt.  

“He loves you too, cariad,” he said brushing Teddy's fringe back from his eyes. “So does Ginny, and Ms. Molly, and Mr. Arthur -”  

“I love you, Daddy,” Teddy interrupted, grinning up at Remus, his eyes shining in the lamp light. Remus felt a lump form in his throat, his heart swelling at the pure affection in Teddy's voice. He paused for a moment, his hand still brushing his son's hair back, before pulling him close for a tight hug.  

"I love you too, Teddy," he whispered, his voice catching.  

*  

He stood in the doorway of Teddy’s room, leaning his temple against the wooden frame as he watched his son sleep, marveling at how peaceful he looked. How remarkable he was.  

Lucky to be here.  

Teddy's breath hummed steadily in the otherwise silent bedroom. A reassuring sound. Remus felt his heartbeat slow until it seemed to be keeping tempo with Teddy's soft snores.  

He wished he could stay there. Wished he didn't have to face the silence of the night, where his demons could ambush him. Wished he could stay safe in the gentle presence of his sleeping child.  

With a reluctant sigh, Remus stepped back, easing the door closed before making his way down the stairs.  

The house felt oppressively quiet. Heavy. Lonely.  

He stood aimlessly in the sitting room, trying to ignore the thoughts that always came to him once Teddy was asleep and he was stuck with only himself for company.  

He didn't want to think about the moon next week. Didn't want to think about the pain in his belly when he took his potions - the pain that had become distressingly severe during his last transformation. He didn't want to think about Kingsley. Didn't want to imagine him at the wedding, wrapped up in his boyfriend, glowing with new love. He didn't want to think about anything.  

His eyes darted to the desk. He hadn't touched the dwindling bottle of whisky hidden there since the night Kingsley visited, but it had called to him every night since. His tongue felt cottony and thick as the rat made promises of numbness. Of painlessness. Of escape.  

He turned instead to the kitchen, filling a glass of water at the tap. He drank deeply, as if the water could wash away the incessant loop running in his head.  

With a sense of resignation, he set the glass aside and trudged to the bathroom, reaching into the medicine cabinet for his Wolfsbane. He poured the nightly dose into the cup on the edge of the sink, looking down at it with disgust.  

He tapped the cup with his wand, warming it until pungent steam rose towards his face. He steeled himself, taking the first sip with a grimace. His stomach clenched, but he breathed through his nose and took another gulp.  

By the time the cup stood empty on the sink, he felt too nauseated to even consider turning to the bottle in his desk.  

One good thing about this shit.  

He turned on the tap and cupped his hands, rinsing the bitter taste from his mouth. He would have to wait to take his other potion.  

He meandered back to the sitting room, setting a record on the player. He sank into the couch with a sigh, his back to the desk, and picked up the would-be-spoon along with his carving knife.  

The record turned, scratching softly beneath the warm melodies and harmonies. A scattering of wood shavings clung to the wool of Remus’ trousers, but he didn't bother sweeping them away. He simply allowed himself to get lost in the soothing rhythm of carving.  

The sharp scrape of the knife against the wood echoed softly in the stillness of the room.  

Chapter Text

Tuesday, June 5, 2001  

He was fine. Perfectly fine. 

He was always weak and shaky leading up to the moon. It was normal for him to find food nauseating. To retch up anything he managed to get down. To feel so exhausted he could barely stand. 

He gasped as a feeling like a hot knife stabbed his belly, fire burning around the sharpness. He gripped his middle, curling up protectively on his sweaty sheets. 

The stomach pain was far from normal. In fact, it was unlike anything he had ever experienced, including after the battle when his abdomen was nearly severed. 

It had started as a dull pain the first moon after starting his new potion - odd and uncomfortable, but bearable, easy to brush off. The May moon had been worse, with a hot burning pain radiating through his middle just before moonrise, like his organs were on fire. Now, as the June moon drew nearer, the pain had returned. It wasn’t like before, when the symptoms had started at moonrise. The pain had been growing steadily worse since he started his Wolfsbane routine. He had barely eaten since Sunday, but he had still found himself repeatedly doubling over, retching up the little bit he had forced down. 

Still, he told himself, he was fine. He had to be fine. 

As the pain subsided, he loosened his grip on his stomach, freeing his arm to check his watch. He had to hurry if he was going to make it to his therapy appointment. 

With effort, Remus pushed himself upright, forcing down the wave of dizziness that followed. His head throbbed in protest, his stomach twisting sharply as if reprimanding him for even considering movement. He braced himself against the bedpost, inhaling deeply through his nose. 

He had to go to his appointment. Had to show Elaine that he was as healthy as any werewolf before the moon. Had to prove there was nothing to worry about. 

One foot on the floor. Then the other. 

The pain didn’t spike again immediately, but his stomach ached, a deep, pulsing discomfort that told him something was wrong. Not just the usual pre-moon sickness. Not just his body rebelling against him as it always did. This was different. 

He gripped his cane and stumbled to the bathroom, rummaging through the cabinet. He took a small swig of pain potion - just enough to take the edge off. 

The sharp taste coated his tongue, but he forced it down, exhaling shakily as he screwed the cap back on. It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough. 

His fingers trembled as he braced himself against the sink, counting his breaths. The pain dulled, but it didn’t disappear. It settled in his gut, a slow, persistent throb that made him feel raw and unsteady. 

He could manage. 

He had to. 

* 

Elaine had known to expect Remus to be far from his best, given the full moon the following night. She was prepared for him to be tired, weak, ill-tempered. 

Looking at him now, however, she was surprised he hadn't canceled his appointment. She had a feeling he wouldn't make it through the full hour. 

He was already slumping slightly in his chair, his face wan and weary. A thin film of sweat coated his skin, dampening his fringe. He occasionally winced, his abdomen clenching as if he was bracing against a stabbing pain. 

Elaine leaned forward in concern. “Are you alright?” she asked, despite the evidence to the contrary. 

Remus nodded faintly, pressing his lips together as if debating whether to elaborate. His reluctance wasn’t new, but it was different. He wasn’t being evasive - he was depleted. 

Elaine studied him for a moment, then reached for her notebook, flipping to a fresh page. "You don’t have to be here if it’s too much today. We can reschedule.” 

He shook his head, which drooped forward slightly. “I'm here now - might as well do what we can,” he said lightly, though his voice was extremely hoarse. 

Elaine wasn't sure if it was wise to allow him to stay, but she decided to humor him. 

She conjured a tall glass, filling it with cool water from the tip of her wand. Remus accepted it with a pale, shaking hand, taking a self-conscious sip before setting it down on the table beside him. 

“Thank you,” he muttered, leaning against the back of his chair. 

Elaine poised her quill over her notebook. “You look very ill. Is this normal?” 

He nodded without hesitation. Elaine lowered her quill and looked at him sadly. 

“I'm very sorry that you go through this every month,” she said, striking a balanced tone that did not tip too far into pity. 

Remus simply shrugged. “It's fine, I'm used to it,” he said with a brave smile. His eyes were filled with pain. 

Elaine sighed, her face heavy with concern. “You know, Remus, you don't have to downplay how you're feeling.” 

For the briefest second, Remus’ face hardened defensively, but he immediately corrected himself, fixing a gentle smile to his face. 

“I really am fine,” he said gently. “This is just what happens before the moon - nothing more.” His voice was soft, but there was a quiet determination to it. 

She couldn't help but feel that he was hiding something - though, to be fair, he usually was. She could see thoughts racing behind his eyes, guarded and secretive. She decided to try a different angle. 

“I'm sorry,” she said again, with genuine sympathy. He gave her a smile of forced gratitude before dropping his head. Elaine took a heavy breath, preparing to ask the question she had wanted to discuss for so long. 

“We’ve never really talked about what your transformations are like,” she said carefully. He immediately tensed and she knew the subject was closed before it had even begun. Still, she pressed gently. “Is that something we could talk about?” 

He shook his head, his lips clamped together as if he was going to be sick. Beads of sweat broke out against his brow - Elaine couldn't tell if it was from his illness or anxiety. 

“Do you feel ill?” she asked gently, pulling her wand in case he needed a bucket. He shook his head again, weaker this time, before swallowing hard. His lips parted and he let out a heavy breath. 

“I'm okay,” he rasped. He took a drink of his water before giving her a small, reassuring smile. 

She gave him a moment to pull himself together before leaning towards him, her face earnest. “Can you tell me about what happens?” 

“No.” He didn't sound angry or even defensive. 

Elaine nodded patiently. She hadn't expected him to answer, at least not in any meaningful way, but at least the subject had been broached. They would get there, someday. 

“I understand if you're not ready, but I think it's an important topic for us to talk about at some point.” 

“I don't see why.” His voice was breathy and weak. 

Elaine hesitated, watching him carefully. His posture was defensive, but there was no real fight in him today - just exhaustion. 

“Because it’s a big part of your life,” she said simply. “And I think it weighs on you more than you admit.” 

Remus exhaled sharply, looking away. His fingers curled into the fabric of his trousers, gripping tightly. “It’s not going to change anything,” he muttered. 

Elaine nodded slowly. “Maybe not. But talking about it might help you process some of what you go through.” 

Remus let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “I don’t think there’s anything left to process. I’ve been dealing with this since I was a child.” His voice was steadier now, but distant. 

“I know,” Elaine said gently. “But that doesn't mean you don’t still carry the weight of it." 

Remus was silent for a long moment, his fingers still gripping his trousers, his knuckles pale. His face remained a careful mask, but Elaine could see the tension in his shoulders, the subtle tremor in his hands. 

Finally, he exhaled slowly, loosening his grip. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, Elaine," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "But I -" He swallowed, shaking his head. "I can’t talk about it. Not today." 

Elaine studied him, debating whether to push further, but he looked so drained, so utterly depleted, that she knew it would be cruel to force the conversation now. Instead, she simply nodded. 

"Alright," she said. "Not today." 

Remus looked relieved. "Thank you." 

She set her quill down. "But I do need to ask - are you sure you're alright? You don't look at all well." 

He hesitated, his fingers twitching in his lap. "I told you, I'm fine. It's just the usual pre-moon sickness." 

Elaine wasn't sure if she believed him. "Alright," she said again, giving him a meaningful look. "If anything changes, will you tell me?" 

He hesitated again, then gave a small nod. "If it gets worse," he conceded before rubbing his face, looking bone-tired. His eyes darted to the door. "Is it alright if we stop early today?" 

"Of course." Elaine had expected as much. "Do you need help getting home?" 

His pride flickered across his face, but he rearranged his features into another grateful smile and shook his head. "No, I'm fine." 

Elaine sighed but didn’t argue. Instead, she watched as he slowly, painstakingly got to his feet, gripping the arm of the chair for balance. 

He was almost to the door when Elaine stood, ready to call him back. 

“Don't forget - I need an updated medical report before I send in your potion prescription. Do you have an appointment?” 

Everything about him shifted. His shoulders forcibly relaxed, his brow softened. His eyes, light with feigned ease, held something darker beneath. 

“Of course,” he said with a smile, his hand shaking as it gripped his cane. Elaine cocked an eyebrow. 

“Remus -” 

“I'll have a report for you next week.” 

With that, he was gone. 

*** 

Wednesday, June 6, 2001  

He sat at his desk, anxiously reviewing the report he had created. He read and reread the made-up statistics, agonizing over the wording of the summary he had written. 

He had time to make revisions, of course - he had almost a week before Elaine would expect the report - but he welcomed the distraction as the moon hovered just below the horizon, waiting for him. 

He hissed as the pain that had been growing steadily worse ripped through him again. He had been pretending the past two months that it had been a fluke, something he had eaten, but he knew better.  

* 

He lay helpless in the middle of the cellar, gasping, each breath unbearably painful as his insides seemed to rip themselves apart. 

He curled up tighter, hugging his arms around his abdomen, incapable of doing anything else. He felt as though the rising moon had latched onto something inside him, pulling at something essential, attempting to wrench it from his body. He lay on the clay floor, mud coating his skin where sweat had mixed with dirt. His dripping head lolled miserably, his mouth cracking open, desperate for something to quench his thirst, something to ease the pain. 

He was almost relieved when the first of his joints began to snap - the pain in his belly would be gone soon, if the past two months were any indicator. 

The world around him collapsed in on itself as his body underwent its monthly betrayal, turning him inside out, knotting him with agony. It felt as though something was being unwoven inside him, something vital unraveling with each pull of the moon. 

He panted heavily, his long tongue spilling onto the floor, filling his mouth with the taste of mud. 

He lay there until his side began to ache, his ribs pressing painfully against his skin. He rose on wobbly legs. The room spun, adding to the already disorienting experience of adjusting to his lupine senses. He attempted to take a step forward, but he collapsed to one side, his stomach spasming, forcing up the tea he had choked down that evening. 

He pretended not to smell the tang of blood underlying the sour scent of bile. Told himself that the tinge of red was from the clay. 

He clambered back to his feet, but immediately stumbled, tripping over his own paws. He crashed against the wall, snarling as his skin tore against the rough stone. 

*** 

Thursday, June 7, 2001  

He wiped the tears from his face as he lay, broken and exhausted on the floor. He shivered as the last of his fur receded, leaving him exposed to the cool damp air. 

The cellar told a rather unpleasant story. The small space reeked of bile, wet spots in the clay betraying the multiple bouts of vomiting that he had endured throughout the night. 

His throat was raw, his limbs trembling as he forced himself to move, to drag his aching body across the floor. Every inch of him screamed in protest, his muscles locking. His arm, scraped and bloodied from the wall, stung with every shift. Blessedly, however, the pain that had burned through his torso had faded. 

He pulled himself up the stairs, slow and steady, trying to ignore the voice telling him that he couldn't ignore the blood and bile seeping into the floor. That something was wrong. 

He half-crawled to the phone, pressing against the wall to pull himself to a standing position. Lyall picked up on the first ring, as usual. 

Remus mumbled reassurances into the phone, hanging up before Lyall could ask questions. He wanted to slide down the wall, to sit and rest, but the abrasions on his arm demanded attention. 

He stumbled to the bedroom, lazily waving his wand, not bothering to watch as his skin knit itself back together. He tugged on a pair of joggers, bracing a hand against the wall for balance. 

His mouth still tasted like iron, the unmistakable tang of blood clinging to his tongue. He swallowed against the nausea curling in his stomach, but there was nothing left to bring up. 

He sat on the edge of the bed, pressing his hands against his mouth. 

He couldn't go back to Werewolf Services. He had his plan. He never had to set foot in one of those exam rooms again, if he chose. 

What if you're dying?  

The thought would have been a relief once-upon-a-time. Still would have been, if it wasn't for Teddy. 

Teddy . 

He wanted to cry, to scream in frustration. Nothing is ever simple.  

He thought about just telling Elaine he wanted to quit the treatment. He could think up an excuse - he could even just tell her the truth. Something isn't right. But the thought of sinking back into the darkness, the empty, all-encompassing pain of his mind, was too terrible to consider. He didn't know if he could survive it again. 

He pictured the exam, the humiliation he would have to endure. He imagined all the terrible diagnoses he could receive. He cringed as he pictured the report, telling him his body was finally giving up. Telling him he'd be fine, but only if he gave up the potion that had breathed life back into him. Telling him that the wolf had won, one way or another. 

He couldn't go back. 

He had to. 

He took a deep breath, clenching his jaw with determination. He felt hot, frightened tears burning behind his eyes, but he blinked them away, summoning his cane with a flick of his wand.

Chapter Text

Thursday, June 7, 2001  

Werewolf Services was quieter than the last time he had been there, but there was still a queue at the registration desk, made up of a motley crew of werewolves, each nursing some sort of wound.  

Remus leaned heavily on his cane, feeling as though he might pass out. Still, when a woman entered behind him clutching a soaked rag to a steadily bleeding bite mark, he stepped aside, allowing her to take his place in the queue.  

When he finally reached the front desk, he reached out to lean on the raised counter but recoiled as he noticed a smear of fresh blood.  

The balding receptionist didn’t look up as he slid a clipboard across the counter.  

“Are you experiencing excessive bleeding?” he asked. Remus bit his tongue. If you'd look at me, you'd know.  

“No, I'm not,” he said politely, accepting the paperwork and reaching for the ratty quill on the counter.  

“Do you require assistance completing the form?” the man asked, sounding bored. Remus frowned in confusion, glancing down at the sheet of paper. His mind felt impossibly slow as he tried to process the question.  

“I'm sorry, could you repeat -” The receptionist barely refrained from rolling his eyes.  

“Can you read?” he asked bluntly. Remus did a double take.  

“Excu- I - yes, of course I can read,” he stammered, trying to keep his anger from his voice. The receptionist shrugged disinterestedly.  

“Very well. Just fill it out and you'll be seen by order of priority.”  

Remus forced a friendly smile before dropping his eyes to the paper in front of him.  

*  

As he might have expected, he was, once again, the last patient in the waiting area by the time he was escorted to an exam room by a weary looking nurse. She took his vital signs and shoved a hospital gown into his hands, even though he knew he would be required to remove it once the healer arrived.  

He waited, seated on the metal table with his hands folded in his lap. He did a mental scan of his body, trying to decide if anything felt out of the ordinary. He started to wonder if he had imagined the pain that had plagued him the past week - that had left him debilitated the night before. He felt nothing now, apart from a vague tenderness in his abdomen, but he knew the pain had been as real as the stomach contents all over his cellar floor.  

The door swung open without a warning knock, making Remus’ heart leap to his throat. Two women entered the room - a healer and her trainee, he assumed. To his relief, he didn't recognize either witch.  

The healer did not look up as she read from Remus’ chart, updating the intern at her side.  

“Male, 41 years old, contaminated in 1965 - this should be a good example for you. We don't see many cases this far along.”  

Remus kept his face carefully neutral, resisting the urge to scowl at her tone.  

“Patient claims to have experienced severe abdominal pain during last night's transformation. Vomiting blood. He says symptoms began in May after starting a regimen of Depressione Remedium in addition to Wolfsbane.”  

She finally looked at Remus, scanning him with her eyes. “Any residual abdominal pain?”  

Remus hesitated. “Not at the moment.”  

The healer hummed noncommittally, flipping the chart closed.  

“Any history of ulcers?”  

“No.”  

“Liver disease?”  

“No.”  

“Prior incidents of internal bleeding?”  

Remus hesitated. “Not exactly.”  

The healer raised an eyebrow. “Either you have or you haven’t.”  

Remus exhaled sharply through his nose. “I’ve had injuries from transformations.”  

“That’s not what I asked,” she said briskly.  

Remus sighed, trying to remain patient. “I've had internal bleeding from injuries, but -”  

“Please remove your robe and lay down.”  

He hesitated only a moment before complying, keeping his eyes unfocused as his heart pounded. He laid down, flinching against the cold of the table.  

He held the gown around his waist but knew better than to resist when the healer immediately pulled it away. He sucked in his lips, his chest flooding with shame.  

“We'll begin with some exploratory spells to look for internal bleeding and organ damage,” the healer said to her trainee. “The patient has also requested a full physical, so I'll walk you through that once we rule out any acute issues.”  

Remus closed his eyes, managing not to shudder as he felt pulses of magic run through him, pressing and tickling against parts of himself he had never felt before. He bit the inside of his cheek, reminding himself not to make any sudden movements.  

“Sanguis Revelare,” he heard the healer mutter. A sensation like silk brushing against skin ran across his entire body. He bit his cheek harder.  

“See where it glows blue?” the healer pointed out. “That indicates blood residue. Note the traces around his mouth.” He resisted the urge to lift a hand to his lips.  

“You'll need to take a sample of any blood on his skin. We need to confirm his story - make sure the blood is actually his.” Remus’ fists clenched at the idea, but he allowed the young woman to swab his face, his mouth, his arm.  

The exam continued, seemingly endless. They poked and prodded with the same cold detachment he had experienced before. He flinched as they pressed on his tender belly, rubbing their hands in exploratory circles. He didn't budge as they drew his blood, didn't squirm as they ran their hands over every inch of his body, didn't complain when he suffered shocks of pain from their careless prodding.  

Perfect patient .  

He lay still, staring at the ceiling, his jaw locked. The young trainee muttered diagnostic spells under her breath, her wand passing over his ribs, his stomach, his throat. Each incantation sent a ripple of magic through him, stirring up a strange mix of sensations - warmth, cold, pressure, a faint tingling beneath his skin.  

The healer continued narrating her observations. “Minimal inflammation. No immediate signs of rupture. Blood markers should tell us more, but at first glance, I see no reason to suspect active hemorrhaging.”  

Remus should have felt relieved, but all he registered was exhaustion. He could still remember the coppery tang of blood on his tongue the night before, the searing pain that had torn through him. And yet, here he was, lying on a table with a healer telling him that, on the surface, he was fine. It felt almost absurd.  

The trainee hesitated before asking, “Could the Wolfsbane be interacting poorly with the Depressione Remedium?”  

The healer made a noncommittal sound. “Possibly. We’ll check for signs of potion toxicity, but this looks like regular disease progression.” She scribbled something on his chart before looking at him again.  

“Are you experiencing nausea? Fatigue?”  

Remus swallowed. “Some.”  

“Dizziness?”  

“A bit.”  

“Any blackouts?”  

“No.”  

The healer studied him for a moment longer, then snapped his chart shut. “We’ll run additional tests, but at this time, I don’t see an acute emergency. You can dress.”  

Remus sat up slowly, suppressing a wince. The trainee handed him his robe without a word. He pulled it on, grateful for the cover, even as he felt raw beneath it.  

He didn't feel as though his questions would be welcome, but he needed to know.  

“Is everything alright?” he asked nervously, reaching for his shirt, clutching it in his hands.  

“You're fine,” the healer said brusquely. “Nothing abnormal from what I can see. The pain you described sounds like pancreatitis, but there's no significant inflammation now - probably just a new transformation symptom you'll have to learn to live with.” Remus frowned slightly, gauging whether to push.  

“I'm just concerned - I never had anything like that before I started…” He dropped his head at the disdainful look the healer gave him.  

“By all means, cut out whichever potions you want, but the truth of the matter is, transformations change as you get older.” The healer looked at his chart again. She did not look up again as she spoke.  

“Honestly, it's a wonder you're just now experiencing organ pain - that normally kicks in about 10-15 years after contamination. You should consider yourself lucky.”  

Lucky. Remus would have snorted darkly if he weren't so wrung out. Instead, he simply nodded, swallowing back the words that burned at the back of his throat. He tugged his shirt over his head, fingers stiff, as the healer continued making notes.  

“Thank you,” he muttered to his lap as he buttoned up his collar with undue care.  

“You should receive an owl in a few days with your results,” the healer said, walking to the door, and casting a cleaning charm on her hands. She didn't so much as acknowledge Remus as she gave the intern terse instructions about running labs and writing up a report.  

The door snapped shut behind the duo, leaving Remus alone in the chilly room, clasping the hospital robe around his waist.  

Despite the healer's assessment, he couldn't quite accept the dismissive acceptance that his body was failing him, as if it were a mere footnote in the long, miserable history of his condition. A natural progression of the disease. Something inevitable.  

His hand curled into a fist against his knee.  

***  

Friday, June 8, 2001  

He dug his knife deep into the wood, digging out a small chunk from what would eventually be a chain link. He was running out of time to finish the spoon he had been carving. It had finally taken shape, the various symbols distinct, but he had a long way to go to work out the finer details.  

He sat resting his back on the arm of the couch as he carved, fixing the entirety of his mind on the task at hand. He didn't want to think about the exam. Didn't want to consider the possible results of his tests. Didn't want to consider the possibility that the healer had been wrong. Or right.  

The rhythmic scraping of the knife against the wood was the only sound in the quiet room. Remus barely noticed the passage of time as he worked, his mind numb, wrapped in the monotony of the task.  

The knife slipped, narrowly missing his knuckles as he startled at the sound of the Floo erupting. He barely had time to set the knife aside before Teddy was flying across the room, flinging himself against his father's stomach.  

“Daddy!” he shouted, kneeing Remus painfully in the gut. “I drewed you this!”  

Remus shifted Teddy to a less painful position, accepting his terrible drawing with a look of amazement.  

“It's beautiful!” he praised, ruffling Teddy's buttercup hair. He turned to offer Andromeda a grateful smile. “I hope he behaved for you.”  

Andromeda hummed in confirmation, but her thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. She gave him an appraising look.  

“Are you getting a haircut before the wedding?” she asked, catching him off guard. His hand flew to his shaggy hair self-consciously.  

“Er, I can cut it next week,” he said, but Andromeda was clearly displeased with that response. He wasn't sure why she cared so much - she wasn’t going to the wedding.  

“You need to start going to an actual barber,” she said sternly, her eyes narrowing as another thought seemed to come to her. “You bought new dress robes, right?”  

Remus shrank under her gaze. “Er…”  

Andromeda scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Stand up,” she barked, pulling her wand. Remus’ eyes darted anxiously, but he shifted Teddy to the floor and stood weakly, suddenly hyper-aware of his grungy lounge wear.  

A measuring tape burst from her wand, snaking around his shoulders and waist with startling precision. He flinched as it snaked between his legs, measuring his crotch and inseam before shooting up to his neck, feeling more like a noose than anything.  

He didn't know where she had gotten a pencil and notepad, but Andromeda took hurried notes, jotting down his measurements as quickly as the measuring tape took them. She nodded down at her records as the tape fell to the floor.  

“It will be short notice, but you should be able to get a new set made in time,” she said, before looking at him critically. Remus cringed at the exposed feeling.  

“On second thought,” she mused, taking in his appearance. “Why don't I place the order? If I leave it up to you, you'll be a drab blob of brown.”  

Remus blinked, baffled, but before he could respond, Andromeda was already pocketing her wand and notes. “You can pay me back later,” she added with a wave of her hand, clearly uninterested in any protests.  

“I -” He didn't know what he had meant to say. Andromeda bent down to kiss Teddy's head before looking back up at Remus.  

“And I'm going with you to the barber,” she said, leaving no room for protest. “Try to schedule something for Thursday evening.”  

Remus nodded dumbly, lowering himself back down to the couch as his lingering weakness caught up with him. Andromeda gave him a concerned look.  

“Are you alright? You look awfully pale,” she said, her voice still brisk but with a touch more warmth.  

“I'm fine,” he said automatically, forcing a smile. “Just a bit tired.”  

Andromeda didn’t look convinced, but she let it go with a small hum. “Get some rest, then,” she said, brushing her hands together as if dusting off the matter entirely. “I’ll send an owl when I’ve ordered the robes.”  

Remus nodded, absently running a hand over Teddy’s back as the boy settled against him, small fingers clinging to his jumper. Andromeda continued to stare, her eyes turning melancholy.  

“You’re sure you’re alright?” she asked again, quieter this time.  

Remus hesitated, his fingers pausing in their absentminded tracing along Teddy’s spine. He knew what he should say - the easy reassurance that would send her on her way. But after everything - the pain, the exam, the slow, creeping certainty that something inside him wasn’t fine - he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it.  

“I will be.” His voice was weak, his eyes sad and a little bit frightened.  

Andromeda exhaled sharply through her nose, but didn’t push. She lifted a hand, as though she was going to offer him a comforting touch, but she drew back.  

“Alright,” she said briskly, her cheek twitching. “I'll see you Tuesday. Let me know if you need anything.”  

Remus nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Andromeda hesitated a beat longer, then turned towards the Floo, stepping inside with her usual crisp efficiency. With a swirl of green flames, she was gone.  

The room was quiet again, save for the soft, steady breathing of the child curled against his chest. Remus let his eyes slip shut, resting his chin lightly atop Teddy’s head. He focused on the warmth of his son, on the tiny fingers curled into his jumper, on the rise and fall of their shared breath.  

Everything is fine , he promised himself.  

You're fine. You're going to be okay.  

You have to be.  

Chapter Text

Tuesday, June 12, 2001  

The piece of parchment, folded so carefully into a palm-sized square, felt as though it was burning a hole through his shirt pocket.  

He felt its weight dragging him down all morning as he taught - a constant distraction that left him scatterbrained and irritable. More than once, he caught himself losing track of his own lesson mid-sentence, the words slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.  

His students noticed. He could see it in the way they exchanged glances, in the way their quills hesitated over their parchment as if waiting for him to catch up with himself.  

He had read the report, of course. The research he had done for his earlier plan to forge the document left him fairly certain he understood the numbers, but every time he reviewed the neatly organized statistics, he found himself with more questions than answers.  

“Professor?”  

The first-year's voice cut through his distracted thoughts, and Remus blinked, realizing he had been staring at the same spot on the blackboard for far too long. The bit of chalk in his hand was starting to dissolve between his damp fingertips, coating them in a thin white film.  

“Yes?” he asked, his voice sounding far more strained than he intended.  

The young girl shot a nervous look at her neighbor. “You, er, didn't finish the question,” she said hesitantly, folding her hands in front of her. Remus stared blankly for a moment, trying to reorient himself, before forcing a warm smile.  

“Thank you, Heather. I seem to have lost my train of thought,” he admitted, turning back to the board, where he had only written the first three letters of the word ‘counter-curse.’ He paused another moment, trying to remember what question he had been posing.  

“Right, er, can anyone tell me the general rule for counter-curse incantations? It was in your reading for today.”  

The students exchanged glances, some relaxing now that the lesson was back on track. A few eager hands shot up. He called on a Ravenclaw boy, who answered correctly, and the discussion carried on, though Remus still felt slightly detached, as if watching himself teach from a distance.  

The parchment in his pocket seemed heavier than ever.  

*  

Elaine’s office was stifling. The day had proven to be unseasonably warm and still. She had thrown open the windows earlier, but the stale air outside did little to ease the heat. She wished she had a better grasp on environmental spells.  

Remus sat across from her, oddly still. He had rolled up his sleeves, revealing an alarming number of scars covering his forearms.  

Elaine could feel him watching her as she read the report, his eyes boring into her. It was an uncomfortable feeling. He had a strange intensity about him today that seemed to pulse through the air, even as he sat nonchalantly in his chair, resting his temple casually against his hand.  

Each time she looked up, he averted his gaze, but she could tell he was studying her. She took care not to let him see her frustration as she read.  

Remus John Lupin, Werewolf 17016501  

Patient arrived at the clinic complaining of severe abdominal pain and vomiting prior to and during transformation on the night of June 6, 2001. Claimed vomit contained blood. Traces of the patient's blood were found around the mouth despite a lack of bite wounds, suggesting his account was accurate.  

Patient attributed abdominal symptoms to combined use of Wolfsbane and Depressione Remedium. Claims mild to moderate symptoms beginning in May.  

Physical examination did not indicate signs of acute inflammation of any major organs. Blood work confirms organs and endocrine system functioning within normal ranges.  

Definitive diagnosis is not possible, as symptoms appear to be related to transformation. Suspected pancreatitis triggered by normal pre-moon changes to physiology.  

Blood pressure remains elevated. Anemia shows minor improvement. Patient remains moderately underweight (3kg weight gain since previous visit).  

Elaine lowered the parchment to her lap, folding her hands over it as she regarded Remus carefully. His face remained unreadable, but she could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitched against the armrest of his chair. He was waiting. Bracing himself.  

“What do you think?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.  

Elaine inhaled slowly, considering her words. Definitive diagnosis is not possible . It was a vague and unsatisfying conclusion, especially given the severity of his symptoms.  

“I think,” she began, her voice soft but steady, "there are some things here that don’t add up.” Remus nodded, as if he had suspected as much.  

“I'm not sick, though, right? We can - I don't have to stop, right?” His face was pale with worry, his eyes pleading with her. Elaine felt a touch of pity, even as she prepared to double-down.  

“You don't seem to have any long-term effects. But -” she added at the subtle relief on his shoulders. “I think we need to discuss this more before we make a decision about next steps.”  

Remus ducked his head and clasped his hands together, squeezing them tight. He nodded to his knees, looking miserably resigned. “Okay,” he croaked. Elaine watched him a moment longer before leaning back in her seat, picking up her quill and notepad. She sighed, bracing herself.  

“First things first,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “I want to remind you that your health is my top priority. And -” she said pointedly, giving him a serious look. “It needs to be yours if we're going to discuss continuing treatment.”  

He nodded. “Of course - that's why I wen- I mean…” He shifted in his chair, buying himself a moment to think. “I'm taking this seriously,” he said earnestly.  

Elaine had to fight to keep a doubtful look from her face.  

“Remus,” she said carefully, tilting her head. “Why do you think you waited so long to tell me that you were experiencing side effects? I thought you agreed to tell me if anything changed.”  

He looked taken aback by the question. His eyes flickered between Elaine's face and the parchment in her hand. His mouth flattened guiltily as he leaned back, rubbing at his face. “It didn’t seem like a big deal - I didn’t want to make a fuss.”  

Elaine pursed her lips, setting the report on the side table. “This isn’t about making a fuss, Remus. It’s about making sure you’re not doing irreversible harm to yourself.”  

He dropped his head shamefully, wringing his hands together in his lap. After a long pause, he exhaled sharply. “I just - I thought I could handle it,” he muttered.  

Elaine sighed. “Remus, I know you want this treatment to work. And I understand why. But pushing through pain like this isn’t ‘handling it.’ It’s ignoring it.”  

His jaw tensed, and for a moment, she thought he might argue. Instead, he let out a weary breath and nodded.  

“I'm sorry,” he muttered to his lap. Elaine sighed.  

“This isn’t about being sorry,” she said, sounding far more understanding than she felt. “But, moving forward, you can't hide things like this anymore.”  

He nodded compliantly and Elaine leaned forward.  

“I'm concerned about the pain you experienced,” she said a little more gently, watching him closely. “This isn’t something to dismiss, even if the report doesn’t give us clear answers.”  

He looked up, his face blank but his eyes burning with desperation. “It's fine - I can live with it. It's not that much worse than usual, honestly.” He shrank under Elaine's doubtful stare, mumbling to the floor. “The healer said everything was fine…”  

Elaine took a deep breath, frustration with the healer burning in her chest. “That doesn't mean it was fine during the transformation. My concern is that, if we continue with the Depressione Remedium, you'll build up enough in your system to cause some serious interactions with your Wolfsbane.”  

Remus’ voice was small and watery. “So, I'd have to choose one or the other.” He looked positively miserable. Defeated.  

Elaine watched him a moment, her heart aching with pity. It didn't seem fair. He had improved so much since starting treatment, but she could see in his eyes that he would never give up the Wolfsbane if he could help it.  

She hesitated, wondering if it was wise to make the suggestion she was considering. It would mean trusting him to be honest with her – trust he was far from deserving.  

“There's one thing we could try,” she said, against her better judgement. His head shot up, his eyes flickering with a sputtering flame of hope. Elaine held up a hand, tempering his expectations.  

“I'm not sure if it will help - we don't know what's going on or how the mix of potions plays into it. But we could try an experiment before quitting altogether.”  

Remus sat up straighter, attentive. He remained silent as he held her gaze, like a student trying to impress his teacher. Elaine sighed.  

“I'd be willing to try taking you off DR while you're on Wolfsbane,” she said, picking up her notebook to start taking notes. “You take that for seven days, correct?” He nodded emphatically, watching her as if he feared she might take back the offer. She felt a flutter of doubt, but she pressed forward.  

“If we try this, I need you to be completely honest with me about side effects. You may experience severe changes in mood that I need to know about. And if you have any physical symptoms - anything remotely similar to what happened last time - we stop. No arguments.”  

Remus swallowed, his throat bobbing. “And if it works?”  

Elaine set her quill down, rubbing at her temples. “Then we reassess.”  

Remus sighed, casting his gaze on the bookshelf. He didn't look entirely pleased as he fisted his chin, thinking.  

Finally, deliberately, he nodded in agreement.  

She hoped she could believe him.  

*  

His arms burned from the endless effort of sanding down the rough edges of the spoon. His hands were brown, coated in the dust that flew from the wood. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the irritation from his eyes. His lungs were beginning to tickle.  

The room had grown dark since he had sat down, weary after debating with Teddy about bedtime. Every few minutes, he considered reaching for his wand to light the lamps, but he found himself too wrapped up in his task to bother.  

The steady rhythm of his sanding became almost meditative, his mind retreating into the repetitive motion. It was a small comfort, the tactile sensation of the grain beneath his hands. He focused on the imperfections, the small ridges and rough spots that had to be smoothed out.  

He frowned to himself, trying to block out the nagging thoughts that refused to leave him in peace.  

What if you have to choose?  

He knew what the right choice would be - the one that would be best for Teddy, the one that would help him be the father his son deserved. But the selfish choice - the one that promised he would never lose himself to the wolf again - was the one that seemed so much harder to let go of.  

Selfish bastard.  

He thought of what would happen, if he was forced to make a choice. He wondered how long it would take before he was drowning himself in a bottle every night. How long before he began lashing out. How long before sleep became a nightly torture.  

He tried to tell himself it wouldn't come to that. There was a chance Elaine's plan would work, but he had very little faith in his luck.  

He bore down harder against the wood, buffing until the surface was smooth to the touch. Until all the imperfections he had made had been erased. Until he had fixed it flaws. Until it was unrecognizable from the thrashing branch it had once been.  

Chapter Text

Thursday, June 14, 2001  

Remus sat stiffly in the raised chair, cape draped over him like an oversized bib, while the barber tugged a comb through his tangled waves. He felt utterly ridiculous.  

Andromeda looked far too pleased to be there. She smiled to herself, resting her chin on her fist as she looked at him appraisingly.  

“I've always thought an Oxford would suit him - what do you think?” She was clearly in her element, and Remus couldn't help but think she had been wanting to do this for quite a while.  

The barber tilted Remus’ head this way and that, humming in consideration. “An Oxford would be a fine choice. Classic. Clean.”  

Remus shot Andromeda a half-hearted glare in the mirror, but she only smirked back, her eyes glinting with the unmistakable satisfaction of someone who knew they were right.  

"I think you’re enjoying this far too much," he muttered under his breath, wincing slightly as the comb tugged at a particularly stubborn knot.  

Andromeda didn’t even try to deny it. “Oh, absolutely,” she said, far too pleased with herself. Teddy giggled from where he sat in the waiting area, flipping through the various magazines piled on the side table.  

Remus sighed, resigning himself to his fate as the barber began snipping away. He felt absurdly exposed, stripped down under the bright lights and Andromeda’s sharp gaze. Every now and then, she would hum approvingly or murmur a suggestion, the barber adjusting accordingly.  

“I’m perfectly capable of handling my own hair,” Remus grumbled, his mouth tugging into a half-smile.  

Andromeda arched a brow. “Oh? When was the last time you had a proper cut?”  

Remus hesitated. “I trim it.”  

Andromeda’s laugh was sharp and disbelieving. “That's not the same thing, and you know it.”  

The barber chuckled as he worked, shaking his head. “Your wife is having a field day with this.”  

Remus froze, his heart skipping a beat before thundering painfully against his ribs. The words hit like a slap, sharp and unexpected.  

Andromeda went rigid beside him, her pleasant amusement vanishing in an instant. There was a beat of silence, thick and heavy, before she cleared her throat.  

“I think a little more off the top,” she said in a rough voice, blinking away the tears that welled in her eyes. Remus swallowed hard, dropping his gaze.  

By the time the cut was finished, Remus had to admit, it did look better. The Oxford was neat and classic, the shorter length making him look a bit younger, a little less worn. Andromeda smiled in muted satisfaction.  

“Much better,” she declared with a soft nod, her voice breaking slightly. “You clean up nicely.”  

Remus smiled weakly, his chest tight.  

***  

Friday, June 15, 2001  

The Burrow was bursting with activity. Remus braced Teddy tight against his chest, trying to take up as little space as possible as he slipped through the chaos in the house.  

Everywhere he looked, wizards, witches, and house elves bustled about, levitating huge flower arrangements, balancing stacks of plates, and jamming what seemed like hundreds of candles into gold candlesticks. One man hovered over trays of glassware, making a show of counting each glass individually - Remus had a feeling the wizard was buying himself a short break from the hubbub.  

Remus flattened himself against the wall as a stack of chairs floated past. He sighed and followed them into the chaos of the kitchen.  

The room was filled with shouts and clangs and bangs that left Remus feeling slightly disoriented. Molly stood in the middle of the room, her face beet red as she spun on the spot, her attention flying in every direction.  

“No, no! Those are the flowers for the banquet table!” she hollered at a rather lost looking wizard in striped overalls. She pointed to the back door, opening her mouth to give the man further instructions, but her head whipped towards the massive cake levitating towards her. Remus thought her head might explode.  

“What the - that belongs in the icebox until tomorrow!”  

Remus edged along the wall, torn between a desire to escape the scene and a sense of duty to assist.  

He managed to get Molly's attention with a wave of his arm.  

“Can I hel-”  

“Just - outside -” Molly huffed, waving him away impatiently. Remus felt immeasurably relieved.  

*  

Outside, Remus took a calming breath, lowering Teddy to the ground to ease his aching back. The flurry of activity continued, but it felt less overwhelming in the open air.  

In the distance, a massive tent had been erected, standing in silhouette against the setting sun. The scent of flowers was heavy in the warm evening air.  

A family of gnomes stood on tiptoe at the garden’s edge, gawking at the wedding preparations. Teddy squealed in delight, tearing after them with unbridled enthusiasm. The gnomes scattered, shrieking indignantly as Teddy giggled and tumbled into the grass.  

Remus sighed, stretching out the stiffness in his back as he watched his son. It occurred to him that he shouldn't let Teddy wear himself out too early, but he let him be for a moment.  

He tucked his hands in his pockets, letting his eyes drift over the preparations happening around him. He tried to dredge up a sense of excitement for the following day.  

“Teddy, be careful,” Remus called out, his voice a mix of amusement and concern as Teddy chased after the gnomes, who were now huddling behind a rosebush as though plotting their escape.  

Teddy paused, looked back, and then, with a mischievous grin, scampered further into the garden, causing the gnomes to flee in every direction. Remus chuckled softly despite himself.  

“Nice haircut,” came a laughing voice behind him. Remus turned to see George loping towards him.  

George smirked, looking delighted. “You look like a right prick,” he said, his voice good-natured despite his words. Remus ran a hand over his hair with a wry smile.  

“Thank you - I believe that was the goal.”  

George snorted. “Well, mission accomplished!” he laughed, clapping Remus on the shoulder and nodding towards Teddy, who had managed to grasp one of the gnomes by the leg.  

“I'm supposed to be gathering everyone up for the rehearsal,” George said, watching Teddy gleefully hold up the struggling gnome.  

Remus sighed, putting his hands on his hips. “Teddy, put the gnome down,” he called, soft but firm. Teddy pouted but obeyed, releasing the unfortunate creature, which immediately scurried away, muttering what Remus suspected were gnome curses.  

George laughed, shaking his head. He lifted his hand to the side of his mouth, yelling far louder than necessary. “We need our ring bearer!” Teddy leapt to attention, his eyes lighting up with excitement.  

“That’s me!” he declared proudly, abandoning his gnome-chasing in favor of this new and far more important task.  

*  

Remus’ knees ached as he knelt behind the back row of chairs, holding a hand to Teddy’s chest, trying to keep him from squirming. He took a deep breath, wondering how many times they could possibly have to practice the processional - as far as he could tell, all everyone had to do was walk in a straight line, but they had run through the whole thing at least eight times already.  

“I'm bored!” Teddy groaned, leaning heavily against Remus’ chest, his lower lip pouting dramatically. Remus sighed.  

“Me too,” he muttered before shooting a glance at Bill, who was holding Victoire in his lap across the aisle. Bill chuckled and tightened his grip on Victoire, who was wriggling with as much impatience as Teddy.  

“Don't worry,” he said with a tired smile. “Only about a dozen practice runs left.”  

Remus refrained from groaning. He thought vaguely that he was glad he and Dora had forgone this circus for their wedding, but the thought was immediately replaced with a familiar sense of guilt.  

She deserved a proper wedding.  

Teddy kicked his feet, digging divots into the grass as Neville and Luna glided past. Remus didn’t bother scolding him.  

He had promised himself he wouldn't be miserable today. Had promised he wouldn't think about his problems. That he would let himself live in the moment. But his mind kept slipping, allowing painful thoughts to float to the surface.  

Dora. The potions. Kingsley showing up the next day with a faceless Australian on his arm. James and Lily. Sirius. All the people who deserved to be there more than him.  

Ron and Hermione passed them, arm-in-arm. They looked just as tired as Remus felt, but they gave each other a quick, loving look before making their way down the aisle.  

“Now me!” Teddy announced, picking up the pillow he had discarded on the grass. Bill slid Victoire from his lap, handing her the basket that would be filled with flower petals the next day.  

“Remember,” Bill whispered to the two small children. “Go slow. ”  

Teddy and Victoire marched down the aisle, both scowling in concentration as they took deliberately slow steps. Remus shifted so he could stretch his legs out in front of him. He let out a soft, weary sigh, allowing his eyes to drift shut for a moment as Ginny and Arthur linked arms, preparing to finish the procession.  

“Everything alright?” Bill asked quietly, lifting one brow. Remus tried to ignore the concern in the younger man's voice. He smiled tightly.  

“Yes, just have a few things on my mind,” he said lightly, opening his eyes and twisting so he could peer down the aisle after Ginny and Arthur. Bill gave him a thoughtful look.  

“Anything I can help with?”  

Remus’ smile warmed slightly at the genuineness in Bill's voice. He shook his head.  

“No, I'm afraid not,” he said, keeping his eyes on Teddy, who was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, trying his best to stand patiently by Harry's side. He could feel Bill watching him.  

Remus held his breath for a moment, resisting the urge to meet Bill's gaze. He didn’t have the words to explain everything that had been weighing on him. Even if he did, he knew it wouldn't be right to burden the young man with his problems.  

Ginny, radiant in a simple ivory dress for the rehearsal, called for everyone’s attention. “Alright, one last time, and then we’re free - I swear,” she said, holding up her hands as a few groans rose from the bridal party. Harry stood beside her, rubbing the back of his neck, looking just as eager for the ordeal to be over.  

Remus forced a smile, but he could feel his face growing heavy with fatigue. He felt Bill give him a final look before waving Victoire to him.  

Molly clapped her hands. "Alright, places, everyone!" she called, and there was a collective shuffle as people moved into position again.  

*  

Teddy was beyond tired by the time they arrived back home. He fussed and twisted in Remus’ arms, fighting his exhaustion with every ounce of stubbornness he possessed. Remus sighed as he dropped onto the couch, feeling the ache in his joints. He pressed a hand against Teddy's head, holding him against his chest and praying he would fall asleep.  

Remus leaned his head against the arm of the couch, closing his eyes against the pounding in his head. Teddy played aimlessly with Remus’ fingers, bending and straightening them in no particular order. Remus was too tired to care. He told himself he couldn't fall asleep, but he felt his head growing heavy.  

“Daddy?” Teddy asked vacantly, leaning his head against Remus’ chest.  

“Hmm?”  

“Are you married?” Remus took a sharp breath, blinking his eyes open, his fatigue momentarily forgotten. He looked at Teddy with a bemused expression on his face. He opened his mouth to respond, but found he didn't actually know the answer.  

“Why would you ask that?” he asked, trying to sound joking.  

Teddy pointed to his left hand. “Your ring,” Teddy lisped. His eyes were wide with curiosity.  

Remus looked at the ring that had lived on his finger for nearly four years and thought about the question. His heart twisted as he considered – both answers felt so wrong and yet so true.  

“Yes, Teddy, I suppose I am married.”  

“Who you married?”  

Remus swallowed against the tightness in his throat. He ran his thumb absently over the worn gold band, feeling the familiar grooves and scratches. It was a simple question, but the answer felt impossibly heavy.  

His voice cracked as he tried to speak. “I, er - I'm married to Mummy,” he said thickly, giving Teddy a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes.  

“Oh,” Teddy said softly, almost sounding disappointed. He nestled deeper against Remus’ chest, seemingly unaware of the pain gripping his father's heart.  

Remus raised a hand to stroke Teddy's curls. He sniffed softly against the tears prickling his eyes as he tried to find the right words for the moment. He felt as though he owed Teddy an explanation, or the story of how he and Dora had fled to Scotland – half-mad with love and grief and fear and hope – to get married before the war or Remus’ doubts could stop them.  

He parted his lips, but no words came. He looked down at his son, relieved to find he had passed out, his mouth hanging open, eyes flickering behind his eyelids.  

Chapter Text

Saturday, June 16, 2001  

Teddy  

Teddy sat on the couch, kicking his legs in front of him. He was trying to be patient, but it was hard.  

Daddy had disappeared into his bedroom what felt like ages ago. He said he'd be quick, but Teddy wanted to leave now. He wanted to put on the clothes Daddy wouldn't let him wear until they got to the Burrow. He wanted to walk down the aisle with Victoire. He wanted to see Harry and Ginny.  

“Daddy!” he called, reminding himself to stay seated. He could hear Daddy sigh.  

“Patience,” he called back. Teddy didn't know how much more patient he could be. Thankfully, he heard Daddy's shoes click against the wood floor and, a moment later, the bedroom door opened.  

Daddy looked strange. Like he had grown taller and skinnier in the time he had spent locked in his bedroom. His trousers weren't as big as usual. His tummy, usually hidden behind his loose shirts, looked too skinny in the waistcoat he wore.  

Daddy held up his arms and did a silly little spin.  

“What do you think?” he asked, raising his eyebrows so Teddy would know he was being funny. Teddy grinned, a giggle bubbling up his throat as he shook his head.  

“No, Daddy! You look silly!”  

Daddy frowned playfully. “You’re supposed to say I look dashing.”  

Teddy couldn’t help it. He jumped up from the couch and ran over, his fingers curling into the soft fabric of Daddy’s robes. Daddy stooped down, groaning softly as he lifted Teddy to his hip.  

He looked different with his new haircut. Teddy didn't like it - he missed the way Daddy used to look. He reached up to pat Daddy’s hair. It wasn’t shaggy anymore. It didn’t curl over his ears the way it used to when Teddy would grab at it during story time.  

“Ready to go?”  

Teddy nodded eagerly, and Daddy summoned his special outfit, draping it over his other arm before carrying Teddy to the fireplace.  

Teddy felt a thrill of excitement tickle his tummy as they swirled in the fire, on their way to the most special day ever.  

*  

Remus  

The Burrow was shockingly quiet as he stepped out of the fireplace. He could hear muffled voices and hurried footsteps overhead, but the first floor appeared to be completely deserted, apart from the rather large wizard dressed all in black standing in front of him.  

“Name,” the security wizard said shortly, holding up a large scroll - presumably the guest list.  

“Lupin - Teddy and Remus.” He had known there would be security - Harry was still considered at risk from dark wizards and witches - but his stomach still clenched as the man scanned his list.  

“There you are,” the man said, sounding almost pleasant as he checked their names on the list. “If you don't mind -” He pointed to the gift in Remus’ grasp  

He took the narrow box from Remus’ outstretched hand, waving his wand over it, muttering charms under his breath. He handed it back with a surprisingly warm smile.  

“Enjoy the wedding, sir.”  

Remus smiled in return. “Thank you - do you happen to know where -”  

“Wedding party?” the man asked knowingly. “Gents are on the second floor.” Remus smiled and nodded in thanks.  

“I'm just going to drop this in the tent before we go upstairs,” he said, holding up the neatly wrapped parcel as he steered Teddy through the kitchen, towards the back garden.  

The weather outside could not have been better. The sun was a perfect, buttery yellow, casting a soft, warm light over the garden. The faintest breeze kissed his face. He found himself feeling grateful on Harry's behalf - a perfect day for his wedding.  

He deserves it.  

The marquee stood at the edge of the field beyond the garden. To its left, the ceremony area was already scattered with early arrivals who appeared to be selecting their seats.  

Teddy ran ahead of Remus towards the tent, letting out occasional shrieks of excitement. His hair was flickering with color.  

As they drew nearer, Remus could see a collection of reporters and photographers craning their necks from where they stood at the border of the security charms. Remus ducked his head, hurrying to position himself between Teddy and the cameras.  

Safely inside, he dropped his gift amongst the small pile of presents collecting on a table at the back of the marquee. He pulled an envelope from his pocket and slipped it beneath the thin blue ribbon.  

“That my card?” Teddy asked, standing on tiptoe to watch. Remus hummed in confirmation as he turned, taking in the reception area.  

It truly was magnificent. The tent was filled with round tables, draped in creamy white linens. Elaborate floral arrangements levitated above each table, spilling over with greenery and delicate white blossoms.  

The perimeter of the tent was lined with golden candelabras, and golden bubbles floated along the high ceiling. A large dance floor took up the back of the marquee and a small stage had been set up in the corner for the wedding band.  

Remus tugged at his sleeve, suddenly feeling rather out of place. It was easily the nicest wedding he had ever attended. Even Lily and James’ nuptials hadn't been as elegant, what with the war. He tried not to allow himself to think of the sad old pub where he had married Dora.  

With a sudden, overwhelming self-consciousness, he ran back to the table, pulling the card Teddy had made off of the gift and settling it on the opposite side of the table. He heard a soft chuckle behind him.  

“Up to no good?”  

He turned to find Kingsley laughing quietly at his obvious discomfort.  

Remus huffed a small, self-deprecating laugh and straightened, brushing his hands over his waistcoat as if smoothing out an invisible wrinkle. “Just making sure everything’s in order,” he said lightly.  

Kingsley gave him a once-over, nodding appreciatively. “Don't take this the wrong way, but I didn't recognize you at first,” Kingsley admitted, his gaze lingering on Remus' neatly trimmed hair and well-fitted attire.  

Remus rolled his eyes but felt the heat rise to his cheeks. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”  

“You should.” Kingsley’s lips twitched in amusement. Remus felt his stomach flutter and he suddenly wished he could slip away.  

“So, er, where's this ‘Chip’ you've been bragging about?” he said drolly. He shifted from one foot to the other, peering past Kingsley’s sides as if he thought Chip might be hiding behind him. Kingsley’s smile faltered with disappointment.  

“We decided to wait,” he said with a shrug. “You were right - this isn't the time or place. Did you see the paparazzi?” Remus nodded, still feeling the awkward weight of the situation.  

“Yeah, it's - it's something,” he said noncommittally. He frowned to his shoes. “I'm sorry he couldn't come,” he said, telling himself he meant it. Kingsley smiled sadly.  

“Thanks mate.”  

They stood awkwardly for a moment, both silent. Remus’ mind raced with excuses to leave.  

“I see Harry!” Teddy demanded, crashing into the backs of Remus’ legs. Relieved, Remus thumbed over his shoulder.  

“Sorry, duty calls,” he said, smiling tightly. He decided not to try to understand the look on Kingsley's face.  

*  

Harry  

Harry's stomach seemed to be doing back flips as he stood in front of the mirror, anxiously running a comb through his hair. He wasn’t sure why he bothered - he knew perfectly well that it would refuse all attempts to tame it, but he was too nervous to sit still.  

Ron and Neville sat on opposite edges of the bed, watching him struggle. Ron seemed to be finding the whole thing quite amusing.  

“Calm down, mate. It's just Ginny,” he laughed.  

Just Ginny.  

He knew Ron would laugh if he said what he was thinking - that he could never think of her as ‘just Ginny.’ That she had filled his life with so much laughter and love and care that he couldn't imagine a future without her.  

Instead, he just gave a tight smile, looking into the mirror again, trying to convince himself he wasn’t as jittery as he felt.  

He could hear a small, childish voice drifting up the stairs. His smile warmed as he pictured Teddy, gripping the handrail, taking the stairs in huge strides, chattering excitedly to his father. The steady stream of Teddy's voice was punctuated with short, quiet pauses, Remus’ voice barely audible through the door.  

Thundering footsteps told Harry that Teddy had reached the hall and was barreling towards the room where the men were getting ready. Remus’ uneven gait fell in step behind Teddy.  

The doorknob rattled, but didn't turn. “You have to knock,” Remus said softly. Teddy's voice became more insistent.  

“No, Daddy! I see Harry!” Harry chuckled, his nerves momentarily forgotten at the idea of seeing his godson. A soft knock sounded against the wooden door.  

“Is everyone decent?” Remus asked, his voice muffled. Ron grinned at Neville.  

“No, but we're dressed!” he laughed, looking quite pleased with himself for the quip. There was a pause on the other side of the door before the knob turned and Teddy flew into the room, Remus slipping in behind him.  

Teddy’s eyes sparkled as he darted forward, his small arms flinging wide to envelop Harry in a tight hug.  

“Harry!” he exclaimed, his face split in a massive grin. Harry laughed, his nerves melting away as he bent down to lift Teddy into his arms.  

Remus hovered by the door, hands tucked in the pockets of his midnight blue robes. He looked better than Harry had ever seen him. His shortened hair took years off his lined face and his clothes were properly fitted for once, making his legs look impossibly long and lean. He wore a tartan waistcoat beneath his robes - Harry had never realized quite how thin the man was.  

Remus smiled awkwardly, his eyes meeting Harry's in the mirror.  

“You clean up nice,” Ron said with a playful smirk, nodding at Remus’ new robes. Remus looked down as if he was surprised to find himself dressed so sharply. A wry smile tugged at his lips.  

“Andromeda's doing,” he said with a hint of exasperation. “But Teddy would beg to differ,” he added dryly. “He kindly informed me that I look ‘silly.’”  

Harry chucked Teddy's chin. “If you think he looks silly, I'll have to show you a picture of Ron from the Yule Ball our fourth year!”  

Ron immediately leapt up from the bed. “Don't you bloody dare!”  

Remus hummed a laugh, taking a hesitant step forward. “Well, we just came up so Teddy could say hello. I need to start getting him dressed.” Harry let Teddy slide to the floor. He looked up, surprised to find Remus standing closer than he had realized.  

Remus looked almost teary as he shook Harry's hand, his mouth twitching. It was uncomfortable, to say the least - Harry could count on one hand the number of times he had seen his old professor cry. He was a man who reserved his tears for only the most painful moments.  

“They would be so proud of you.” Remus’ voice wavered in a way Harry had never heard. He took a sharp breath, like he was steeling himself to say more, but he dropped Harry's hand. His eyes focused on something beyond Harry's left shoulder as he forced another sad smile, clearing his throat.  

“I, er, better make sure Teddy's, er…” He turned on his heel, practically fleeing the room before he finished inventing an excuse.  

The three young men exchanged bemused looks. A moment later, Remus reappeared looking uncharacteristically flustered, his face flushing scarlet.  

“It would probably help if I…” He pointed to Teddy, who was still standing in the middle of the room looking taken aback. Keeping his eyes downcast, Remus scooped Teddy up, smiling awkwardly as he rushed back out of the room.  

Neville snorted the moment the door snapped shut. Ron flopped back on the bed, looking thoroughly amused.  

“You know,” he said. “The more I see of old Lupin, the more I realize he's a pretty weird guy.”  

*  

Remus  

Remus knelt, hidden behind the last row of chairs, a hand resting on Teddy's chest to hold him back as the bridal party made their way down the aisle. He could feel the boy's heart hammering beneath his little dress robes.  

Bill was mirrored across the aisle, his own hand braced against Victoire, who was wriggling beneath his grasp, anxious to make her appearance. She had already spilled half of the flowers from her basket.  

Music swelled around them, filling the sun-soaked garden with the sound of strings and the soft thud of a piano. The air was heavy with the scent of flowers.  

Remus smiled up at Neville and Luna as they passed, arm-in-arm. Neville looked incredibly nervous, but Luna’s face held a sort of distant calm, as if she was somewhere else entirely.  

“Fuck,” Teddy exclaimed (thankfully) in a tiny whisper. Remus did not scold him, but rather reached down to pick up the ring-laden pillow Teddy had dropped before spinning his son around to face him.  

He smiled reassuringly. “Nervous?” Teddy shook his head, despite his obvious nerves. His hair had turned a sickening shade of green.  

“ Psst , see you down there,” Ron whispered with a wink at each child as he and Hermione began their slow march down the aisle.  

Remus looked around, trying to think of something to settle the trembling that had suddenly overtaken Teddy - and, ideally, to coax out a less repulsive hair color.  

“Hey!” he whispered excitedly. Teddy looked at him curiously, his nerves momentarily forgotten. “I spy with my little eye something… blue!”  

Teddy looked around, immediately committed to the game. His eyes landed on Remus’ dress robes and his hair shifted to a deep blue. “You clothes!” he said proudly. Remus did not correct him by pointing to the vase he had been looking at.  

“Very good! Now, I spy with my little eye something… brown.” Teddy scanned Remus again.  

“You hair!” His own hair turned brown and silver. That won't do. They only had a few seconds left. Remus could see Ginny approaching out of the corner of his eye.  

“No, I can't see my own hair.” He pointed to a random stranger a few seats down.  

“His hair!” Teddy said, much too loudly, but his hair took on a far more age-appropriate shade of brown.  

“You're good at this game!” Remus praised just as Victoire reached across, snatched Teddy's hand, and began to march him down the aisle. Several people chuckled as she boldly hurried them to the front, forgetting to drop her petals in her haste.  

Remus didn't realize, until Ron looked at Teddy with confusion, that he was still holding the ring pillow. Teddy looked around, as if he may have dropped it somewhere behind him, while the adults chuckled.  

Boisterous laughter broke out when a look of realization bloomed on Teddy's face, and he bolted back up the aisle. The photographer bounced across the front of the ceremony excitedly, snapping shots of the unbridled mirth on everyone's faces.  

Holding back a laugh of his own, Remus handed the pillow to Teddy and spun him around, giving him a little shove to send him back to the front. Teddy lifted the pillow victoriously above his head and ran back to Ron, who scooped him up and accepted the proffered rings.  

Bill was shaking with repressed giggles and, after peeking his head around the corner to mouth “ sorry ” to Harry, Remus collapsed into his own silent laughter.  

He barely even took in Ginny as she glided on the arm of a teary Arthur towards Harry.  

*  

Bill  

Ginny looked incredible. Bill felt his heart swell at the sight of his baby sister, wondering when she had grown from the little girl who used to ride on his shoulders into the radiant young woman in front of him.  

Her dress was simple yet elegant, the soft white fabric catching the golden sunlight. A few wisps of her fiery hair had escaped her veil, framing her face in gentle curls. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, locked onto Harry, who stood at the end of the aisle, looking utterly awestruck.  

He winked up at her, his cheeks burning from smiling so hard. Ginny's smile was even bigger than his as she winked back before returning her gaze to Harry. She looked so beautiful. So happy. So in love.  

As Ginny and Arthur reached Harry, Bill saw the way Harry stood a little taller, as if bracing himself for the gravity of the moment. Arthur pressed a gentle kiss to Ginny’s forehead before turning to Harry, clasping his shoulder with quiet emotion.  

As the music died down and the officiant took his place behind the young couple, Bill quietly got to his feet, offering Remus a hand up. Remus slid into the outermost seat in the back row as Bill slunk along the side of the seating area, slipping into his chair at the front beside Fleur.  

The ceremony started with the usual speeches, Harry and Ginny clasping hands and grinning at each other, clearly deaf and blind to the rest of the world.  

It didn't take long for the children to grow antsy. Teddy rocked his hips distractedly, as if he was dancing to a song only he could hear while Victoire plopped on the ground in front of Hermione, ripping up the flower petals in her basket. With a testy sigh, Fleur gestured to Victoire, who jumped up, abandoning her basket to run to her parents, earning a few chuckles from the guests. Not to be left behind, Teddy tore after her, looking mildly put out.  

The ceremony continued as if nothing had happened. Victoire climbed into Fleur's lap, immediately reaching out to play with the string of pearls around her neck. Teddy hovered at Bill's knee, watching Victoire with interest.  

Bill heard a soft psst to his left and turned to see Remus, squatting low so as not to draw attention. He waved Teddy to him before pointing to Victoire in a silent offer to take both children. Bill nodded gratefully before turning his attention back to the front.  

The ceremony pressed on, the officiant leading Harry and Ginny through their vows. Harry's eyes brimmed with tears as he fumbled his way through his vows. As Ginny spoke, her voice strong and sure, Bill felt Fleur squeeze his hand. He turned to see her smiling softly, a knowing look in her eyes. He squeezed back, their fingers lacing together.  

Tears blurred his vision as he watched his baby sister slip a ring onto Harry's finger, her face so earnest and full of love it hurt to look at. He lifted Fleur's hand, pressing a kiss against her delicate knuckles.  

He felt a small stab of regret, thinking of their wedding. The violent end to what was meant to be a perfect day. The terror that had marked the first year of their marriage. He gave silent thanks for the life they had now.  

The crowd erupted with applause as Harry dipped Ginny, planting a deep kiss on her lips. The pair held their clasped hands up as if in victory, laughing with giddy happiness as they ran down the aisle through a sea of sparks and bubbles from the guests’ wands.  

Bill stole a glance at his parents. Molly was dabbing her eyes and Arthur, his own eyes suspiciously glassy, squeezed her hand. Around them, friends and family beamed, enchanted by the moment. Even George, who had been cracking jokes all morning, looked a little misty-eyed.  

Bill kissed Fleur's cheek, giving her elbow a small squeeze. “I'll go find Vic if you want to grab a drink,” he offered. Fleur returned the kiss, leaving a light pink lipstick stain on his face before giving him a small smile.  

It didn't take long for him to find the trio in the front garden. The children were squealing happily, darting after something scurrying through the grass.  

Remus sat in the grass beside them, hugging his knees. He looked distant and distracted, even as he flourished his wand to transfigure more pussywillow buds into mice for the children to chase. He was forcing a smile, but his eyes were haunted, shoulders hunched as though he was carrying a burden far too heavy for his bony shoulders.  

Bill felt the familiar tug of concern he often felt when he looked at the man who had done so much for him - far more than Remus probably realized. Sitting with him in the hospital wing, answering probing questions that visibly pained him to discuss, easing the fear that had gripped Bill's heart.  

He looked almost guilty as his eyes flitted up to Bill's face. “How was it?” he asked casually.  

Bill smiled, giving an easy wave of his arm. “Oh, you know, same thing you saw ten times yesterday, just dressed up a bit.” Remus’ mouth twitched gratefully, as if Bill had absolved him of something. His eyes fell back to the children as he tapped his wand distractedly against his knee.  

Bill bent down to lift Victoire onto his shoulders. She shrieked with delighted surprise, her puffy dress forming a halo around Bill's head. Teddy screamed with laughter, gripping his belly as he doubled over. Remus looked back up, his sad eyes beginning to warm with amusement.  

Bill spun in place, his daughter's laughter ringing in his ears, her fingers gripping his hair for balance. He reached up and swooped her back to the ground, grinning at the look on her face. He held out a hand to boost Remus up, giving him a friendly clap on the shoulder before smiling down at the kids.  

“Now, who's ready for the fun part?”  

Chapter Text

Kingsley  

Kingsley couldn't help but feel relieved to see that he had been seated at a table filled with old Order comrades, rather than Aurors. It was a comforting change of pace after the last few months - years, really - of intense Ministry work. 

Hestia sat to his left. She had greeted him with a warm kiss on the cheek and the two had fallen into easy chatter as the rest of the table filtered in. Elphias sat several seats down, wearing a surprisingly elaborate hat, topped with a silver star. Hagrid took up a quarter of the table, and the two seats to Kingsley’s right stood empty, waiting for Remus and Teddy. 

Kingsley sipped his wine, scanning the crowd as guests settled into their seats. The air buzzed with laughter and clinking glasses, the warm glow of candles giving everything a golden sheen. 

He listened as Hestia filled him in on the latest story about her batty old aunt - apparently the aged witch had recently managed to charm a broomstick into thinking it was a bird, causing chaos in the neighborhood when it swooped into people’s windows. 

He was laughing so hard by the end of the tale that he didn't notice Remus approaching until he lifted Teddy over the back of his empty chair. He looked wrung out, but he smiled brightly to everyone at the table, walking the perimeter to shake hands. He had shed his robes, and Kingsley couldn't help but admire how long his legs looked in his tailored trousers. 

He remained seated as Remus reached him, raising a friendly hand to shake Remus’. 

“Did you get lost?” he joked as Remus took the seat beside him. Remus smiled. 

“No, Teddy was needed for photos,” he explained, tucking his chair under the table and reaching for his water glass. Hestia leaned forward. 

“The waiter was just here with the wine, but we weren't sure if you wanted red or white,” she said apologetically. Remus waved off her concern. 

“I'm off wine at the moment, actually,” he said breezily, shooting her a self-deprecating smile. 

“More for the rest of us, then,” Hestia quipped, raising her glass with a wink before turning to Elphias to ask after his great niece. 

Kingsley studied Remus for a moment. His light tone didn’t quite match the tension in his shoulders, nor the way he immediately busied himself by adjusting Teddy’s napkin. The boy was enthusiastically bouncing in his seat, drumming his fingers against the table. 

“Everything alright?” Kingsley asked, carefully casual. Remus turned his head, his face falsely cheery. 

“Of course - you?” 

Kingsley frowned slightly. “Yeah. Sorry you missed the ceremony.” Remus looked surprised that he had noticed. 

“I - er, yes, I -” He seemed flustered and Kingsley couldn't help but think Remus had been relieved to have an excuse to escape the ceremony. Remus cleared his throat. 

“The children were getting fussy,” he explained. “I didn’t want to disrupt anything.” 

Kingsley hummed in response, choosing not to push, though he noted how Remus avoided his gaze. Instead, he turned his attention to Teddy, who was now trying to balance a spoon on his nose. 

“Your technique needs work,” Kingsley said, plucking up his own spoon and demonstrating, holding it carefully in place. Teddy let out a delighted giggle before immediately trying to replicate it, his nose scrunched in concentration. 

The waiter returned, filling Remus’ water glass and nodding at Teddy's request for apple juice. As he retreated, Remus turned back to Kingsley, smiling politely. 

“How's Chip?” he asked lightly, taking a sip from his water. Kingsley's eyes darted around the table, afraid someone may have heard. 

He nodded subtly over his shoulder towards the others seated around the table. “Probably best to talk about it later,” he said, a little sadly. He wanted to talk about Chip, wanted to shout about him from the rooftops. But not yet. And not to Remus. 

Remus nodded knowingly, but before he could respond, Teddy let out a triumphant squeal. Kingsley looked over, mildly alarmed to see that Teddy's nose had taken on a ski slope shape to better hold the spoon in place. Remus looked at his son with an exasperated shake of his head. 

“Well, at least the photographs are done,” he said resignedly, though his mouth quirked. 

Kingsley chuckled, shaking his head. He reached for his drink, but his attention lingered on Remus, who was watching Teddy with fond amusement, though his fingers remained clenched around his glass. 

* 

The dinner service was superb. The plates around the table filled, all at once, with golden roast chicken, buttery potatoes, and carrots that glistened with glaze under the candlelight. 

Kingsley eagerly picked up his fork, vaguely listening as Elphias told the table a well-worn story about the time he had run into Dumbledore on a beach in Greece while on holiday. 

“Red as a cherry, I tell you,” he said, shaking his head fondly. “Said he was working on his tan before the school year.” Kingsley chuckled between mouthfuls. 

To his right, Remus reached over to cut Teddy's meat into tiny, bite-sized morsels, waving his wand to cast a cooling charm over the steaming dish. Teddy stood on his chair, stabbing at his food with his fork and cramming it into his gaping mouth. 

“We need to start working on table manners,” Kingsley heard Remus mutter fondly. 

Remus seemed lighter now, his earlier tension dissipating, even if just for a few moments. The glow of the evening had softened him, and Kingsley couldn’t help but admire the ease with which he managed to slip into the role of father. 

Kingsley took another sip of his drink, the coolness of it doing little to ease the heat in his chest. 

“Congratulations!” Hagrid boomed, snapping Kingsley out of his thoughts as he leapt to his feet, knocking the table. Kingsley turned to see Harry and Ginny approaching, looking indecently happy. It was a lovely sight. 

“Thanks!” Harry said, reaching up to give Hagrid a friendly hug. Everyone rose to embrace the young couple as they made their way around the table. Teddy flung him into Harry's arms and Remus did an odd sort of dance as he tried to decide between a handshake and a hug, eventually settling for an awkward shoulder clap. Kingsley threw his arms open, pulling Harry in for a bear hug, crushing Teddy between them. 

Not long after, Molly and Arthur sauntered up to the table, both glowing with happiness. Arthur shook hands all around, but Molly made a beeline to Remus, clasping his face between her hands. 

Kingsley held back a laugh at the startled look on Remus’ squished face. He wondered how much champagne Molly had enjoyed so far - her eyes were shining in her rosy face as she grinned down at her friend. 

“You. Look. So. Handsome.” 

Remus’ cheeks turned scarlet as Teddy giggled and Hestia snorted. Kingsley shook with repressed laughter. 

“No offense to the rest of us,” he said to the rest of the table, earning himself some hearty chuckles. Remus gently peeled Molly's hands from his cheeks, turning to face Kingsley with a self-deprecating grin. 

“Ah see, your problem is you all always look nice,” he laughed. “I apparently look like something the kneazle dragged in.” Molly slapped him lightly on the cheek, fighting back a giggle. 

“That's not what I meant,” she said, reaching down to kiss Teddy before moving on to Hagrid, who beamed as she admired his new pinestriped suit. Kingsley laughed as he stood to give Arthur a tight hug. 

* 

Remus  

His cheeks were still burning as Arthur and Molly made their way back to their own table. He was starting to regret his decision to forego drinking. 

Kingsley smirked at him, clearly delighted with his discomfort. Hestia looked between them, her eyes full of mischief. 

“I don't know, Kingsley - do you think he's so handsome tonight?” she teased. Remus thought he might die of embarrassment. Kingsley shrugged, still looking thoroughly amused. 

“Who am I to argue with the mother of the bride?” he said with a laugh. Remus forced a chuckle. 

“Well, it's been nice knowing you all, but I think I might go crawl in a hole and die, if that's alright with you.” 

They both laughed, but Remus was spared any further teasing as the clink of a spoon against a glass rang out over the crowd. 

Arthur stood at the edge of the dance floor, glass in hand, holding his wand to his throat to amplify his voice. 

“Good evening, everyone!” he crowed, beaming with pride. “I'd like to thank you all for being here to celebrate Harry and Ginny, and the love between them.” 

There was a scattering of applause and Remus shifted in his chair to watch. 

“Every father,” Arthur continued, already starting to choke on his emotions. “Every father wishes the same thing - for their children to be safe and happy and loved.” He sniffed loudly, adjusting his glasses so he could wipe his eyes. 

He took a moment to steady his breath and find his place on the parchment in his hand. “I'm sorry to say that life doesn't always make that possible. We have all been through dark times. Times when we were not safe. Times when it was difficult to find anything to be happy about. Times when all hope seemed lost.” 

Remus’ heart filled his throat as Arthur's voice cracked. There was barely a dry eye in the tent, the air growing heavy with memories from the war. Remus felt his own ghosts gathering around him. 

“But love -” Arthur said, holding up an emphatic finger and fixing his daughter and son-in-law with a meaningful look. “Love never left us.” 

Remus thought he might choke on the tears he was holding back. Teddy looked up at him with concern, but Remus couldn't manage a reassuring smile. 

“Harry,” Arthur said. “I couldn't have asked for a better man for my daughter. You are the sort of man who knows what love is. You know how hard love can be, perhaps better than any of us. You understand that love is as much about the bad times as it is about the good. You know that love is worth fighting for.” 

Remus felt sick. The air was too warm, too thick to breathe, but he forced himself to remain seated. 

“Ginny, my darling, darling girl,” Arthur said softly, freeing crying now. “When you were born, I was terrified! ” Gentle laughter cut through the sniffs and quiet sobs that filled the tent. Arthur smiled through his tears. 

“I didn't know anything about raising a daughter - I'm still not sure if I do - but I am so, so proud of the woman you have become. You are brave. Funny. Cleverer than I'll ever be. A true force to be reckoned with.” 

Remus pulled Teddy to his lap, holding him tight and resting his chin on his curly head. He closed his eyes, trying to tame the tears leaking from his eyes. 

“You deserve nothing but the best, and I'm happy to say, I think you found him.” 

Champagne flutes appeared at every seat, glass tinkling, bubbles fizzing. Remus eyed his glass anxiously, reminding himself he wasn’t going to drink. Even if it was for a toast. Even if the pain in his chest was threatening to tear him in two. 

“To the bride and groom!” 

He downed the glass in a single swallow. 

* 

Beckett  

It had been a long time since Haylen had spent an evening just having fun. Granted, she had been seated amongst colleagues, but most were young cadets who brought a youthful energy to the table. 

She had been oddly teary throughout the day. She had grown fond of Potter over the past few years - it had been an honor so far to mentor the young man. He was talented. Humble. Driven. Compassionate. He was everything she could want in a mentee. In an Auror. She smiled, thinking of the day, a few months from now, when she would get to swear him into the force. 

The speeches continued. Thankfully, the Weasley boy's speech was lighter than his father's and, by the time he stepped aside for the blonde girl, everyone was grinning with amusement. 

Beckett quickly lost track of where the foggy-eyed young lady was going with her toast. She found herself eyeing up the bar, eager for a gin-and-tonic before the dancing started. 

The strange young woman stepped away from the dance floor and, with a bang, the wedding band appeared on the stage, immediately striking up the music. 

Beckett rose to order her drink, ready to let loose for once. She was almost to the bar when she drew up short, noticing Lupin chatting with the bartender in that friendly way of his as he waited for his drink. She felt a flicker of distaste for the man. She considered hanging back, but she caught his eyes flicker towards her. 

It was oddly upsetting to her whenever she remembered that Auror Tonks - one of the best young Aurors she had ever worked with - had been married to that milksop. Tonks had been bold and vivacious - sometimes too much so - and Beckett had always considered her to be bright and kind. 

What this miserable coward had done to charm her, she could hardly imagine. The man would barely lift a finger to help some of the most vulnerable people in their society - people like him. She knew he had done his part in the war, knew Shacklebolt held him in high regard, but she couldn't picture someone like Tonks saddled with Lupin. 

She frowned as she watched him chat with the bartender, his smile warm but his eyes wary. She decided not to let him scamper off - she leaned on the bar, ordering her drink before turning to him. 

He pretended not to notice her for several seconds before she cut through the act. 

“Lupin,” she said with a stiff nod. 

Lupin turned as if he was surprised to see her and nodded back, smiling politely. “Hello, Auror Beckett. You look very nice.” He looked like he immediately regretted the comment, dropping his gaze and flushing. He cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“Er, how's your case going?” Beckett raised her eyebrows, shocked that he had brought up the one topic she felt certain he wanted to avoid. He clamped his mouth shut, apparently equally surprised by his own question. Beckett crossed her arms. 

“Last I heard, you didn't want any updates,” she said stiffly. 

If this wasn't a wedding - if she had him in her office - she would tell him every horrible detail. The pained, humiliated sobs from filthy people gripping the ears that had sprouted from their scalp. The smell of burnt flesh from both the living and the dead. The carved-up skin of corpses. Death to Half-Breeds.  

She doubted he'd be so hesitant to help if he'd seen what she'd seen. 

“Well, we have a total of eight missing werewolves now - bodies showing up every month or two. I'd say there's a fighting ring involved somehow, but it goes deeper than that.” 

She could see that she had piqued his interest, but he merely nodded as he accepted his drink from the bartender. 

“Yes, well, best of luck,” he said pleasantly, giving her a smile and a farewell nod. “Sorry to rush, but I have a little one waiting on his juice,” he said, holding up the glass in his hand. 

She watched him hurry away towards his table, clutching his glass like a shield. 

With a small shake of her head, she took a sip of her gin-and-tonic. This was a wedding and she was going to have fun. 

* 

Remus  

He could feel Beckett's eyes on him as he retreated to the table. He sat, helping hold the glass of juice as Teddy sipped. 

He focused his eyes on the glass in his hands, trying to ground himself in the moment. He refused to let Beckett get in his head - not at Harry's wedding. This was not the time to picture fighting rings or mutilated bodies or little girls who had been killed because he - 

“Do you want to dance?” he asked Teddy, cutting off his own thoughts. Teddy's face lit up instantly, his eyes sparkling with excitement. 

“Yeah!” he shouted, shoving away from the table so he could leap to the ground. Remus sat the juice glass aside. He reached for the champagne glass that sat, still full and sparkling at Teddy's place setting. He downed it, rising to his feet and shaking away the thoughts weighing down on him. 

He followed Teddy to the edge of the dance floor, reaching out a hand to stop Teddy before he disappeared into the growing crowd. He felt someone glare at him, but he didn't look to see who. He knew to keep his distance. Knew to hang along the perimeter where no one would have to get too close to him. 

He focused himself on Teddy, who had started twisting his body to the beat, clearly lost in the joy of the moment. Remus couldn't help but smile at his son’s unrestrained enthusiasm. 

Teddy's laugh rang out over the music as he jumped in place, wriggling his hips. Remus found himself bopping along, casting self-conscious glances over his shoulder. 

“Dance, Daddy!” Teddy demanded, wrapping his fingers around Remus’ in an attempt to draw him in. Remus chuckled. 

“I am dancing,” he insisted, feeling a happy bubble rising in his chest as the world around him started to fall away at the sight of Teddy's eager excitement. Teddy leaned back, trusting Remus to hold his weight as he swung back and forth, balancing his feet on the tops of his father's shoes. 

Remus gave one final glance around the room, his limbs heavy with uncertainty before, with a flash of spontaneity, he reached down and swooped Teddy into the air. Teddy shrieked, his face shining happily. 

Remus planted Teddy on his hip, spinning on the spot, allowing the candlelight to blur in his periphery. He felt his face grow warm, his mouth spread wide in the first genuine smile he'd made all day. 

For a moment, there was only the two of them, laughing and warm and dizzy. Happy. 

Chapter Text

Remus  

He spent far longer on the dance floor than he had expected. Teddy showed no signs of stopping as he came up with increasingly creative dance moves that involved a lot of hopping and high-stepping.  

Remus had pulled out a few moves of his own - nothing as exciting as Teddy's, but he could remember a few tricks from the 80s. Teddy giggled as Remus tried to teach him the running man and the cabbage patch, though his execution was far from perfect. Teddy attempted to mimic him, but only managed to slide sideways, nearly toppling over.  

Bill, Fleur, and Victoire joined them at one point and, at the little girl's direction, the five of them held hands and danced in a circle. Remus laughed, despite his aching back, and only allowed himself a brief moment to mourn the fact that he had refused to dance with Dora at Bill and Fleur's wedding.  

*  

He sank into his chair with a sigh of relief. He had been about to start begging Teddy for a break when Ginny had tapped him on the shoulder, holding her hands out in a request to dance with Teddy. She had disappeared into the crowd and Remus had retreated to the table, eager to get off his feet. He had forgotten how painful it was to break in new shoes.  

He kept an eye on the dance floor, watching as Teddy and Ginny bopped along to the beat. Teddy looked delighted, but Remus knew he'd be ready to knock out soon.  

He ordered a firewhiskey from a passing waiter and, drink in hand, he sat watching the festivities, tapping his foot mindlessly to the music.  

He watched as Ginny twirled Teddy around the dance floor, her laughter bright and light. Harry joined them moments later, his hand resting gently on Ginny’s waist as they danced together.  

Remus felt a sudden pang, feeling as though he was watching a different life. One without him in it. One where the trio wrapped up in each other was a proper little family. He wondered if Teddy would have been happier in that life.  

He shook away the shiver that ran down his spine and drained his glass, rising to get a refill.  

By the time he got back to the table, Teddy had somehow ended up dancing in the middle of a circle made up of Ginny's teammates. Remus shook his head. Three years old and already the life of the party.  

There was no denying he was Dora's boy.  

*  

Teddy, predictably, crashed and burned before he had even finished his slice of cake.  

Remus closed the door to Percy's old bedroom softly behind him, peeking one last time through the crack to confirm that Teddy was fully asleep. He waved his wand, whispering monitoring charms, before tiptoeing towards the stairs. He pretended not to hear Fleur's sobs or Bill's comforting murmurs as he passed the room where they were staying.  

Back inside the marquee, the party had settled down some. Most of the older guests had gathered around various table, with the younger crowd still dancing to music Remus didn’t recognize.  

Molly and Arthur had joined his table, taking Hagrid's chairs while he chatted with Arthur's cousin, who once owned a chimera. Remus took the seat next to Kingsley and leaned his arms on the table, debating between ordering water or another firewhiskey.  

Arthur leaned forward excitedly. “Speak of the devil - or his son, I suppose!” he laughed delightedly at the nonsensical joke. “I was just telling Elphy here about the setup your dad has in his office.” Remus nodded, raising his eyebrows in feigned enthusiasm.  

“I was so sorry when he told me he'd be away this week,” Arthur said, sounding genuinely disappointed.  

“I wasn't,” Remus muttered out of the side of his mouth to Kingsley as Arthur resumed his story. Kingsley's mouth curled.  

Remus decided he needed another drink.  

*  

Two drinks later, he was laughing loudly and freely at Molly's repertoire of adventures in parenting. He realized he had gotten off fairly easy with Teddy after some of the horror stories Molly had shared - misadventures in potty training, tantrums that ended in magical explosions, an incident with a teddy-bear-turned-spider.  

He felt good. Glad he was letting himself loosen up a bit. He could feel the alcohol doing its job, warming his limbs and easing the weight of his thoughts. He eyed the bar, already planning another round.  

He turned his attention back to the dancing as the band struck up an old familiar tune. For a moment, Remus was transported back to the Gryffindor common room, drunk on stolen firewhiskey, spinning and twisting with Lily to the beat. James had laughed, enjoying the show while Sirius booed, much to Peter's delight.  

Molly's eyes lit up. “Oh! Oh, can't remember the last time I did the Wicked Twist!” She looked at Arthur expectantly.  

He chortled drunkenly. “Sorry, Mollywobbles, I don't think -” he seemed to lose his train of thought, but his point stood.  

If he had been sober, Remus would have sat back quietly but, emboldened by the drinks he had stopped counting, he stood with only a slight wobble and held out his hand.  

“I used to love the Witch's Tit,” he said, accidentally using the name James had used for the dance craze.  

Molly looked taken aback and Remus worried he had overstepped, but then she blushed as she took his hand.  

Dora's voice echoed in his head, almost making him laugh. You do realize Molly has a crush on you, right? Oh, don't look so shocked! He still doubted the accuracy of her speculation, but his lips twitched as he imagined what Dora would have said about the color in Molly's cheeks as she spun with a laugh, bumping into his chest.  

He had forgotten how fun it could be to dance with a woman, even a married woman ten years his senior. He caught himself grinning ear-to-ear as he twirled her around, his usual pain dulled by the alcohol and endorphins pumping through his veins. Molly's bleats of laughter rang in his ears, her hand warm in his as they twisted and turned. Arthur, red-faced and chortling, clapped along off-beat, shouting the occasional “That’s my girl!” between bursts of laughter.  

When the song ended, he bent down and planted a chaste kiss on Molly's cheek. It was nothing more than he would have done to his mam or Lily back when they were alive, but he amused himself, imagining what Dora would have said about the shy, girlish look on Molly's face.  

They returned to the table where they received several wolf whistles. Molly nearly over-balanced as she curtsied and, distracted and inebriated as he was, Remus caught her by the elbow.  

Arthur leaned back in his chair and laughed. “Don't go stealing my wife now, Lupin!” He playfully pulled Molly into his lap and whispered something in her ear that made her gasp and cover her mouth, her eyes sparkling as she looked at her husband's beaming face.  

*  

Kingsley  

Kingsley smiled tightly as Remus and Molly hurried off to the dance floor, both grinning drunkenly as they tripped over each other in their haste. Kingsley took another sip of his drink, drumming the table with his fingers.  

He would have to cut himself off soon. He could feel himself walking the fine line between drunken revelry and morose pondering. He watched Molly and Remus with a strange sense of detachment, feeling suddenly very alone.  

He wished Chip was there. Wished he could dance with the man he was falling more in love with every day. Wished they had been brave enough to be openly together in a space like this, surrounded by friends who wouldn’t care - or, at least, who wouldn’t say anything if they did.  

Kingsley sighed and tipped back the rest of his drink, barely feeling the burn of firewhiskey as he swallowed.  

Remus’ laugh cut through his thoughts. It was a rare sound - a true belly laugh that made his face light up and his eye sparkle and his teeth glint in the candlelight as he twisted his hips. His face was flushed with drink and exertion. He looked happy.  

Hestia gave Kingsley a nudge and he startled back to the present to turn to her. Her eyes darted to Remus before she gave Kingsley a knowing wink and took a sip of her wine. Kingsley felt his heart sink even as a sense of panic crept up his neck.  

He gave her a meaningful look and shook his head sadly. Hestia raised her eyebrows doubtfully, too drunk to filter herself.  

“I'm just saying, you'd both be a lot happier if -”  

“I have a boyfriend,” Kingsley blurted out testily. His hand flew to his mouth too late to stop the words from escaping as Hestia’s eyes widened in surprise. He leaned forward desperately. “Please, it isn't public yet and -”  

Hestia held up a reassuring hand. “My lips are sealed,” she promised, miming turning a key and throwing it over her shoulder. Kingsley sighed in relief and leaned back against his chair, resisting the urge to look back at the dancers.  

The song began to wind down, shifting to a far slower number. Several people at the table wolf whistled and Kingsley looked up. Molly and Remus had returned to the table, Molly falling into Arthur's lap while Remus stood with his hands on his hips, catching his breath.  

His face was red and shining, his mouth wide with an uncharacteristically toothy grin. It was a nice smile. A truly happy smile that Kingsley couldn't help but envy.  

Remus looked alive in a way Kingsley hadn't seen in a long time. And, though he didn't want to admit it, the sight stirred something deep within him - a mix of longing and an unsettling sense of jealousy that he had no right to feel.  

He had Chip.  

He was falling in love with Chip.  

And Remus was still in love with Dora.  

*  

Remus  

His heart was pounding almost painfully in his chest. He made himself a promise to cut back on the cigarettes. And to get some exercise. And to eat a salad sometime soon.  

He dropped into his chair, immediately regretting his decision as he realized he didn't have a drink. He reached for his empty glass, pulling his wand to fill it with cool water.  

The mood at the table seemed cooler than when he had stood up to dance. Kingsley was sitting stiffly, frowning down at his glass while Hestia scanned the crowd with her eyes, looking a little melancholy. Hagrid had returned and was sniffing loudly as he rambled to Elphias and Minerva, who nodded along politely even as their faces grew increasingly mournful.  

Arthur and Molly seemed oblivious to the shift, wrapped up in their own world for the moment. It was a little sickening and Remus turned away, leaning across Kingsley to look at Hestia.  

“Everything alright?” he asked, surprised to hear his voice slur. Hestia smiled at him warmly.  

“Yes, just starting to get tired,” she said dismissively. Remus didn’t push - he knew that excuse all too well.  

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a cloud of white approach the table.  

“Mum, Dad - Aunt Muriel wants a picture with the two of you,” Ginny said breathlessly, squeezing her way between her parents and Hagrid. “She keeps hunting me down.”  

Molly looked delighted at the prospect. Arthur groaned quietly, struggling to his feet. He allowed himself to be dragged off, trailing behind his wife and daughter. Hestia stood, as if to follow them.  

“I'm getting a top-up,” she announced, picking up her empty glass. “Can I get anything for anyone?”  

Remus hesitated for only a moment before lifting a finger in a silent request for a refill. He pretended not to notice the warning look Kingsley gave him.  

He tried to listen to Hagrid's mumbled musings, but he quickly realized that the large man was wading in waters Remus knew could drown him - names that were now carved on tombstones. Lives that had been cut short. People who should have been out on the dance floor tonight.  

His shoulders slumped and he looked around impatiently for Hestia, eager for his drink. She was stuck in a queue for the bar, looking a bit impatient. Remus sighed and turned his attention to Kingsley, who was staring distractedly at his empty glass.  

“You alright?” he asked quietly.  

Kingsley hummed noncommittally, keeping his eyes focused on the dredges at the bottom of the glass. “Fine,” he said, then offered a half-smile. “Just thinking too much.”  

Remus smiled back, but the expression felt forced now, as if Hagrid's words and Kingsley’s silence had paired up to drag him down from his earlier high. The warmth of the drinks and dancing had given way to something colder, heavier. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling restless.  

Hestia returned, setting a fresh firewhiskey in front of him. He thanked her absently, wrapping his fingers around the glass but not drinking yet.  

Kingsley’s gaze flickered toward the drink, his expression unreadable.  

Remus exhaled through his nose and lifted it in a half-toast. “To overthinking,” he said dryly before taking a slow sip.  

*  

George  

He was flying high. The night had been a brilliant whirl of colors and sounds. His belly ached from laughing, his lips were chapped from snogging Angelina, his legs were sore from hours of dancing.  

He took a swig from the flask he kept tucked in his pocket, feeling the euphoric rush of the potion almost instantly. He felt reckless. Wild. Ready for mischief.  

Angelina pressed yet another glass of water into his hand, giving him a meaningful look, softened by the fond smile on her lips.  

Merlin, he loved her.  

He took a drink, twisting slowly on the spot to take in the party going on around him. Lee had managed to talk Katie into a dance and Charlie looked like he was on cloud nine, dancing in the middle of the crowd, glass in hand.  

George's eyes settled on the table at the center of the room, where a group of Order members had gathered, seemingly for the express purpose of making each other miserable. There wasn't a single smile on any of their faces. Ghosts danced in their eyes.  

George felt the familiar panic that gripped him in moments like these - moments when he feared he would never escape the grief that had clung to him the past three years. When he feared he would forever be trapped in the horrible darkness, with only the occasional flash of light to remind him there was life out there. When he feared he would steep in bitterness until he no longer recognized himself. Until Fred wouldn't recognize him.  

He took another swig from his flask and painted a grin on his face, squeezing Angelina's hand.  

“If you'll excuse me,” he said grandly as he stood. “I'm going to try to liven things up a bit.” He nodded towards the miserable gathering before stumbling forward, using various chairs and tables to steady himself.  

He plopped into the empty seat beside Hagrid and grinned at everyone around the table.  

"Well, well, what do we have here?" George drawled, folding his hands in front of him as if he was addressing a board meeting. "The most depressing table at the happiest wedding of the year. Did I miss the invitation to the pity party?"  

Hagrid sniffed loudly and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "Jus' talkin’ about old times," he rumbled.  

George winced but kept his grin in place. "Ah. That'll do it. But come on, we’re at a wedding! You lot look like you’re at a -” He stopped short, swallowing down the rest of the sentence. A funeral joke wouldn't land well here. He might be drunk, but he wasn’t that far gone.  

He twisted in his seat, waving down a waiter. “We need to get you all back in party mode,” he declared before leaning towards the mousy waiter to request a few bottles of firewhiskey and enough glasses for the table.  

The old people exchanged hesitant glances.  

“I'm not sure if that's wise,” McG said predictably, but George wasn't taking no for an answer. When the waiter returned, George flourished his wand, distributing glasses around the table.  

“Just a few toasts, Minnie,” he promised, smirking. “For starters, I'd like to propose a toast to Harry, the only man brave enough to marry my terror of a sister!”  

A few people smirked before taking cautious sips from their glasses. George sent the bottle around to top everyone off. He raised his glass again, but Kingsley stepped in with a toast of his own.  

“To Ginny, may she keep that boy out of trouble!” he said, looking like he was starting to get into the spirit of things.  

George laughed, pleased with the lightening mood. “To Harry, may he survive the honeymoon!”  

“May he survive the wedding night!”  

After far too many toasts, several of which were repeats, everyone was starting to look rather unwell. Hagrid was slumped over the table, lifting his head at the end of each toast to take a drink. Elphias was dead asleep and Kingsley was obviously seeing double, his eyes glazing over as he swayed in his seat. George would have said Lupin looked ready to jump Kingsley’s bones if he thought the old werewolf could still get it up, and Hestia was giggling uncontrollably, leaning an arm on McGonagall's shoulder.  

Of everyone at the table, McG seemed to be the only one properly pacing herself, but George was determined to see her drunk.  

He sidled up beside her with a mischievous grin, slinging an arm around her chair. "Professor, I do believe you're falling behind."  

McGonagall sniffed imperiously but couldn't quite hide the smirk tugging at her lips. "I prefer to maintain a level of dignity, Mr. Weasley."  

George gasped in mock horror. "Dignity? At a wedding? Perish the thought!" He raised his glass again. "To Professor McGonagall, who - against all odds - has survived teaching every single one of us!"  

The table erupted into cheers, and even McGonagall couldn't resist lifting her glass with a resigned chuckle.  

"Bottoms up, Professor!" George crowed. She took a measured sip, but George wasn’t satisfied. He shot a glance at Hestia, who was still giggling madly behind her hand.  

"For Merlin's sake, Minerva, drink like you mean it!" Hestia encouraged, nudging her in the ribs.  

McGonagall rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath. With a stern look at George, she downed the rest of her drink in one swift motion. The table cheered again, and George beamed.  

"Now that's more like it!" He turned to the others. "Alright, who's next? Remus? Kingsley? Hagrid?"  

Kingsley, still swaying slightly, raised his glass but barely seemed to register the toast. His gaze kept drifting toward Lupin, who was absently spinning his wedding ring with his thumb as he chuckled.  

Hagrid lifted his head from the table, looking bleary and a bit lost.  

“’Ter James an’ Lily,” he slurred, taking a slurp from his tankard. George felt the mood at the table freeze over, as if Hagrid's words had thrown a shadow over everyone else's good time. He couldn't help but feel a little frustrated. The laughter had instantly died. Lupin's face had fallen into its usual misery and McGonagall's lip had begun to tremble as Hagrid's tears splashed against the table.  

George fixed an even bigger smile to his face, hoping to salvage some of the fun they had just been having.  

“To drinking!” he shouted, trying to get the laughs rolling again, but the moment was lost and he was once again sitting in a circle of miserable, broken people forever caught in the past. In their loss.  

I can't end up like them, he thought desperately, taking another sip from his drink. He didn't want to be sad forever.  

Lupin stood, bracing a hand against the table for balance. He looked ready to cry - or as close to crying as Lupin ever got. Kingsley looked up at him blearily.  

“Where're you going?” he asked, resting his elbow drunkenly on the table. Lupin didn't look at him as he stumbled towards the exit, muttering quietly.  

“Just going to grab some air.”  

George watched as he disappeared through the tent opening. He turned back to the table with a grin, ready to liven things back up. Ready to laugh and have fun and forget his permanent grief.  

He wouldn't let himself become like Lupin.  

Chapter Text

Remus  

The night air was not as refreshing as he had hoped. It hung stagnant and warm, doing nothing to ease the heat in his face nor the ache in his chest. His eyes stung with refrained tears. 

He fumbled with his cigarette case, his fingers refusing to cooperate. 

“Fuck!” 

He banged the case against his hand to loosen the lid, furious with himself for drinking so much. His head was swimming, his thoughts a tangled mess. The whiskey had dulled his senses, but it had done nothing to quiet the noise in his mind or soften the faces swimming in his vision. 

James and Lily. Dora. Sirius. James. Dora. Lily. Dumbledore. Sirius. Moody. Dora.  

The case finally gave way, and he pulled out a rollie with a trembling hand, lighting it mindlessly. He coughed slightly as the smoke burned the back of his throat. 

He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream away his pain. To forget for one fucking night how much he had lost. 

He exhaled sharply, watching the smoke curl into the night. 

A faint rustle of shoes on grass caught his attention. He turned his head, already knowing who it would be. 

Kingsley stood a few paces away, hands tucked into his pockets. He looked unusually rumpled, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, eyes glassy from far too much to drink. 

Remus let out a dark chuckle. “You following me now?” 

Kingsley didn’t smile. “Didn’t think you should be alone.” 

“I want to be alone,” Remus muttered, bringing the cigarette back to his lips. 

Kingsley stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “No, you don’t.” 

Remus scoffed, inhaling deeply, willing the burn of tobacco ground him. It didn’t work. He was still floating, still lost in the faces and ghosts that refused to let him be. 

Kingsley moved beside him, close enough that Remus could feel the warmth of him, the steady presence that was at once grounding and infuriating. 

They stood silently, side-by-side. Remus knew he should offer Kingsley a fag. He didn't. 

Remus clenched his jaw, staring out into the darkened countryside beyond the Burrow. 

“I fucking hate weddings,” he muttered, bringing the cigarette back to his lips. Kingsley shot him a sidelong look. 

“You looked pretty happy earlier,” he pointed out. For some reason, the reminder irritated Remus more than it should have. He shot a glare at Kingsley, his fingers tightening around the cigarette as though it could somehow channel all his frustration. 

“Maybe you should go back inside,” he suggested, his voice hard. “I saw a few reporters still hanging around.” He had seen no such thing, but it was as good an excuse as any. He just wanted Kingsley to leave him alone. 

Kingsley didn’t move. His eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he remained rooted beside Remus, silent and steady. 

“Is that what you really want?” he asked, his voice soft, laced with something that made Remus' stomach twist. 

Remus exhaled sharply, flicking ash onto the grass. 

“Yes,” he lied, taking another drag from his cigarette, his eyes stinging with something he couldn’t name. 

Kingsley didn't move, didn't speak. The weight of the silence between them pressed down on Remus, thick and suffocating. 

Remus took another drag of his cigarette, the end glowing in the darkness. He wished Kingsley would push him, wished he would argue, wished he would give him a reason to snap - to let the frustration and grief spill out of him in something other than aching silence. 

But he didn’t. He took a step forward, clapping his hand on Remus’ shoulder with a sad smile. Remus tensed but didn't look up. Didn't turn his eyes to the man swaying drunkenly beside him. Didn't acknowledge the hand making his skin tingle beneath his shirt. 

The cigarette burned low between Remus’ fingers. He let it drop, grinding the ember into the grass with the heel of his shoe. His hands itched for something else - another drink, another cigarette, another way to quiet the roaring in his head. 

“I, er -” His voice was rough and hollow. Empty. “I should probably have some coffee. Get my head on straight.” He ducked out from Kingsley’s grasp, nearly losing his balance before stumbling back inside the marquee, leaving Kingsley alone in the dark. 

* 

Hermione  

Hermione lowered Ron into a chair, pressing a glass of water into his hand. 

“Drink up,” she said, trying to be gentle. He didn't look like he felt well at all - his eyes were crossed and glassy, his skin pale with nausea. She felt torn between comforting him and telling him off for having so much to drink. But, as she looked around the room, she could see that Ron was hardly the sloppiest drunk there. 

Several of Ginny's teammates stood in a jagged line, arms draped across each other as they swayed to the music, each in varying states of unconsciousness. Molly and Arthur were tucked away in a far table, red faced and giggling as they pawed drunkenly at each other. Several Aurors had passed out on the tables and everyone left at the Order table seemed ready to be sick. 

Harry and Ginny were, it seemed, the only sober people in the room. They looked exhausted, but they smiled lovingly at each other. Ginny whispered something in Harry’s ear that made him blush and look up in surprise. 

Hermione smiled to herself, taking a small sip of her amaretto sour as she continued to survey the room, stroking a comforting hand on Ron's back. 

She saw Kingsley step into the marquee from outside, looking far drunker than she would have expected from the Minister. He cast a look around the room before plastering on a lopsided smile and making his way towards Harry's mentor, Auror Beckett. He clapped her on the shoulder, his booming laugh just a fraction too loud, his smile just a second too late. 

Ron groaned beside her, dropping his head onto the table. 

"Never drinking again," he mumbled. 

Hermione sighed, rubbing slow circles on his back. "You say that every time." Ron let out a low whimper of agreement. 

Hermione looked up again to see Angelina half-carrying George towards them. His legs seemed incapable of holding him upright and he kept pausing mid-step, attempting to kiss his girlfriend. He flopped into the seat across from Hermione, nearly toppling over. Angelina laughed softly, but Hermione could see the concern in her eyes as she pushed George upright. 

“We need to get you some water,” she said in a voice that was clearly meant to be light. George waved her off with a drunken smile. 

“If you think I'm bad, you should see Hagrid,” he slurred, resting his cheek on his hand. Hermione peered around him, her heart sinking with worry at the sight of Hagrid passed out, his head resting on the table as he snored. She wondered how they'd ever manage to get him home in his state. 

She scanned the other sad faces around the distant table. 

“I ought to check on him,” she said, rising halfway out of her chair before Ron gently gripped her elbow. 

“Leave it,” he mumbled. “He just needs to sleep it off a little.” Hermione shot a final worried glance at Hagrid before sitting back down, taking in the rest of the marquee. 

Her eyes finally landed on a lone figure, tucked away at the rear-most table, nursing a steaming cup of coffee. Her heart filled with pity. 

“Do you think Remus is alright?” she whispered, nodding towards the table. She felt a surge of annoyance as George turned dramatically in his seat, craning his neck to blatantly stare at the sad man. 

“What, Moony?” he chuckled, turning forward again. “I wouldn't worry about him - he likes being miserable. Gives him something to do.” 

Hermione shot him a sharp look. "That's not funny, George." 

George held up his hands in mock surrender. "Didn't say it was," he said, but there was something forced about his smirk. “I tell you one thing, though - that man needs to get shagged soon. Never seen someone so pent up.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes and stood. George grinned wickedly, nudging Angelina, his eyes fixed on Hermione. “I wasn't suggesting you volunteer!” 

Hermione shot him a withering look. “I’m sure you weren’t.” She had meant to shut him up, but his smile simply widened. 

“You could do worse - rumor has it he's hung like a hippogriff.” Angelina smacked him on the arm, even as she shook with repressed laughter. 

“Don't be gross,” Angelina scolded, but there was a hint of laughter underlying her voice. 

“Ask Ginny!” George insisted, his face red with amusement. “Tonks used to tell her waaay too much!” 

Ron's face fell in horror - Hermione felt the urge to laugh at his expression, but her exasperation at George won out. 

“She did no such thing,” she huffed as she trounced away, turning towards the far table where Remus was staring mournfully into his cup. 

She drew up next to him, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. He immediately tensed and made a half-hearted grab for his wand before looking up. Hermione smiled down at him. 

“Hello, Remus,” she said in a friendly voice. “Mind if I sit down?” 

For a moment, he simply blinked at her, the shadows under his eyes deepening in the dim light of the marquee. Then, with a weary sigh and a half-hearted smile, he gestured to the empty seat next to him. "Be my guest.” 

He reached for the water glass sitting next to his coffee, his pale hand shaking. Hermione could tell he was seeing double as his fingers closed around thin air. She resisted the urge to help him, knowing it would only embarrass him. 

After three attempts, he finally succeeded, bringing the glass to his lips. Hermione sat quietly for a moment, waiting for him to speak, but he seemed to have forgotten she was there. She could feel Ron watching her anxiously and she could only imagine the crude jokes George was making. 

She turned her gaze to the dance floor, where a few stragglers remained, wrapped in each other's arms. Harry and Ginny swayed in the middle of the floor, faces close together, smiling as they exchanged sweet nothings. 

“I'm sure it must be hard,” she said thoughtfully, watching her friends a moment longer before looking back at Remus. “They do look an awful lot like Harry's parents, don't they?” 

Remus smiled darkly. “Always so perceptive, Ms. Granger,” he slurred, watching a droplet of water run down the side of his glass. Something about his tone made her think she had missed the mark. 

She observed him a little longer, wondering if he would remember this conversation in the morning. She wondered how many nights he spent like this, drowning his pain. She knew he led a lonely life - he had friends and family, yes, but no one who could ever fully understand. She suspected that even when he was surrounded by people who loved him, he still felt alone. 

“You know, Fleur is having a hard time tonight,” she said carefully, guessing at his train of thought. “It must be difficult, comparing her wedding to this.” 

Remus looked around, seemingly missing her hint about his own obvious regrets. “Did she leave?” 

“Yeah,” Hermione said sadly. “She and Bill went to put Victoire to bed an ages ago and they haven't been back.” 

Remus nodded vaguely, picking up his coffee. 

“Do you think,” Hermione ventured. “Do you think today was hard for them?” 

His hand froze halfway to his mouth, the cup tipping at a dangerous angle. Hermione could see the black coffee threatening to spill over the edge 

“You'll have to ask them,” he said bitterly, setting the cup back down without drinking. 

He wrung his hands, eyes fixed on the gold band on his thin finger, his expression unreadable. Hermione knew that he was lost in thought again, somewhere far away, where the past still held a tight grip on him. 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said softly, her voice full of sympathy. “I didn’t mean to -” 

“No,” Remus interrupted with a rough sigh. “It’s fine.” 

His eyes were watering and he picked up his cup again, taking a careful sip. He blinked steadily, staring at something Hermione couldn't see. 

Her heart clenched as she watched him. 

He looked so fragile in that moment - his usual composure stripped away by exhaustion and drink, revealing a man who was fighting battles within himself that no one else could see. 

Remus sighed and turned his head, seemingly just realizing Hermione's hand was still on his shoulder. He frowned. 

“I should check on Teddy,” he mumbled, bracing his hands on the table and pushing himself to his feet. The motion was slow, his body moving with reluctance, as if the simple act of standing took immense effort. He didn’t meet Hermione’s eyes. 

“Goodnight, Hermione,” he said thickly, turning on the spot, trying to get his bearings. He looked so lost. 

Hermione stood and reached up, wrapping her arms loosely around his shoulders. He tensed, keeping his arms stiff by his side. 

“Take care, Remus,” she whispered, releasing him before turning back to her table. 

She glanced over her shoulder once, but Remus was already walking away, his steps slow and unsteady. 

* 

Bill  

He slipped from his old bedroom, taking care not to wake Victoire. 

It had been a long day. A long week, really. Wedding preparations had consumed the whole family, each conversation centering on floral deliveries and table arrangements and how they planned to send off the couple at the end of the night. 

It had awoken something in Fleur - a sort of mourning for their wedding. For the honeymoon spent in hiding. For the simple newlywed days they would never have together. For the anniversaries forever tainted. For the blood that had stained her white dress. 

For the blood that had run down her legs three days ago. For the baby they had been planning to tell Bill's parents about the next day. The one they'd never meet. 

She barely made it through dinner and speeches before she was trembling, panic gripping her as if she could feel the enemy approaching. Bill had guided her away, murmuring reassurances in her ear as he led her with a gentle hand on her waist, Victoire perched on his hip. 

He had spent the better part of the night holding Fleur as she wept against his chest, her quiet sobs muffled against his shoulder. Victoire lay stretched out by his side, blissfully unaware of her mother's tears. 

They had dozed sleepily, listening to the joyful sounds drifting from the marquee. He had run his fingers through her hair and she had kissed his battle scars. They had held each other, crying softly together over everyone and everything they had lost. 

Now, in the dimly lit kitchen, he stood by the hob, allowing the kettle to heat without magic. He didn't mind waiting. 

He ran a hand through his hair, watching the kettle as if it held some answers. 

Behind him, the kitchen door clicked opened. He turned to see Remus stumbling over the threshold, gripping the doorframe for balance. He dropped his head and let out a long breath as he braced himself for the trek up the stairs. 

“Fun night?” Bill quipped, smiling despite his mournful exhaustion. Remus squinted at him, swaying slightly. 

“If you say so,” he replied, his mouth quirking wryly. He dropped into the nearest chair, propping his elbows on the table. He lowered his head to his hands, looking like he was trying to stop the room from spinning. 

“Tea?” Bill offered, glad for the distraction. “I'm making chamomile for Fleur.” Remus shook his head with a vague groan, his face still buried behind his long fingers. 

Bill poured two cups of the herbal tea, leaving them to steep on the counter. He slid into the seat across from Remus, looking at the older man thoughtfully. 

“You look like you could use something stronger than tea,” Bill said, his tone gentle but with a slight edge of concern. 

Remus gave a short, bitter laugh. “I’ve had enough of that for one night.” 

Bill smirked. “I was referring to an emetic potion,” he said smugly. Remus snorted behind his hands, giggling drunkenly. 

“I'd deserve it,” he said with a laugh in his voice. Bill smiled, though part of him thought it might actually be a good idea. 

Remus’ laughter died, his shoulders drooping as his giddiness faded. Outside, the music thrummed, bursts of laughter cutting through the rumble. Bill's smile faltered. 

“How was the reception?” he asked, unable to keep a note of sadness from his voice. He wished he had seen the newlyweds dance. 

Remus frowned behind his hands. He was silent for a moment before lifting his head to look blearily at Bill. 

“I heard Fleur crying earlier,” he said unexpectedly, sounding as though he was making some sort of confession. Bill was a bit taken aback, but he nodded sadly. There seemed no point denying it. 

“Is she okay?” Remus rasped, looking genuinely concerned. Bill smiled sadly. 

“She will be,” he sighed, leaning his arms on the table. “She's just -” He didn't want to use the word ‘traumatized,’ but he was at a loss for a better word. 

“Today just brought up a lot of bad memories,” he said simply. He didn't mention the nightmares that had plagued her the past few weeks, the teary episodes that she couldn't even explain to herself. 

Remus nodded, his gaze distant. "That's understandable," he muttered quietly, his voice thick with understanding. He seemed to curl into himself as he spoke, the weight of his own losses pressing down on him again. He stared at his ring with hard eyes, spinning it around his finger. 

Looking as though he had been gripped by a sudden thought, he turned his face back up to Bill, his face lined with compassion. 

“Are you okay?” 

Bill wasn't sure why the question caught him so off-guard. Perhaps because he wasn't sure of the answer. He thought for a moment before sighing. 

“I will be.” 

Remus nodded knowingly, tapping his fingertips together nervously, visibly searching his mind for a new subject. 

“Victoire was very cute today,” he said lamely. Bill smiled, grateful for the shift in topic. 

"Yeah, she's got a way of stealing the spotlight. Takes after her mum, I think." He chuckled softly and Remus smiled fondly. 

“I'm afraid Teddy might try to steal some of that spotlight," Remus said, a small laugh escaping him despite the heaviness in his voice. “He's a bit of a glutton for attention.” 

Bill chuckled. “They're quite the pair,” he said fondly, leaning back in his chair. “Who knows - in twenty years or so, we might be sitting here celebrating their wedding!” he joked, smiling at the notion. Remus returned the smile but his eyes were mournful. He dropped his gaze back to his hands. 

“I doubt I'll still be around by then.” 

Bill's smile faltered, his chest tightening. "Don't say that," he said, more forcefully than he intended. 

Remus huffed a dry laugh, shaking his head and forcing his face into a self-deprecating smile. 

"Sorry, ignore me - I'm just drunk." His fingers twisted the wedding band on his left hand, the gold catching the dim candlelight. Something flashed across his face for the briefest moment, but Bill recognized it right away. Fear. 

He leaned forward. “Er - you're not, you know…” Remus frowned in confusion. Bill sighed, hesitant to voice the question. “You're not thinking of -” 

Realization dawned on Remus’ face and he shook his head reassuringly. “No - I'm actually pretty good these days.” His face became almost comically earnest as Bill gave him a doubtful look. He sighed and rolled his eyes. “This hasn't been my best day,” he admitted. “But I really am doing better.” 

Bill nodded, choosing to believe him. “I'm really glad to hear that,” he said. “But what did you mean -” He dropped his voice, as if they might be overheard. “You're not sick, are you?” 

Remus hesitated a moment before cracking a smile. “Not unless you count the blood curse,” he laughed, rising to his feet suddenly and shuffling towards the door. Bill raised his eyebrows, watching Remus over his shoulder. 

“Going to bed?” he chuckled, wondering if Remus realized he had just left in the middle of their conversation. Remus reached out a hand to steady himself against the door to the den. 

“Yeah,” he mumbled absently, as if the weight of the night had finally caught up with him. There was a thoughtful pause before he took a sharp breath. 

“Hey,” Remus said, turning to face Bill again, his face full of compassion. “I'm sorry today was so hard for you.” 

Bill smiled in sad gratitude. He was debating whether to return the sentiment when, to his surprise, Remus opened his arms and stepped forward. 

He didn't think he had ever seen Remus reach out to hug anyone, excepting when Teddy was born. He didn't seem to know quite what to do with his arms, though that could very well have been the alcohol. 

Bill's mouth twitched as he stood and stepped into the offer of comfort, returning the gentle pat on the back. He could smell the party on Remus’ shirt - that indescribable scent of floor polish and alcohol and warm bodies that hung in the air as everyone celebrated. 

Remus broke the hug, stepping back and making a face like he had surprised himself. He offered Bill a final smile that was somehow both kind and uncomfortable. 

“Goodnight, Bill.” 

He clapped Bill's shoulder, turning on his heel to begin his climb up the stairs. 

* 

Teddy  

Teddy sat up, startled awake by the sound of something heavy bumping into the door to the strange room he was in. He whipped his head around, trying orient himself, but this wasn't his room and it was dark and he was scared and his heart hurt from beating so fast. 

“Daddy!” he wailed, screaming at the top of his lungs as tears spilled from his eyes. 

“Shit,” whispered a voice on the other side of the door and Teddy turned hopefully, still sobbing even when Daddy tripped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. 

“It's just me,” he shushed. His voice sounded wrong, which did little to soothe Teddy's fears. 

“ Shhh.” Daddy smelled funny as he crawled into bed, wrapping an arm around Teddy - like sweat and smoke and grown-up drinks. 

“I'm here, cariad. You're safe.” 

Teddy's breath began to even out as Daddy stroked his hair, humming softly. He sniffled, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand as he snuggled into Daddy's side. 

“Scared,” he whispered, his voice small and trembling. 

Daddy sniffed. “I'm so sorry,” he murmured softly, pressing his cheek against Teddy’s messy hair. His voice sounded sad. Teddy didn't like it. 

His fingers toyed with the buttons on Daddy's waistcoat. He imagined plucking them off, one-by-one, holding each in his hand like a little prize. He felt his eyes start to grow heavy as he listened to Daddy's rough breathing, sleep slowly drawing him back under. 

Daddy sniffed again, lifting a hand to swipe at his eyes, but Teddy was already drifting into a dream - a dream where lights blurred around him as Daddy spun him in a circle, both of them laughing with glee. A dream of sugary cake and big smiles. A dream of the best day ever. 

Chapter Text

Sunday, June 17, 2001  

Remus woke the morning after the wedding, thoroughly confused to find himself in a strange bed. He sat up, mildly panicked as he tried to recall how he had gotten to this room - tried to recall if he had brought anyone with him.  

He supposed it was a good sign that he was still fully dressed, all the way down to his shoes - still, it was no guarantee. He patted the sheets, as if they held the memories he was so desperately reaching for.  

His head pounded as he looked around the room. As the haze of sleep began to fade, he realized that he was in the Burrow - Percy's old room, where he had laid Teddy down to sleep. The walls tilted dizzily as he sat up straighter, ruffling a hand through his hair.  

Without warning, his stomach spasmed, leaving him hanging off the side of the bed, spilling his guts onto the floor. Acid burned his throat as he paid his penance for the night before.  

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, pausing a moment to ensure he was done before righting himself and waving his wand at the mess. He hugged his legs, resting his pounding head on his bony knees as the world around him settled.  

He frowned as he noticed that the bedroom door was ajar, sunbeams scattered across the hall runner.  

Teddy.  

Remus threw his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the dizziness telling him to lay back down. Teddy had probably already been up for hours, wandering through the Burrow, left to his own devices while his father lay useless in bed.  

The house was quiet as he stepped into the hall but, as he reached the stairs, he could hear both children's distant voices, giggling and jabbering in the kitchen. The scent of pancakes and bacon wafted up the staircase, making Remus’ stomach clench.  

He shuffled down the stairs and towards the bright, happy voices in the kitchen, bracing himself against the doorframe as he took in the scene.  

Bill and Fleur stood at the stove, Fleur flipping pancakes while Bill handled the bacon. Victoire sat in her highchair, clapping her tiny hands as Teddy entertained her with exaggerated expressions, his hair cycling through a dizzying array of colors.  

Fleur looked surprisingly cheery - one of last things Remus remembered was the sound of her weeping behind closed doors. She smiled softly at him over her shoulder, impossibly beautiful in the morning light.  

“You look ‘orrible,” she said, a laugh coloring her voice. Remus looked down at his untucked shirt and lopsided waistcoat, suddenly wishing he had taken a moment to tidy up. He ran a hand through his messy hair as Bill turned to see who Fleur was talking to. He smiled and gestured to Teddy.  

“Well, now we can ask him ourselves!” Bill said far too loudly, winking at Fleur. Teddy shook his head, grinning and laughing mischievously, obviously about to be caught in a lie.  

Remus grunted as he lowered himself into a chair, pressing the heels of his hands against his throbbing eyes.  

“Tell us, Teddy's Dad,” Bill smirked, giving Teddy a knowing look. “Is Teddy allowed to eat cake for breakfast?”  

If he was honest, Remus didn't particularly care what Teddy ate that morning, but he didn't want to admit to being such a terrible parent. He shook his head.  

“Eat your - whatever Bill told you to eat,” he mumbled, breathing through his mouth to settle the nausea rearing its head again.  

Teddy's grin faltered slightly. “You okay, Daddy?” he asked, tilting his head, his expression softening with concern. Remus gave him a weak smile.  

“I'm fine, cariad - just tired,” he said pleasantly, though his voice was rough and dry.  

“Well,” Fleur said lightly as she placed a stack of pancakes in the middle of the table. “You're the first one up, apart from us. I don't expect we'll be seeing anyone else until lunchtime.”  

Bill smiled wryly. “George is asleep on the bathroom floor - we might have to scrape him off the tiles later.”  

He leaned over Remus’ shoulder to set down the plate of bacon. He hovered a moment before putting a hand on Remus’ arm and muttering in his ear.  

“I don't know if you remember what you told me last night, but I think we should talk.”  

Remus looked up in alarm. A thousand horrible possibilities played across his mind. Had he outed Kingsley and Chip? Kingsley and himself? Had he spilled his guts about Alys? Confessed the ugly truths in his heart?  

He pulled back, searching Bill's face for answers. All he found was concern.  

“Right now?” he asked, not sure if he could bear waiting but also wishing he could put off knowing forever. Bill's gaze darted to Fleur before returning to Remus, so caring it sent a terrified shiver down Remus’ spine.  

Bill rocked his head, as if he was debating. “Before you go home,” he said. Remus stood, gripping Bill's arm for balance as the world tilted.  

“Let's just -” He nodded towards the back door, eager to get the conversation over with so he could put his mind to rest.  

Bill hesitated, glancing at Fleur. She gave him a small nod, busying herself with Victoire. Remus felt a rush of shame that, whatever he had said, Fleur seemed to know.  

“All right,” Bill said, leading the way to the back door. “Let’s take a walk.”  

The morning air was crisp, the garden still damp with lingering dew. Remus inhaled deeply, willing the fresh air to settle his stomach as they walked towards the orchard. The distant sounds of Teddy and Victoire’s laughter faded behind them.  

Bill didn’t speak right away. He shoved his hands into his pockets, kicking at the damp grass as they walked. Remus’ heart pounded against his ribs, his stomach doing anxious flips, as if he expected Bill to scold him.  

The younger man simply gave him a thoughtful look as they walked side-by-side.  

“I, er, wanted to check on you before you head home,” he said, sounding like he was stepping around something delicate. Remus’ heart raced, even as he maintained a mild look on his face.  

“Last night, you said something that worried me - something about dying and I -” His mouth curled awkwardly, his face almost apologetic. “I just need to make sure you're not going to do something... er, you know… drastic.”  

Remus stopped walking. He stared vacantly at the grass, trying to dredge up any recollection of the conversation. Bill turned to face him fully, his expression open but firm.  

“I know you were drunk, and maybe you didn’t mean it the way it sounded. But I need to hear you say that you’re not -” He exhaled sharply. “That you’re not planning on hurting yourself.”  

Remus ran a hand down his face, horrified with himself. He closed his eyes, shaking his head, humiliation prickling his innards. “I'm sorry - I don't remember what I said, but I promise you, I'm fine.” His voice was hoarse but steady as he met Bill's worried gaze.  

Bill seemed to study his face, looking for the cracks. Remus couldn't tell if he was satisfied with what he found, but he nodded, crossing his arms. “It wasn’t a threat or anything - just something about you not expecting to live long enough to see Teddy's wedding. It was nothing, but I - I just needed to make sure.”  

Remus nodded to the ground, thoroughly embarrassed. “I'm sorry for worrying you,” he said guiltily. He ran a hand over his aching eyes with a sigh. He promised himself he'd never drink so much again, knowing full well he was lying.  

Bill tilted his head, looking like he wanted to ask another question. “Er, if there's something else…” He left the sentence unfinished, clearly waiting for Remus to fill in the blanks.  

Remus considered telling him about the potions. About the impossible choice he feared he would have to make. About the reality that the wolf would be waiting to kill him if he chose to let him free. About the fear that he wouldn't survive yet another dive into the crippling depression that had sucked the life out of him.  

Instead, he smiled and clapped Bill on the shoulder. “I'm grand, really. But I appreciate you checking in.”  

Bill didn’t look entirely convinced, but he nodded, letting it go for now. He gave Remus’ shoulder a quick squeeze before turning back toward the house.  

Remus followed, shoulders tight with shame.  

*  

He never wanted to hear ‘Crocodile Rock’ again.  

He had negotiated his way out of breakfast after returning to the house, insisting he would eat at home when he felt a little better. He had struggled to meet Fleur's concerned gaze as he gathered Teddy, waving goodbye to the little family seated around the table.  

It had been a relief to arrive at home, safe from pitying eyes and difficult questions. He lay on the sofa, one arm draped over his eyes, the other hanging to the side, wand in hand. The record player blared out, the music banging violently against his skull, Teddy's happy giggles piercing his sensitive ears.  

“Again, Daddy!” Teddy insisted, jumping in place, the floor squeaking beneath him. Remus made a sound of complaint deep in his throat, but he flicked his wand, resetting the needle for the eighth time.  

He had realized, shortly after arriving home, that he had missed his potion dose the night before. It was hard to tell where his hangover ended and looming depression began as he melted into the cushions beneath him, incapable of moving. He tried not to think about what would happen when he cut it out entirely the week before the moon.  

Teddy’s voice broke through his thoughts again, more insistent this time. “Wake up, Daddy! No sleeping!”  

Remus groaned softly, pressing his arm harder against his eyes. “I'm not sleeping,” he mumbled, his voice thick.  

Teddy giggled and flung himself on Remus’ belly. Remus grunted at the painful jab. He forced himself to sit up, glancing at the clock to confirm it was already well past midday. He looked at Teddy wearily.  

“What do you say we go to Grandpa's house so you can watch some telly?” he suggested. His father was in New Zealand, but he figured it wouldn't hurt to borrow the house to buy himself a few hours of peace.  

Teddy’s eyes lit up and, without hesitation, he ran off to find his shoes. Remus leaned back, closing his eyes.  

*  

Lyall’s house smelled faintly of tobacco and old books, a familiar comfort as Remus collapsed onto his father's couch with a heavy sigh.  

He was too sick and tired to feel guilty as he lay on his belly, legs hanging off the side of the couch. He could hear Teddy's laughter floating down the hall, underlaid by jaunty music from his television program.  

He considered stealing a beer - something to ease his body's complaints - but he lacked the willpower to pull his wand from its holster. The coarse fabric of the couch rubbed against his scruffy cheek, itchy and uncomfortable, but he stayed where he was.  

Snippets from the night before came back to him, flitting along the edges of his memory, just beyond his grasp. He could recall standing in the dark, wishing whoever had followed him would leave him be. He remembered Molly laughing happily as he spun her around - had he gotten up to dance? He remembered thinking that the trek from the tent to the house was impossibly long as he stumbled over the uneven ground.  

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the memories to stay buried.  

Teddy's show continued to play in the background. Creepy, high-pitched voices bantered, their words too muffled to understand. He tried to picture what was happening on the screen, what antics went along with the sing-song voices, but all he could see was the blur of candles and deep brown eyes and a young couple now long dead.  

He felt his limbs grow heavy as his thoughts became dreams, which became nightmares, which left him gasping for air as he toppled from the couch.  

*  

He allowed Teddy to spend far too long in front of the television and, by the time he wrestled him into his arms, the boy was completely overstimulated. He screamed angrily as Remus carried him towards the fireplace, wincing at the sharp sound. Teddy's face turned an unnatural shade of red, his ears growing, slowly but surely, as his temper boiled over. Remus sighed, throwing Floo powder into the grate to take them home.  

Dinner dissolved into a full-blown tantrum from Teddy that ended with him flinging his plate at Remus for no apparent reason. Exhausted and fed up, Remus had carried him to bed, patiently pulling the covers over Teddy’s flailing limbs.  

By the time Teddy fell asleep, his face still flushed, Remus felt too drained to do anything but sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing his aching temples. He watched Teddy’s tiny chest rise and fall, his breath hitching occasionally from the remnants of his earlier sobs.  

Shit dad.  

He shook his head against the thought, reminding himself to take his potion before bed.  

He trudged down the stairs, his whole body slumping. He wanted to crawl into bed, to sleep away the remnants of the wedding, but a small, persistent sense of guilt nagged at him. He had spent the day indulging in his misery, wasting away precious hours he should have spent doing laundry or dusting shelves. Walking the fields with Teddy. Being a proper dad.  

He sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walked stiffly to the loo, reaching into the medicine cabinet for his potion.  

He debated taking two doses to make up for the night before, but he decided it wouldn't be wise, considering Elaine's warnings about excessive alcohol while taking the prescription.  

He didn't allow his eyes to take in his reflection as he closed the mirrored cabinet door, turning on his heel with his head downcast.  

Determined to do at least one productive thing before the day was past, he reached for the stack of letters that had been accumulating over the past few weeks on a chipped old side table. The hate mail had slowed considerably since the winter, but the pile of envelopes was still daunting.  

He tucked the letters under his arm and made his way to his bedroom, settling under the covers. He propped himself up against his mam's headboard, setting the stack beside him. Taking a deep breath, he picked up the top envelope, running a finger beneath the seal.  

He recognized the handwriting from about a dozen other letters - all anonymous, of course. This one was far shorter than most. He supposed the writer was losing steam.  

He gave it a cursory glance, satisfying himself that it was nothing more than angry ramblings, before setting it aside with a wave of self-disgust. He reached for the next letter which was, predictably, much the same. The words scrawled across the page were venomous, a familiar mix of ignorance and hatred.  

He worked his way through the pile, feeling the potion start to soften his edges, gently guiding him towards much needed rest.  

He picked up one final letter for the night, ready to scan it for threats and toss it aside to burn. The parchment was much finer than any other letter he had opened so far, and he braced himself for vitriol from a wealthy pureblood extremist.  

His eyebrows knit together when he realized that the letter was, in fact, a second request from Belby.  

Dear Mr. Lupin,  

I am reaching out again to discuss the possibility of arranging a meeting with you to discuss an exciting new venture.  

I was not at liberty to share details when last I wrote, but I am now pleased to announce that I (and my team) are moving forward with plans to develop the Belby Center for Werewolf Welfare.  

This center will provide services at an international level for those inflicted with lycanthropy, including Wolfsbane access, safe and comfortable transformation spaces, health and social services, and support for families of bite victims.  

If you would be so kind as to send me your availability, I would like to meet to share more details and discuss your interest in serving on the Board of Directors. I believe you would be a major asset to our efforts.  

I look forward to your response and hope to meet with you soon!  

Yours Sincerely,  

Damocles Belby  

P.S. I apologize for the vague nature of my earlier letter. We were in the midst of securing a significant donor - I'm sure you understand.  

Remus stared at the letter, numb with shock. It was the last thing he had expected. He reread the letter twice, his mind struggling to process what he had just read.  

His hands shook as he set the letter down on the bed beside him, his heart beating erratically as he fought to process the implications. He searched himself, trying to find a sense of hope. Excitement. Something other than the suspicious doubt filling his chest.  

His fingers twitched as they hovered over the parchment, as though touching it too long would make the words disappear. He exhaled, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, willing his brain to function properly.  

This was good news. It had to be.  

Belby was a name he had long associated with Wolfsbane, a name that carried weight in the small field of lycanthropy research. If this was real - if Belby truly meant to create something for people like him - then Remus knew he should feel something other than the tight, coiling dread in his gut.  

He tried to think what Belby had to gain from this. There would be a catch - mandatory participation in research, no doubt.  

Images cropped up in his mind. Memories - some he didn't even realize he had. Massive needles that pumped a silvery liquid into his veins, setting his blood on fire. Spells that promised a cure, but which sent him into seizures. Cold, clinical rooms where cold, clinical researchers looked on as he tore himself to pieces. His desperate, childish pleas with his parents to make it all stop.  

His thoughts swarmed too quickly, colliding and unraveling before he could make sense of them.  

The Belby Center for Werewolf Welfare .  

Welfare. Not research, he told himself.  

Remus swallowed hard. He knew what this meant. What it could mean. If it was real - if it was more than a well-intentioned promise - this could be something good. Something necessary.  

Board of Directors .  

He could help shape this idea into something powerful. Life-altering. He could help make it a place of safety, a space where people like him could receive the care and support they deserved without fear of exploitation. It could be the opportunity he never knew he needed, another chance to fight for something bigger than himself.  

Just as his heart began to pound with excitement, realization froze his blood, his stomach sinking. The truth struck him with a sharp sting.  

Belby didn't want him for his experience. He probably didn't care much about his input. Not as much as he cared about his reputation. His Order of Merlin. His appointment at Hogwarts. His endorsement from Harry and Kingsley.  

He wants me to be his poster child.  

The thought hit him like a physical blow. The letter blurred in his vision as a sickening wave of nausea rolled through him. He stared at the parchment, uncertainty twisting his features.  

He let out a slow breath, rubbing his hands over his face. The rational part of him knew he was jumping to conclusions, letting his paranoia take the reins. Still, part of him knew that there had to be something more, some catch. Good things didn't happen for people like him. Guardian angels didn't swoop down to bestow benevolence upon the cursed. Life didn’t just hand out chances for a better life - not without a price, not without strings attached.  

He knew that all too well.  

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to push away the bitter weight of cynicism. He wished his head didn't ache so much. Wished he could think more clearly, without the haze of exhaustion, the residual sluggishness of alcohol, the dark cloud of doubt hanging over him.  

He sighed heavily, picking up the letter, reading it one last time before folding it carefully. He placed it on his bedside table, promising himself to rest. To wait until morning to ponder it further.  

His eyes fluttered closed, but sleep was elusive, tugging at him in fits and starts, competing with the racing thoughts that refused to rest.  

With a frustrated growl, he threw the covers from himself, rolling out of bed to traipse back to the bathroom, reaching out for a sleeping draught. He swallowed the potion, returning the cork before sliding it back in its proper place.  

His eyes drifted to the tray of Depressione Remedium.  

“Fuck it.” He plucked the missed dose from its slot, drinking it down before stumbling back to bed.  

The sleeping potion drew him under the moment his head hit the pillow.  

Chapter Text

Monday, June 18, 2001  

Remus straightened from where he stood, bent over his classroom desk, quill in hand. He picked up the letter he had just written, giving it a final read-through. 

Dear Mr. Belby,  

I appreciate your commitment to improving the lives of werewolves, both through the invention of Wolfsbane and this new concept for a center.  

Unfortunately, I am unable to take on this sort of commitment at this time.  

I wish you all the best in this endeavor.  

Sincerely,  

Remus Lupin  

It was polite enough, he thought. None of the bitterness or doubt that had built inside him appeared in the carefully crafted words. It was neutral, dispassionate - exactly the kind of response he needed to give. He folded the parchment with precise movements, sealing it in an envelope before setting it aside. He would have to make a trip to the owlery during his office hour. 

He looked up at the sound of approaching students, a content smile spreading across his face. 

* 

A nervous flutter stirred in his chest as he ascended the spiral staircase towards Minerva’s office. He knew this was just a standard end-of-term check-in, but he couldn't shake the vague feeling that some new disaster awaited him behind the heavy office door. 

Letting out a sharp breath, he fixed a pleasant look on his face and knocked softly. 

Minerva looked like she was still recovering from Harry's wedding as she sat behind her desk, uncharacteristically slumped against the back of her chair. Remus’ head throbbed in sympathy at the pained look in her eyes. 

“Good evening, Professor Lupin,” she said, her voice a little rougher than usual. Remus resisted the urge to smirk as he took the seat opposite her. 

“Good evening, Headmistress,” he said, his voice soft but friendly. He folded his hands in his lap, giving her a respectful look. “It was nice to see you the other night.” 

She shot him a look that clearly said, ‘sod off,’ before rifling through a stack of parchment. She gave the top sheet a cursory glance before folding her hands in front of her, fixing him with an approving look. 

“Well, Professor, it looks like you've had another successful year,” she said, and Remus felt a small bubble of pride swell in his chest. Minerva turned her eyes back to the parchment. 

“Your students are performing exceptionally well, and I’ve received nothing but praise for your efforts in and out of the classroom.” 

The compliment, simple as it was, warmed him more than he cared to admit. He cleared his throat, feeling mildly embarrassed. “Thank you, that's - I'm glad to hear that.” 

Minerva gave him a knowing look, as if she could see right through his modesty. She tapped her fingers on the desk, considering him for a long moment before continuing. 

“How are you doing?” she asked heavily, peering at him searchingly. “I assume you've still been receiving letters?” 

Remus’ smile fell slightly as he nodded. “I suppose you have as well?” 

Minerva raised her eyebrows, her mouth slanting distastefully. “I have.” 

Remus held her gaze a moment longer before dropping his eyes with a sigh. “I'm sorry,” he muttered. He felt a stab of guilt at the idea of Minerva fielding complaints on his behalf. For the burden he had put on her. 

Minerva sniffed disapprovingly. “Enough of that,” she said in a sharp voice. Remus looked up, surprised by the firm set of her mouth. “You have nothing to apologize for and I won't have either of us losing sleep over this nonsense.” She took a sharp breath and looked at him as though she wasn't sure if she should continue. She nodded to herself, clearly deciding to press on. 

“You have endured far more than your fair share of scrutiny,” she said evenly. “And you have done so with more grace than most could manage. If anyone should be apologizing, it is the fools who waste their ink writing such rubbish.” 

Remus focused his eyes on something beyond Minerva’s shoulder, swallowing hard against the emotion rising up through his chest. He blinked rapidly, forcing a small, grateful smile. 

“Thank you, Headmistress,” he rasped, his voice cracking. Minerva gave him a nod. 

“I do want to ask, though,” she continued, sounding almost hesitant. “Are you doing alright?” Remus straightened slightly in his chair as Minerva’s face shifted dangerously close to concern. “I imagine it hasn't been easy -” 

“I'm fine, really,” he blurted out, suddenly irrationally terrified of where this conversation might lead. Minerva raised an eyebrow, her face taking on its usual severity. 

“Please do not interrupt me,” she said in a tone he recognized well from his schooldays. He shrank slightly in his chair as Minerva fixed him with a serious look. “As I was saying, I realize that this has been a trying year for you. I just want to know that it isn't becoming too much.” 

A bitter laugh caught in his throat before it could escape. He couldn’t recall a time in his life when things hadn’t been ‘too much.’ He swallowed the sound, shifting in his seat. 

“I appreciate your concern, but I'm doing quite well,” he said with a smile. 

Minerva regarded him for a long moment, her lips pressing together as if weighing the truth of his words. Remus held her gaze, determined to keep up the illusion, even if they both knew better. 

At last, she gave a small, resigned sigh and leaned back in her chair. “Very well,” she said, though she didn’t look entirely convinced. “But if that ever changes, I trust you’ll come to me?” 

Remus’ smile tightened, but he nodded. “Of course.” His eyes flickered towards the ornate grandfather clock in the corner. Minerva followed his gaze. 

“Yes, well,” she said, pushing the stack of parchment away. “I'm sure you're anxious to get on with your evening. I won't keep you.” Remus nodded, taking care not to look too anxious to leave as he stood. 

“Thank you,” he said, his voice rougher than he expected. “Have a nice evening, Headmistress.” He returned her handshake and, gathering his bag, strode towards the exit. He reached out a hand to open the door when Minerva’s voice called him back. 

“Professor?” He turned to face her again, a politely quizzical look on his face. Minerva’s lips twitched, a rare hint of amusement breaking through her stern expression. 

“Do try to beat Filius in your duel this weekend - I have five galleons on you to win.” 

He felt his face split into a grin. “I'll do my best.” He gave her a half-bow before reaching for the door, giving a small wave over his shoulder before closing the heavy door behind him. 

* 

Saturday, June 23, 2001  

The rest of the week passed in a blur of exams. Remus was completely drained after setting up and running several obstacle courses over the span of the week and, by Saturday, he was cursing himself - and Filius - for scheduling the Dueling Club tournament for the weekend after exams. 

Should've learned from last year.  

He dragged himself out of bed far earlier than was reasonable for a Saturday, in his opinion. A heavy mist lay across the field outside his window, obscuring the world from view. It was the kind of morning that demanded everyone stay in bed. 

He shuffled sleepily towards the kitchen, desperate for a cup of tea. The house was eerily quiet, the scrape of his cup and the whistle of the kettle sounding unnaturally loud in the silence. 

He stared out at the foggy field through the kitchen window as he sipped his tea, debating whether to bother with breakfast. He did a mental scan of his sparse pantry, deciding he would grab something from the Great Hall instead. 

Half an hour later, he sat at his desk, showered and dressed for the day. He leaned over the stack of written exams he needed to finish grading, trying to squeeze in a little work as he waited for his father to arrive. 

He didn't look up as the fireplace roared, scratching out a correction to a written response about cursed objects. 

“Nice haircut.” 

Remus looked up and did a double take, his mouth twisting in a mix of amusement and distaste. 

“Nice beard.” 

Lyall’s hand reached up to his chin, stroking what seemed to be several weeks' worth of carefully trimmed facial hair. 

“Is this the first time you've seen it?” he asked, looking mildly self-conscious as he rubbed at his jaw before smiling wryly. “Guess it's been a minute since I've seen you.” Remus couldn't tell if he was being criticized. 

“Yes, well, busy time of the year,” he said offhandedly, rising from his seat and gathering up his bag. “You'll have to tell me later about New Zealand.” He wasn't particularly interested in his father's recent trip - they were all largely the same - but it seemed like the polite thing to say. 

“Of course,” Lyall said in an odd voice that Remus didn't have time to interpret. He gave his father a swift smile as he started making his way towards the fireplace. 

“Well, thank you again for watching Teddy - he's still asleep, but feel free to take him to your place once he wakes up - assuming that's easier for you.” He hoped it was - the last thing he wanted was for Lyall to have a full day to scrutinize his sorry little cottage. 

Lyall hummed noncommittally, eyes scanning the room before settling on Remus again. 

“Yes, well, have fun today,” he said with a tight smile. “Don't push yourself too much.” Remus chuckled and winked. 

“When have I ever?” he laughed, grabbing up a pinch of Floo powder. 

* 

Remus disappeared in a pillar of green flames, leaving Lyall standing in the middle of the sitting room, alone with the silent house. 

He ran his tongue against the backs of his teeth, trying to rid himself of the dryness in his mouth. 

Guess it's been a minute since I've seen you.  

He told himself it was fine, that this wasn't a sign that, sooner or later, Remus would disappear from his life again. He told himself that Remus was right - Lyall had been away, and then they'd both been busy with final exams. It was to be expected. Normal. 

Lyall strolled aimlessly around the house, his eyes taking in every detail. Every crack running through the plaster. Every watermark. Every chipped tile and worn textile. 

His heart felt sick. Your fault.  

He opened the kitchen cabinets, shaking his head at the sparse contents. A few tins, a half-empty jar of honey, a box of tea. There was an unopened roll of Digestives - a treat, he supposed - but it was clear that his son was still eating like a pauper. 

Your fault.  

He stepped out onto the half-rotted porch and looked out over the misty morning. The air was eerily quiet, as if the animals and birds and breeze were all asleep, too tired to stir. 

Quiet. Hidden. Lonely. 

Your fault.  

Lyall inhaled deeply, the crisp morning air doing little to settle the unease curling in his stomach. He leaned against the railing, the wood groaning softly beneath his weight. 

He could feel himself slipping into the dangerous fantasy he knew better than to indulge. The one where he had kept his mouth shut at Greyback's hearing. The one where Remus had grown up happy and healthy. The one where he'd gone to Oxford after Hogwarts, like he had wanted. Or the Institute. Or any of the thousands of things he could have done if Lyall hadn't let himself lose control that day. 

The one where Remus met a nice girl in school and settled down in a nice place in the countryside. The one where he had the big family Lyall knew he had always craved. The one where his son hadn't faced the world alone. The one where he wasn't broken beyond repair. 

Lyall sighed heavily and stepped back inside, brushing the mist off his sleeves before ascending the stairs to wake Teddy. 

He couldn’t stand another minute in this house, staring at the life his son had been forced to live. 

* 

Teddy had woken up grumpy. He buried his face in Lyall’s shoulder, obviously trying to recapture sleep as his grandfather carried him down the stairs. 

The Floo had done little to improve his mood, and Lyall spent a solid fifteen minutes trying to settle his grandson's tears. 

His shoulders were tight as he brewed himself a cup of tea, taking care not to disturb Teddy, who was passed out asleep on the couch, his face still red from screaming. 

Lyall exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face as he leaned against the counter. The morning sun had finally begun to break through the mist, casting a pale glow through the windows. He took a slow sip of his tea, staring blankly into the steam curling up from the cup. 

He pressed away from the counter, setting his tea aside. It wouldn't do to worry. 

He walked softly down the hall, peeking his head around the corner to check on his grandson. 

Teddy stirred on the couch, shifting restlessly in his sleep. Lyall crept closer and moved to adjust the blanket draped over the small, curled-up form. The boy’s face was still splotchy from crying, but his breathing had evened out, his small hands tucked beneath his chin. Lyall’s throat tightened. 

He traced a light hand over the fine, downy hair at the crown of Teddy’s head. For a fleeting second, his mind tricked him into remembering another time - another boy, just as small, curled up in his arms, trusting him completely. 

Lyall straightened abruptly, turning away before his thoughts could spiral. He had exams to grade. Theses to read. Project proposals to sort through. 

He hurried back to the kitchen, fetching his tea before settling into his office, drowning his worries with work. 

* 

“Grandpa?” 

Lyall looked up an hour later to find Teddy standing in the office doorway, rubbing his eyes sleepily. His tousled hair was a deep mauve that suited him surprisingly well. Lyall smiled warmly. 

“Well, hello sleepyhead,” he said, pushing his chair back so he could open his arms, inviting Teddy in for what Hope would have called a cwtch. The small boy climbed into Lyall’s lap - he seemed to radiate heat, still warm and toasty from his nap. 

Lyall kissed his head. “Well, now, what would you like to do today?” he asked, peering down at the sleepy little face. He looks just like Remus.  

“Teletubbies,” Teddy mumbled, his voice still rough with sleep. Lyall laughed, unsurprised. 

“I'm sure that could be arranged,” he said fondly, giving Teddy a little squeeze. “I also thought we could go see the sheep.” 

Teddy sat up straighter, suddenly alert. “Baby sheep?” he asked, clearly excited. Lyall chuckled. 

“They're bigger now, but there are some babies.” Teddy gasped softly, slipping from Lyall’s lap onto the oriental rug. 

“We go now?” he asked hopefully, poised to run through the door. Lyall’s heart swelled at the sight. 

“Let's get some breakfast in you first.” 

* 

It turned out to be a lovely day. The mist had melted away as the sun rose higher in the sky, bathing the world with a gentle warmth. They enjoyed a brisk walk through the fields, Lyall pointing out birds and plants of interest. He reveled in Teddy's innocent awe at each new discovery. 

Most of his small herd of sheep had been turned out to roam after lambing and sheering season, but a few remained in the barn - mostly weaker lambs and their mothers, along with an old ram who had refused to leave the quiet of the barn. 

Teddy shrieked with laughter as some of the more rambunctious lambs headbutted him, knocking him into the thick bed of straw covering the ground. He ran around, trying to goad his new friends into chasing him. Lyall kept a close eye on some of the more protective ewes - he didn't want to have to explain any injuries to Remus. 

After Teddy grew tired of the sheep, they returned to the house and enjoyed a light lunch together. The conversation was simple, filled with laughter as Teddy chattered about the animals and something about picking berries with his gran. 

They indulged in a short nap, followed by a few episodes of Teletubbies, as promised. Lyall thought the show was a bit unsettling - not to mention the poufy Teletubby who carried a purse like a faggot - but Teddy's laughter was too infectious for him to consider turning it off. 

It was peaceful. Simple. The sort of day he had never imagined he would have with the grandson who, a few years ago, would have seemed impossible. 

He was drawn from his thoughts by the roar of the Floo. He rose with a slight groan, falling in step behind Teddy, who had leapt to his feet to run into the sitting room. 

Remus was standing in front of the fireplace, brushing ashes from his clothes and looking a little worse for wear. His short hair was a tangled mess on the top of his head and Lyall could see the shadow of a bruise forming around one eye. Still, he was smiling as he opened his arms to catch Teddy up in a hug. 

“How'd it go?” Lyall asked, eyeing Remus. Remus chuckled and ran a hand through his hair, fingers snagging in the tangles. 

“The students were brilliant!” he said, a self-deprecating smile pulling at his features. “I, on the other hand, ended up in the Hospital Wing with a broken tailbone and a bruised ego.” 

Lyall snorted, even as his brow furrowed in concern. “And a bit of a shiner,” he pointed out, nodding at Remus’ face. Remus lifted a hand to his eye, exploring with his fingertips. He winced slightly as he prodded the rapidly darkening flesh. 

“And a shiner,” he said, nodding as if Lyall had made a particularly clever observation. Lyall was a little taken aback by Remus’ good mood. 

“Well, I have some bruise cream you can use. I was thinking, once you tidy up, we could grab an early dinner at the pub before you head home.” 

Remus’ eyes hardened almost imperceptibly, but he smiled softly. “Thanks, but I think we'll pass this time. Been a long day.” 

Lyall's smile faltered as he studied Remus’ face, noting the subtle change in his son's expression. 

He's hiding something.  

He forced his face back into a warm smile, ignoring the anxious roiling of his stomach. 

“Well, then, perhaps we could do something this week. I have an early day Tuesday - maybe we could - "

“I have an appointment,” Remus interrupted, looking apologetic. Lyall frowned, concerned. 

“Is everything alright?" he asked, trying not to sound too worried. Remus looked confused. 

“Er, yeah. It's my regular Tuesday appointment.” Lyall was a little taken aback. 

“You mean that therapy thing?” he asked disbelievingly. “You're still doing that?” He immediately regretted the words as Remus’ face fell shamefully. 

“Yes,” he muttered, dropping his gaze to the floor. Lyall refrained from further comment. He hadn't minded the therapist lady stepping in when Remus was in crisis, but he didn't like the idea of his son sitting with a stranger, week after week, being forced to talk about things better left unsaid. Didn't like the idea of Remus telling her all of the horrible things Lyall liked to pretend had never happened. 

“Right…” he said awkwardly. He slipped his hands into his pockets, rocking on his heels. “I, er…” He searched for something to say. “I suppose we'll have to schedule something else soon.” Remus smiled weakly. 

“Yeah, Dad. See you soon.” He planted Teddy on his hip and started toward the fireplace, but Lyall’s voice stopped him. 

“Remus -” 

Remus paused, one hand hovering over the Floo pot. 

“Yes?” 

Lyall felt an uncomfortable lump form in his throat. He wasn't sure what he had wanted to say. I'm sorry. I love you. Let me help you.  

Please don't leave me again.  

“Er, good luck with the end of term.” He couldn't quite tell, but he thought he saw a flicker of disappointment in Remus’ eyes. 

“You too, Dad,” he said with a small smile before disappearing in a burst of flames. 

Chapter Text

Saturday, June 30, 2001  

He woke to the sound of birds chirping outside his window, welcoming the new day with their cheery song. He sank deeper into his sagging mattress, pulling the covers over his head.  

It had been a difficult night. He had skipped his usual dose of Depressione Remedium in favor of Wolfsbane, as planned. Following Elaine’s recommendation, he had also avoided the potions - and other drinks - he normally relied on to quiet the voice of the wolf.  

He had spent the night battling nightmares and dark figures that leaned menacingly on his chest, their hot, rank breath suffocating him. His dreams had been filled with blood and screams. His own. Dora’s. The children who had fallen around him.  

Now, lying awake in the comforting warmth of a sunbeam, he searched his exhausted mind for any shift - any sign of what the next week would bring.  

He couldn't tell whether the heaviness pressing him into the mattress was exhaustion or the first fissures of a breaking mind.  

The wolf paced.  

*  

He smiled softly as he stepped into the kitchen of the Burrow, Teddy running ahead of him. Arthur sat at the table, the Daily Prophet spread in front of him. Molly was preparing a pot of tea at the counter, but she turned and scooped Teddy into her arms as he flew to her.  

Remus exchanged a friendly nod with Arthur before depositing Teddy's bag in an empty chair.  

“Thank you, again,” he said in a hoarse voice, forcing a tired smile. “The graduation should only be an hour or so.”  

“Of course!” Arthur said cheerily, checking his watch. “You have some time before it kicks off - sit down for some tea.” He flicked his wand to pull out a chair and Remus found himself sitting down before it even occurred to him to beg off.  

Molly sauntered over to the table, holding Teddy on her hip as she levitated the tea service in front of her. She rested a hand on Remus’ shoulder before taking her seat at the head of the table.  

“You look tired, dear,” she fretted, shifting Teddy on her lap so she could reach her tea. “Have you been sleeping?” Remus shrugged, sipping his tea. He had to remind himself to smile.  

“Rough night, I suppose,” he said flippantly, waving a hand. Arthur shook his head in commiseration.  

“It's tough with little ones. I remember those late night adventures,” he said, smiling knowingly.  

Remus didn’t correct him.  

*  

The Great Hall was completely packed when Remus arrived, parents milling about, their voices melding into a dull roar that filled the massive room. Purple banners hung from the ceiling, emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest. The school ghosts floated respectfully along the walls, looking particularly excited for the day's event.  

Remus took his seat beside Michael and looked out over the rows of seating. He felt his heart flutter arhythmically as memories from the beginning of the school year hit him full-force. He recognized several faces in the gathering crowd, could remember the things they had said about him to the Board of Directors. He could feel hateful eyes on him.  

Monster. Deviant. Creature. Murderer. Scum. Tramp.  

“You with us?” Michael whispered, giving him a subtle nudge. Remus shook himself, blinking as he reoriented. He met Michael's gaze and smiled.  

“Sorry, just tired,” he said. Michael didn't look convinced, but he simply shrugged.  

“Are you coming to the pub after?” he asked, his voice still low.  

The thought of the Three Broomsticks made Remus feel ill. He pictured the crowded room, filled with parents and graduates. He could almost hear angry shouts. Could almost feel spit hit his face. The burn of a curse. The sharp crunch of broken bones.  

“I think I'll pass,” he said casually. “I have to pick up Teddy and I could honestly use a kip.” He smiled wryly, hoping Michael would assume he was referring to the upcoming moon. The younger man nodded and Remus was grateful when he didn't push.  

The ceremony felt far longer than it actually was. Minerva gave an address, followed by a speech from the valedictorian - a pimply boy Remus hadn’t had in class the past three years.  

One by one, the students rose and shook hands with the headmistress before accepting their diplomas from Filius. Remus’ eyes were overwhelmed by the camera flashes that went off as each student was called - every time he blinked, his vision exploded with blindingly white starbursts.  

The ceremony concluded with a dissonant rendition of the school song, followed by a loud cheer from the students, who hugged each other and jumped in place and slapped each other on the back. It was a happy scene. Remus couldn't wait to escape.  

*  

He had planned to slip quietly through the side door, avoiding unwanted attention. He shook hands with his colleagues, exchanging well-wishes over the summer holidays, bending down to allow Poppy to kiss his cheek. Rounding his shoulders, he slunk towards the exit, but a young voice cut through the din.  

“Professor Lupin! We want a picture together!” He turned to see one of his seventh-years waving him down. His eyes darted warily, searching the crowd before he took a cautious step towards the small group of students beckoning him over.  

“We're getting group photos of all the NEWT classes,” someone explained as they manhandled him into the center of the group. He blushed furiously as one of the mums - a muggle, he assumed - held a camera up to her eye.  

Remus forced a happy smile, even as he flinched at the students’ arms snaking around his waist. He looked at the camera, feeling deeply uncomfortable.  

“On the count of three, say ‘Hogwarts!’” she chirped happily. “One. Two. Three!”  

The flash went off, momentarily blinding him, and for a second, he forgot where he was. The sensation of hands gripping him - of being trapped - sent an involuntary shudder down his spine. His breath hitched - distant screams echoed, sharp and sudden.  

“Professor, you alright?” one of the students asked, concern flickering across her face.  

Remus exhaled slowly, schooling his features. “Just a little warm,” he lied smoothly, stepping out of their grasp the moment it was polite to do so.  

“Congratulations, all of you. You should be proud.” He shook hands all around, giving each student a meaningful smile before he loped towards the door, doing his best to look at ease.  

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.  

“Professor Lupin!”  

He closed his eyes, wishing he could pretend he hadn't heard, but he came to a halt and turned to see Catherine trotting towards him. She was grinning excitedly, her long dark hair trailing behind her. Remus looked around anxiously for her father.  

“I wanted to say goodbye,” she said breathlessly as she drew up next to him. Remus clasped his hands in front of him, giving her a kind smile.  

“I hear you got into the Healer training program at St. Mungo's,” he said. He didn't have to fake the pride in his voice. “I'm sure you'll be excellent.” Catherine beamed.  

“Thank you, Professor. Not just for - well, you know…” She looked a little teary, but she smiled all the same. Remus felt an incongruous sense of guilt as Belby’s letter leapt to the front of his mind. He brushed it away and nodded to Catherine, starting to angle his body towards the door.  

“Well, congratulations. I look forward to seeing what the future holds for -”  

“Catherine!” Mr. Montgomery’s voice boomed over the crowd, turning Remus’ blood to ice. He took a step back, his face calm despite the vice tightening around his heart.  

“Er, I, er -” He cleared his throat, keeping his eyes trained on the furious man. Montgomery's eyes burned with a look Remus knew well from battles. Remus felt himself coil as the man stepped forward.  

He nearly yelped in surprise as Catherine threw her arms around his neck, squeezing him tight, like a beloved uncle. Remus kept his arms stiff at his sides. His eyes stung with the need to blink, but he was too afraid to take his gaze from Montgomery for even that long - the man's face was turning a dangerous shade of red.  

The moment Catherine released him, Remus gave her a friendly nod, turned on his heel, and bolted.  

***  

Monday, July 2, 2001  

He was fine. Perfectly fine.  

He didn't want to snap every time Teddy shrieked or knocked over a tower of blocks. Didn't want to claw his skin as he felt the cloak of crippling sadness settle on his shoulders. Didn't want to scream to drown out the voice of the wolf.  

He wasn’t tensing at every creak of the house. He hadn't jumped out of his skin when Teddy knocked over the coat rack. Hadn't shivered in his bed, terrified of the shapes in the shadows.  

Four more days, he assured himself.  

He could get through it. He had to get through it.  

***  

Tuesday, July 3, 2001  

Andromeda could tell something was wrong, something beyond the usual symptoms her son-in-law showed in the days before the moon.  

He didn't look feverish yet and, though he was limping heavily, he wasn’t using his cane, but there was something in his face and the set of his shoulders that worried her.  

He gave her a small smile as he set Teddy's weekender bag on the hearth.  

“Thank you again for keeping him an extra night,” he said, sounding weary. Andromeda nodded.  

“Of course - no point in him going home tonight just to come back tomorrow.” Remus nodded approvingly at the logic.  

“All the same, thank you. I know it can be a lot.”  

Andromeda refrained from pointing out that he didn't exactly look up to the job at the moment. He looked heavier than he had in months - shorter, his body sagging under an invisible weight. His grey skin looked sunken. His hands trembled. His eyes glinted as if he was going through his day perpetually on the brink of tears.  

She opened her mouth to say something - she wasn't sure what - when he gave her a little nod before hugging Teddy against his leg.  

“You be a good boy for Gran, understand?” he said firmly but with a warmth in his voice. Teddy nodded, squeezing Remus’ leg.  

Andromeda gave Remus one last searching look as he murmured to Teddy. She had a sudden icy feeling of dread - a sense that this would be the last time she saw him.  

She pushed down her fury, reminding herself that he was right in front of her. He hadn't run and he never would - not again.  

Except something in his eyes looked dangerously close to the look she had seen the day he started packing.  

“Remus -” she blurted out just as he reached the fireplace. She felt ridiculous - she hadn't meant to say anything, didn't know what she wanted to say. Remus turned and she saw the shadow of fear in his eyes, despite his smiling face.  

“We'll see you in a few days.”  

Remus’ face twitched slightly - he had clearly heard the warning in her tone. He fixed her with a meaningful look.  

“I'll be there.”  

*  

Elaine tapped her quill anxiously against her notebook as she waited for Remus to arrive for his appointment.  

She had been worrying about him off and on since Friday night, knowing he had stopped taking his potion. She had heard some horror stories - alarmingly quick and severe spirals that rarely had happy endings. She took some comfort in knowing Remus had been on the lowest possible dose - hopefully, he wouldn't have too far to fall.  

She heard his uneven step as he entered the waiting area. His voice sounded particularly hoarse as he murmured a greeting to the receptionist.  

He managed only a weak smile as he entered, his face drawn and shadowy, void of color. She could tell just by looking at him that his body was starting to decline. His shoulders were slumped forward, his limbs stiff. He limped to his chair, looking as though each step was costing him considerable effort.  

He winced as he lowered himself into his seat. Elaine studied him for a moment. Despite his obvious discomfort and fatigue, she took some solace in the fact that he did not appear to be having any abdominal pain.  

He breathed heavily for a moment. “Sorry, I'm a bit of a mess today,” he said with a chuckle that wasn't quite genuine. Elaine smiled softly.  

“No need to apologize,” she said, conjuring a glass of water for him. “I'm glad you're here, but please let me know if you reach a point where you need to rest.”  

Remus nodded as he sipped from the glass.  

Elaine dipped her quill before facing him with a thoughtful expression.  

“I want to start with a check-in about stopping DR,” she said directly, leaving little room for argument. Remus nodded.  

“Yes, of course,” he said, his voice oddly formal. Elaine gave him another searching look - she had a sneaking suspicion he had rehearsed for their session.  

“Are you experiencing any unusual pain?” she asked, watching him carefully for any sign of hesitation or evasiveness. He shook his head.  

“No more than usual,” he rasped. His face was tired but open, his eyes steady. Elaine took a note, deciding she believed him.  

“How about your mood? Have you had any significant shifts or swings since stopping DR?” This time, his eyes shifted cagily as he formed his lie.  

“It's been fine,” he said evenly, his lips pulling into a soft smile. “A little down, I suppose, but nothing too terrible.” She noted the way he wrung his hands together, twisting his fingers.  

Folding her hands over her quill, Elaine fixed Remus with a serious look. “Are you sure?” she asked, prodding at his story. “Most people experience some rather severe symptoms when they taper off the potion.” He gave her a suspiciously earnest look as he shrugged.  

“I guess I got lucky for once,” he said, forcing another chuckle. “Maybe the Wolfsbane is doing something. Either way, I've been fine.”  

Elaine fought to keep doubt from appearing on her face.  

“What about nightmares?” she asked, unconvinced by his assurances. He stiffened, a lie forming on his lips before he sagged slightly. She could see him battling with himself, fighting the instinct to lie.  

“I, er, haven't been sleeping very well,” he admitted, flickering his eyes towards her. “Nightmares.” His cheeks colored slightly at the admission.  

Elaine nodded, looking at him thoughtfully. “I'm sorry to hear that. Do you remember anything about the dreams?”  

Remus swallowed hard, his eyes dark with memory.  

“Yes.” He sighed, rubbing his palms together. “Just the same-old-same-old.”  

Elaine didn’t have much hope as she posed her next question. “Could we talk about it?” she asked gently, but Remus immediately tensed and shook his head.  

Elaine leaned back, eyeing him thoughtfully. She sighed softly.  

“Well, back to the DR - you mentioned feeling a little down. Could you tell me more about that?”  

A flicker of resistance crossed his face before he shifted, his fingers curling tightly in his lap.  

“It's been fine,” he said firmly. Stubbornly. His eyes darted to Elaine's notebook as she wrote.  

“Any thoughts of hurting yourself?” she asked, noting the instant stiffness in his shoulders.  

“No.”  

Elaine sighed. “Remus, we can only do this if you're honest with me about -”  

“I'm not going to hurt myself,” he said roughly, his eyes drifting to the window, his jaw tightening. Elaine studied him for a long moment, her quill poised but unmoving.  

"You know I have to ask," she said gently. "Not because I doubt you, but because I care."  

Remus exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers still clenched together in his lap. "I know," he admitted, his voice quieter now. He looked at her, something raw flickering in his tired eyes. "But I'm not going to. I promise."  

Elaine let the silence stretch between them for a few beats, assessing his posture, his expression. She didn’t think he was lying – at least, not entirely.  

"Alright," she said, her voice even. "But if that changes, I want you to tell me right away. No matter what."  

He nodded once before taking a shaky breath, his eyes starting to shine.  

“I - I'd like to go home now,” he said, clearly trying to sound composed, but his voice wavered at the edges. Elaine studied him for a moment longer. She wanted him to stay, needed him to keep talking, but she could see his fatigue and pain dragging him down. She hesitated only a moment longer before nodding.  

"Of course," she said, closing her notebook with a soft  snap . "But I want to reiterate, you need to reach out to me if anything changes - severe depression or anxiety, thoughts of hurting yourself - it's important.”  

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he flicked his gaze back to her. He nodded, but Elaine could see a vein pulsing in his temple.  

“Of course,” he croaked, rising stiffly to leave. Elaine wished she could call him back, but she watched as he limped towards the door. He turned to give her a final, small wave.  

“Good luck Thursday night,” she said, offering him an encouraging smile.  

Fear flickered in his eyes before he nodded, giving her a tight smile before stepping through the doorway.  

*  

He took care not to rush away from the building - not that his knee would allow such a thing.  

He took slow, measured steps, pain radiating up his leg with every other footfall. He breathed tightly through his nose, his lungs burning.  

He resisted the urge to look back at the office building, afraid he would see Elaine watching his retreat. Afraid she'd see the crumbling facade.  

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.  

He reached the edge of the building, gratefully turning down the back alley where he could apparate home.  

He slumped against the wall, gripping his hair in his fists as the feelings he had been shoving down the past half hour finally burst out of him with all the violence of a cannon. He tried to steady his breaths, to regain control, but his lungs spasmed painfully as panic overwhelmed him.  

His lungs roared and blood pulsed in his ears, drowning out the city noise around him. He felt the walls closing in, suffocating him with the weight of his exhaustion, his fears, the impossible pressure of holding everything together.  

His fingers tangled in his hair as his knees buckled, forcing him down against the concrete. The sensation of falling was overwhelming, like he was sinking into something dark, something all-encompassing.  

He closed his eyes against the dizzying spiral.  

Chapter Text

Thursday, July 5, 2001  

He woke with a thick tongue and only the vaguest idea of who he was. He shook his head, immediately regretting the decision as the world began to spin and half a bottle of whisky made its way back up his throat. 

The sun was high in the sky, but he had no desire to leave his bed. No reason to. 

He shut his eyes again, willing himself back to sleep, but the sour burn in his throat and the sharp stab behind his eyes refused to let him drift off. Every inch of his body ached. His joints throbbed, swollen and stiff. His skin burned and itched with an angry rash. His head felt ready to crack open from the pressure building inside. 

The sheets were tangled around his legs, sweaty and twisted from tortured sleep. The taste in his mouth was foul - stale and bitter - and the scent of Wolfsbane and whisky lay heavy on his breath. 

He groaned miserably, clutching the blankets in his fists, as if he feared they might be ripped away from him. He shivered with fever and the unnamed fear that had possessed him the past week. He wanted to weep - another persistent effect of the change in his potions. 

He wanted to sleep. 

He wanted to die. 

He curled in on himself like a wounded animal, pulling the blanket tight as self-loathing settled deep in his chest. 

He lay there for what felt like hours, lost in a haze of fever and pain and crippling hopelessness. His hand found its way to his shoulder, fingers clawing at the massive scar there. He didn’t feel the bite of nails as they dug into the dead tissue. 

I need you to tell me… Severe depression or anxiety… Thoughts of hurting yourself…  

He hugged himself tighter. Told himself it wasn't severe. That this was normal pre-moon distress. 

Tears slipped down his cheeks into the pillow as he felt a light but unmistakable ache in his abdomen. 

* 

He forced himself out of bed as the sun slowly slipped towards the horizon. He had plenty of time before moonrise, but he feared, if he didn't get up now, he would rot in bed until it was too late. 

He limped painfully to the bathroom, gathering up the various potions he would need in the morning. After a moment of consideration, he snatched up a dose of Depressione Remedium - he wanted to start back up the second the moon set. 

Returning to the bedroom, he lined up the potions in a neat row, along with a glass of water and a handful of spliffs. 

Slowly, painstakingly, he peeled off his clothes. He curled into himself, hiding his body from the nonexistent eyes he imagined watching him with disgust. He felt the need to cover himself as he struggled towards the cellar door and down the soft, spongy steps. 

The wait for the moon seemed endless. He sat with his back against the damp stone wall, keeping his mind busy by monitoring every twinge in his belly. 

It was nothing compared to the month before - just mild pangs and a slightly stronger sense of nausea than usual. Nothing worth mentioning. Nothing worth a lifetime spent like the past week. 

I'll tell Elaine if I actually vomit, he promised. Severely, he amended to himself. Vomiting was normal. 

He crawled to the middle of the floor as he felt the pull of the moon in his blood, his bones. 

He felt the unmistakable clench of his stomach, the overwhelming dizziness that told him he was going to be sick. 

The pain was blinding as wave upon wave of retching left him collapsing to his side. 

There was no blood this time, as far as he could tell. He hugged his knees to his chest, fighting back tears. 

I'll tell her when there's blood , he vowed. 

The spasms in his stomach radiated outward, the pain of his transformation consuming everything else. He was blind to his surroundings as his own screams and the sickening crack and stretch of bone filled his head. 

*** 

Friday, July 6, 2001  

He crawled through the cellar doorway, his fingers curled against the carpet runner as he resisted the dizziness demanding he lay down. 

He dropped his weight to one hip, forcing himself to keep his head up as he gulped down air, his throat dry and tight and sore. 

It had been a difficult night. 

Not too difficult , he corrected. Only slightly worse than usual. Nothing to worry about. 

He didn't have to say anything to Elaine, he assured himself. The pain had come back, yes, but it was nowhere near the severity of before. Yes, he had been sick multiple times, but there had been no blood. And, yes, he had stood with his teeth wrapped around his leg, ready to tear into himself. Ready to punish himself. Ready to turn his desperate sadness into something real. But he hadn't done it. So, there was nothing to tell. 

He gripped the doorframe, dragging himself to his feet. His legs trembled beneath him as he stumbled to the phone, mumbling reassurances to Lyall before he shuffled to the bedroom. 

He sat on the edge of the bed, tilting his head back and letting out a rough sigh. He needed to clean up, to wash the stench of the wolf from his skin, but he was too drained. Too tired to move, too hollowed out to care. 

He rubbed at his face with a shaking hand before reaching out for the potions that would ease his torment. 

He swallowed each in turn. Depression. Pain. Sleep. 

He lined the bottles back up on the nightstand and slid his naked legs beneath the covers. He shivered as the sheets brushed against his raw skin. He sighed with relief as his head sank into his pillow, ready to put the night behind him. 

* 

The sun was low in the sky by the time he rolled out of bed, exhausted and aching from the night before. Long shadows stretched against the wall, but he didn't startle as they flickered in the periphery. 

Part of him wondered if he had imagined the past week. If he was misremembering the sense of drowning. The terror. The emptiness that had swallowed him whole. 

It seemed like a half-forgotten nightmare as he walked stiffly towards the kitchen, his shoulders looser than they had been in days. His mind quieter. 

He poured a cup of tea. Nibbled a piece of dry toast. Shuffled to the shower. 

He slipped into fresh, warm clothes. Settled on the couch with a book. Put a record on to play softly in the background. 

He read. He dozed. He rested his battered body. He let himself exist in the quiet.  

It was a fragile peace, but he clung to it. 

It was far too precious to ever let go. 

*** 

Sunday, July 8, 2001  

Teddy sat at the piano, banging on the keys, singing what was supposed to be ‘Crocodile Rock,’ but which sounded more like a dying cat. Remus smiled to himself as he sat on the couch, legs stretched in front of him as he carefully stitched up Teddy's toy dragon. 

The poor creature had seen far better days. Its once-green fabric had faded into a blueish grey, its horns tattered, its tail devoid of stuffing. It had lost one of its front legs shortly after Teddy had arrived home from Andy's and Remus had immediately summoned his sewing kit. 

The piano came to a sudden stop as Teddy spun around on the bench to face Remus. 

“We listen to Croc Rock?” he asked, looking hopeful. Remus lowered the stuffed toy to his lap with a weary sigh. 

“You know, Teddy, there are other songs,” he said with a wry smile, pulling out his wand. “Let's try something -” 

“No!” Teddy insisted, sliding to the ground to run to Remus. He looked at him earnestly. “I hear Croc Rock!” 

Remus rolled his eyes fondly. “How about a compromise?” he offered. “We'll listen to a different Elton John song, okay?” 

Teddy scrunched his face - he clearly had no idea who Elton John was - but Remus flicked his wand before Teddy could protest further. A record slipped from the shelf, settling itself on the player. It scratched to life and Teddy frowned at the unfamiliar notes but, just as Remus could see him about to complain, his face spread into a smile. 

He was already wriggling his hips by the time the first words popped out over the piano. 

When I look back, boy, I must have been green 
Bopping in the country, fishing in a stream 

Remus leaned his back against the arm of the couch and resumed sewing, his eyes crinkling with a smile. Teddy waved his arms as he jumped in place. 

They said, get back, honky cat 
Better get back to the woods 

Remus realized he didn't actually know the lyrics to the song, but he hummed along, singing the occasional familiar line under his breath. 

And, mmhm-hm-hm, oh, change is gonna do me good  

He felt a sense of warmth filling him as he watched his son, hopping and twisting and laughing, the sun playing in his magenta curls. A simple happiness. The kind of happiness he'd never thought could be his. 

It's like trying to find gold in a silver mine 
It's like trying to drink whiskey, oh, from a bottle of wine 

He wished he could get up and dance. Wished he could swing Teddy in time with the music, but he could still barely walk without his cane. He felt a small flicker of regret before the smile returned to his face. 

They said, stay at home, boy, you gotta tend the farm 
Living in the city, boy, is, is going to break your heart 
But how can you stay when your heart says no? 
How can you stop when your feet say go? 

Teddy kicked his legs as high as they could go, flailing his arms for balance. Remus chuckled as he reached out a hand to steady his son as he over-balanced, nearly toppling to the floor. 

Get back, honky cat 
Get back, honky cat 
Get back, woo 

Teddy threw himself against the edge of the couch, digging his elbows into Remus’ thigh. 

“I hear it again!” he shrieked excitedly, his eyes shining, mouth wide. 

Remus almost felt as though he might cry. Teddy looked impossibly beautiful in that moment. His skin seemed to glow, a halo of light bursting around his face from the sun setting in the window. His small, even teeth glinted. His cheeks were pink. His hair had coiled into perfect little ringlets. 

Remus brushed a hand across Teddy's cheek, taking a moment to marvel before nodding with a happy smile. 

“Again,” he agreed. 

* 

They listened again. And again. And again and again until Remus didn’t think he could forget the lyrics if he tried. Teddy was glistening with sweat, his curls clinging to his brow. 

They were both exhausted by the time they slurped down potato soup, sitting side-by-side on the couch as they finally let the album progress. Teddy breathed heavily between spoonfuls, his face still flushed. 

The setting sun cast a golden glow across the room, shadows dancing across both their faces. 

Teddy yawned, blinking sleepily as he set his bowl down on the coffee table with a clumsy thud. He stretched out his legs, pressing his small feet against Remus’ thigh, wriggling until he could rest his head against his father’s side. Remus let out a quiet hum of amusement, setting his own empty bowl aside as he wrapped an arm around Teddy’s warm, solid weight. 

He allowed himself to feel the overwhelming sense of love in that moment. The fierce contentment. The quiet peace. 

He treasured the feeling. Felt the need to protect it. To protect himself and Teddy from the darkness that would rob him of it. 

He felt resolve settle in his bones. 

He had nothing to tell Elaine. Nothing that had happened had been unusual. None of the symptoms were unbearable. He would gladly face it again if it meant moments like this could be possible. 

He gently kissed Teddy's hair, savoring the indescribable scent, the toasty warmth, the stillness. 

“Byddaf yn ei wynebu eto i chi,” he whispered, closing his eyes with a smile. 

I'll face it again for you.  

Chapter Text

Sunday, July 15, 2001  

I will not mourn today.  

He stared at his reflection in the mirror. He normally would have felt silly, giving himself a peptalk, but he stood with his hands braced against the sink, glaring at himself.  

I'm going to enjoy the day.  

He sighed and dropped his gaze, reaching for his toothbrush. He scrubbed violently at his teeth, spitting into the basin as he went along.  

I won't break down.  

He brushed until the foam in the sink ran pink. He turned on the faucet, cupping his hands to spoon the metallic-tasting water into his mouth.  

Teddy's going to have a good day.  

He looked back at the mirror, scrutinizing himself. His hair was starting to grow back from the wedding - Andromeda would be after him to go back to the barber, though he could hardly imagine spending money on another haircut so soon. He tilted his chin, examining the shadow of stubble on his face. He habitually reached for his razor, but his hand paused, then dropped to his side.  

Fuck it. It's beach day.  

He was going to relax. He was going to enjoy. He wasn't going to think about Dora's smile or the strangers who witnessed their marriage or the wedding night spent in panicked tears.  

He grabbed a bottle of sun cream from the medicine cabinet and, with a final nod at his reflection, stepped into the hall, ready to leave for Shell Cottage.  

*  

Teddy stumbled down the sandy path, struggling to keep his balance as the ground shifted beneath his feet. Remus smiled softly, a gentle sense of pride warming his heart as he watched his son fall and immediately jump up, brushing sand from his knees and carrying on as if nothing had happened.  

Inside the house, everyone was bustling about - smearing sun cream onto each other's backs, braiding back long hair, picking at the breakfast spread on the dining table. Remus pressed himself against the wall, keeping out of the way as Teddy tore through the sea of bodies.  

Remus watched his son with a warm smile. Teddy was a bundle of energy, his excitement spilling over as he ran through the room, barely avoiding colliding with anyone as he dodged between chairs and tables.  

“Ted!” Victoire reached for Teddy from where she sat perched on the sideboard as Fleur rubbed sun cream into her pale skin. She looked adorable in her pinstripe swimming costume, her wispy hair pulled into twin pigtails. Teddy stood on tiptoe to shout up at her.  

“’Tar - we go to beach!”  

Remus chuckled and finally stepped forward, reaching out a hand to pull Teddy back, but Fleur surprised him by turning and pecking both of his cheeks, holding up her cream-coated hands. Remus flinched and blinked in surprise, completely caught off guard. Fleur gave him a sympathetic smile as she turned back to Victoire.  

“We were just about to walk down to the water,” she said, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. “Is Teddy ready?”  

“Er, almost,” Remus muttered awkwardly, pulling Teddy aside to rub sun cream onto his face before he could dart away again.  

“Hold still,” he murmured, though Teddy wrinkled his nose and squirmed.  

“Cold,” he whined.  

“You’ll thank me later,” Remus said, finishing up and swiping the excess onto Teddy's arms before peeling off his shirt to finish the job. Teddy scowled at him accusingly.  

“You not wearing it,” he pointed out, jabbing a finger at Remus’ face. Remus chuckled.  

“I'll put some on later,” he assured him, turning him by the shoulders so he could reach his back.  

When he finally stood, knees aching from kneeling, he rubbed the remnants from his hands onto his face, making a mental note to apply more later.  

By the time he lowered his hands, Teddy had already bolted and, a moment later, Remus heard him squeal as Harry swooped him up, holding him against his bare chest for a tight hug.  

Remus hesitated in the doorway, watching as Harry spun Teddy in the air, the little boy shrieking with laughter. The scene was so effortlessly joyful that Remus almost felt like an intruder, watching as Ginny joined them, resting a hand on Harry's shoulder as she smiled up at the boy in his arms.  

Seemingly just noticing Remus, Harry gave him a nod in greeting, his face split in a grin.  

“Glad you could make it!” he said, shifting Teddy higher. “I was just telling Teddy I'd let him ride the new boogie board - if that's okay with you, of course,” he added, looking hopeful. Remus nodded softly.  

“As long as you don't let him float away,” he said breezily. Teddy suddenly looked rather concerned by the possibility, but Harry gave him another squeeze.  

“He's just joking,” he said reassuringly. “I'd never let that happen.”  

Hermione popped her head around the doorway. “We're getting ready to head down to the beach,” she informed Harry and Ginny before, upon noticing Remus, her face fell into a pitying expression that made his skin crawl.  

“Hello, Remus,” she said gently, as if he might shatter if she spoke too loudly. “How are you doing?”  

Remus pulled an awkward face as everyone, including Teddy, looked at him expectantly. “Er… good?” he rasped, wishing they would stop staring at him like they thought he might keel over.  

“Of course,” Hermione said quickly, her face shifting into something more neutral, but Remus still caught the glint of concern in her eyes.  

He shifted uncomfortably, cradling his arm. “I - it should be a nice day,” he said with far too much cheer in his voice as he pointed out the window. “We should probably -”  

“Right, yeah, of course,” Harry said, turning to Teddy. “You ready?” Teddy hesitated a moment before nodding nervously.  

Ginny held up a hand. “You can run along, but I want to give Remus the photos before I forget.” She turned to him to explain. “We got the wedding pictures back and made some copies for you.”  

“Oh, er, thank you,” he said distractedly, his attention divided. He watched as Harry carried Teddy away, falling in step behind Hermione. Remus frowned after them. He was getting an uncomfortable feeling that Molly had instructed everyone to be extra nice to him today. He didn't like it.  

“Just a sec,” Ginny said over her shoulder as she ran down the hall, leaving Remus feeling adrift in the now-empty room. He hoped he wasn't about to be forced to flip through a full wedding album. He almost sighed with relief when Ginny returned with just a small envelope.  

“There are few of us and Teddy, and one of the bridal party, but there was a super cute picture of the two of you at the reception I wanted you to have.” Remus smiled gratefully, accepting the envelope. He could tell by the way Ginny was watching him that he was meant to look at the photos now.  

He flipped through the small stack, giving each photograph an approving nod. Teddy looked charming in each pose, smiling toothily at the camera, his hair a whole array of colors.  

Ginny leaned in closer as he reached the final photo, her eyes darting between the picture and his face, as if she was expecting him to have a big reaction. His mouth twitched and his eyes smiled as he took it in.  

In the photograph, Remus held Teddy against his side as he spun in a circle at the edge of the dance floor. Teddy's head was flung back, his eyes twinkling as he twirled in the candlelight, arms outstretched. He wore such a massive grin, Remus could almost hear his shrieking laugh.  

He normally hated seeing himself in photographs, but his eyes became glued to the man in the picture - a man he didn't quite recognize.  

He was smiling, his eyes bright and full of life, the lines in his face creased with joy. His short hair fluttered as he turned, eyes never leaving his son's face, completely lost in the moment. There was no trace of the ever-present tension in his shoulders, no shadow of exhaustion dulling his features. Just joy. Pure, unguarded joy.  

He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, blinking rapidly. He could feel his face growing warm with emotion.  

“I -” He cleared his throat. “Thank you.” Ginny grinned.  

“Mum blubbered at the one of you and Teddy. I mean -” she rolled her eyes “- she blubbered at half of the photos, but still.” Remus chuckled as he slid the prints back into the envelope.  

“Well, they're lovely. Thank you again.” He patted the envelope absently against his palm, his throat still thick with emotion.  

Ginny smiled. “Yeah ‘course!”  

Remus swallowed again, looking at the envelope in his hand before scanning the room, looking for a change in subject.  

“Er, you'll probably want to be getting to the beach,” he said awkwardly. Ginny nodded but continued to watch him. He felt her gaze on him, steady and searching, but after a long moment, she reached up, wrapping her thin, strong arms around his neck.  

He didn't return the embrace, but he managed not to recoil as he felt the warmth of her arms around him.  

“I miss her, too,” Ginny whispered in his ear. He took a sharp breath, grief glancing across his heart. He could feel the heat of her tears against his neck.  

He stood stiffly for a moment, before he exhaled, letting some of the tension in his shoulders melt away. He lifted a hand and patted her back, unsure of what else to do.  

Pulling away, he smiled at her before dropping his head. "- I'll catch up in a bit," he finished awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.  

Ginny sniffed, then nodded, her expression smoothing into something lighter before she gave his arm a small squeeze and turned to make her way outside.  

Remus watched her go before letting out a heavy breath, leaning his back against the wall.  

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.  

He straightened, giving himself a small shake before heading to the kitchen to seek out Molly.  

I will not mourn today.  

*  

Levitating a heavy tray ahead of him, he followed Molly and Arthur from the kitchen down to the beach, where a large picnic had been set up, complete with a massive blanket and a table so large it wouldn't have fit in Remus’ kitchen.  

He had cuffed his trousers and surrendered his shoes and socks to the porch. His sleeves remained buttoned, but he looked almost at ease as his hair tousled in the wind, feet sinking into shifting sand as he walked.  

Lowering the tray the wooden surface, Remus stepped up next to Molly to help set up the afternoon spread, but she waved him off.  

“You go watch Teddy, dear,” she said, a little too kindly. She reached out to pat his arm, looking almost teary. “It'll do you good.”  

Remus resisted frowning at the patronizing concern - she meant well, even if he was starting to regret coming.  

“I'm alright, you know,” he said gently, giving her what he hoped was a reassuring look, but her face merely fell into deeper pity.  

“Of course you are, dear,” she said so sweetly Remus thought he might snap. Instead, he slipped his hands into his pockets and started walking towards the water's edge, following the sounds of laughter he could hear over the crashing waves.  

The sea stretched endlessly before him, sunlight glinting off the rolling waves. A sharp, salty breeze ruffled his hair as he stepped onto the damp sand, the water cool against his bare feet.  

Teddy was already in the shallows, clutching Harry’s hands as he kicked his feet, trying to get the hang of balancing on the boogie board. His shrieks of laughter carried on the wind, uninhibited and free.  

Remus slowed his steps, taking in the scene. George stood waist-deep in the waves, grinning as he splashed Angelina, who shrieked in protest before sending a jet of water right back at him. Charlie and Percy were further down the shore, walking along the surf, their heads bent close in conversation. He could see others in the distance, standing in the shallows, presumably chatting.  

“Remus!” Bill called. Remus turned to see Bill, Fleur, and Victoire seated on the ground around a mound of sand that Victoire was frowning at, clearly frustrated. Remus cast a final look at Teddy's grinning face before he walked towards the trio, clasping his hands behind his back. Bill stood as he approached.  

“Do you know anything about sandcastles? Ours keeps falling down,” he asked in a tone that told Remus he was being roped into a game. Remus chuckled.  

“I'm afraid I'm no architect,” he said regretfully, directing his words at Victoire, who was dragging herself to her feet.  

“I swim!” she informed the adults as she started to toddle towards the waves. Fleur jumped up to chase her down.  

The two men watched them a moment before Bill pulled Remus into a loose hug.  

“You good?” he asked casually, but Remus could tell there was something deeper to his question. He smiled as he pulled away.  

“Can't complain. You? I haven't seen you since the wedding.”  

Bill shrugged, smiling sadly. “You know,” he said, his voice full of fatigue. “Work's been crazy for both of us.” Remus nodded. He could tell Bill wasn't giving him the whole story, but he had no desire to pry.  

“Er, I'm sorry to hear that,” he said, giving Bill an odd look. “Anything I can do to help?”  

Bill looked at him for a moment, his eyes filled with thoughts. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but he shook his head.  

“Nah. It's all good,” he said carelessly, though Remus noticed a mournful look cross his face. Bill seemed to shake himself back to the present before nodding at Remus’ clothes.  

“Not planning to swim?” he asked in an obvious attempt to change the subject. Remus gladly took the bait.  

“Not today,” he said pleasantly. Not ever.  

Bill forced a playful smile. “I can teach you how to swim - been working on it with Vic,” he joked. Remus chuckled.  

“I appreciate the offer, but I know how to swim,” he said, his voice overly gracious.  

Bill thumbed over his shoulder towards the house. “Are you sure? You can borrow some trunks,” he offered, but Remus shook his head. He recoiled internally at the idea of wearing someone else's trunks, though the idea was significantly less horrifying than the thought of being seen half naked.  

“No, thank you,” he muttered to the sand, his mouth twisting wryly.  

Bill gave him a questioning look before realization bloomed behind his eyes. He hesitated a moment before softening his face into a breezy smile.  

“I have a rash guard you could use,” he said. “You'd probably have to do some resizing, but -”  

Remus shook his head again, embarrassment settling in his stomach.  

“Thank you, but I'm fine, really.”  

Bill gave him a final, considering look. “Well, if you change your mind, the offer stands,” he said casually, turning to seek out his wife and daughter. Remus took a step back.  

“I think I'll go see if your mum needs any help,” he said, already shoving his hands into his pockets as he retreated to the table.  

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Sunday, July 15, 2001, continued  

As it turned out, Molly decidedly did not want his help. She fretted over the table as he lowered himself onto the blanket, keeping out of her way. He watched the distant figures splashing about in the surf, hugging his knees to his chest.  

The sea breeze played with his hair, twisting the short curls into soft waves. He could feel the sun kissing his cheeks, his hands, his soul, warming him in a way he didn’t know he needed. He smiled.  

With a contented sigh, he turned slightly, resting his head on his knees to face Molly.  

“How have you been?” he asked conversationally. Molly looked up from her work, as if she was surprised he had spoken.  

“Oh, alright, I suppose,” she said, reaching across the table to uncover a plate of sandwiches. “Mostly working on plans for the next wedding - Ron and Hermione decided on something in the spring, but -” She stopped abruptly, looking horrified with herself.  

“Oh, I’m so sorry, dear - I wasn’t thinking. You probably don’t want to hear about weddings today.”  

Remus offered her a reassuring smile, though his grip on his legs tightened as he felt an unpleasant feeling creep up his spine.  

“I'm fine, really,” he insisted gently. “I want to hear about it.”  

Molly hesitated, studying him, before giving a small nod.  

“Well, it will certainly be interesting,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “They're doing a muggle ceremony because of Hermione's extended family. Arthur is thrilled.” She rolled her eyes affectionately at her husband's eccentricities. “It sounds like they're looking to have it somewhere in London - a hotel or something. I'm honestly a little out of my depth.”  

Remus nodded along as she got on a roll, rattling off half-formed plans for the ceremony and reception.  

“… and Angelina has been a huge help, of course. She certainly knows how to throw a party! So many fun ideas!” Remus smirked, cocking an eyebrow.  

“You've certainly changed your tune,” he observed, his tone laced with doubt. Molly looked affronted.  

“I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about,” she insisted, but Remus noted she was avoiding his eyes as she busied herself with the food. “I've always loved Angelina.”  

Remus chuckled. “Right. Of course.”  

Molly ignored him, her lips clamping shut as she focused on arranging the sandwiches with unusual precision. Remus could see her searching her mind for a new subject.  

“Do you know what Kingsley’s doing in Australia?” she asked, sounding only mildly curious.  

Remus tensed, feeling ungrounded by the question. “Er, no. I didn't even know he was out of the country.”  

Molly hummed. “I was just wondering. We invited him today, but he said he'd be away.”  

Remus nodded noncommittally, turning his attention back to the shoreline, where Harry and Bill stood side-by-side, helping the children hop over the incoming waves. His stomach flipped uncomfortably.  

It wouldn't be long before Kingsley made his announcement. It wouldn't be long before Chip became an undeniable fact. A face he would come to recognize from the papers. He and Kingsley would be plastered across the front page, arms wrapped around each other's waists.  

Remus frowned at himself, tamping down the jealousy he had no right to feel. The loneliness. The sense of, once again, being left behind as the world moved on.  

“Is everything alright, dear?” Molly asked, leaning to peer at him from behind the table. He shook himself and forced a tight smile.  

“Just tired,” he said. It wasn't entirely a lie.  

Molly’s gaze lingered on Remus for a moment before she spoke, her voice softening. “Why don’t you try to rest a bit?” she suggested in a near-whisper, as if she was already trying to avoid waking him. He shook his head, shifting his weight so he could rise to his feet.  

“No, I think I'll see if I can relieve Harry,” he said, his voice rougher than he expected. He swallowed hard, avoiding looking directly at Molly. “I'm sure he could use a break.”  

Molly gave him a thoughtful look. “Well, I'm just about ready for lunch - would you mind letting them know?”  

Remus nodded, brushing sand from the seat of his trousers before making his way towards the water's edge. Towards his son.  

I will not mourn today.  

*  

Cold, salty water sprayed Teddy's face as he flew into the air, his sandy toes looking as though they might graze the blue sky above him. He loved the waves. He loved the beach. He loved the sound of everyone laughing. Loved the feeling in his tummy every time Harry swung him.  

It had been the best day. He had gotten to ride the boogie board and Harry had let him hold the funny little creature they found scuttling across the sand and he had jumped over so many waves. He was really good at jumping.  

“Mind if I cut in?” Teddy turned his head to see Daddy coming closer. He was smiling, but it was the not-really-happy smile that Teddy didn't like.  

Harry smiled at Daddy. “Yeah, ‘course,” he said. To Teddy’s confusion, Harry started to hand him over to Daddy, who reached out his arms, but Teddy didn't want him or his sad eyes or his not-really-happy smile. He wanted to have fun.  

“No!” Teddy shouted, flinging his arms around Harry's neck. He wanted to keep playing. He wanted Harry, who was smiling for real.  

Bill stopped swinging Victoire and looked at Teddy with a smile. “Come on, Ted,” he said in a voice that made it sound like they were going on an adventure. “It's your dad's turn to play.”  

Teddy scowled. He didn't want to play with Daddy, he wanted to play with Harry, who was still trying to pass Teddy to Daddy, even though Teddy said no. He wanted to hit someone, but hands weren't for hitting, so all he could do was squeeze Harry's neck harder.  

Daddy's smile got sadder as he slipped his hands into his pockets. “It's okay - unless you need a break,” he said to Harry, his voice cheery. Teddy beamed. He got to keep playing with Harry.  

He shrieked with delight as Harry lowered him back to the wet sand. He danced in place, his tummy twisting with excitement as he braced to leap over the growing wave.  

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Daddy take a step back. A small tickle of guilt flickered in the back of his mind, but it was immediately forgotten as his toes skimmed the surface of the water.  

Best day ever.  

*  

“Lunch!” Molly hollered, holding a hand to her mouth in hopes that everyone would hear her. To her frustration, no one noticed, and Remus seemed to have already forgotten he was meant to be gathering everyone. She shook her head – she worried about that man.  

“Here you go, Molly,” Arthur said behind her, using his wand to deposit the drinks he had brought from the house on the table. The bottles rattled against the wood surface, the sound sweeping away on the wind.  

“Oh, Arthur dear,” she said, a little breathless from shouting. “Would you mind letting everyone know lunch is ready?”  

Arthur shoved his glasses further up his nose before stepping forward to press a kiss to her brow. She loved that about him - the casual intimacy that came so naturally. The frequent little comforts. The way he said ‘I love you’ through every little touch.  

“I should be able to round them up,” he said with undue enthusiasm, setting off. Molly watched him as he traipsed across the sand, calling out to the various groups scattered along the shore.  

Everyone began trickling back to the picnic area, most of them dripping wet and tinged with sunburn.  

She was surprised to see that Harry was still carrying Teddy. Remus and Bill trailed behind them, Vic perched on Bill's strong shoulders.  

From further down the beach, she could see Charlie, Percy, and George walking towards her, clearly bickering. Angelina and Audrey trailed behind them, looking frustrated as they exchanged weary glances.  

Chaos ensued as everyone attempted to fill their plates, jostling each other as they crowded around the buffet Molly had prepared. George and Percy managed to elbow each other enough times that there was no way it had been an accident.  

When, at last, everyone was seated around the blanket with a plate of food, Molly sighed with relief, taking a bite of the corn beef sandwich in her hand. She sat back, watching her family with a warm sense of contentment.  

Her eyes fell on Remus, who was helping Teddy hold his sandwich together as he took a bite. They both looked ready for a kip, in her opinion. Despite his assurances, Molly could tell Remus was beginning to buckle under the weight of the day. She could hardly blame him, of course.  

She worried about him, alone in that miserable house with no one but Teddy and ghosts for company. He had been doing better lately, she had noticed, but it was hard to shake the nagging feeling that things still weren't right with him.  

He had frightened her, back in the autumn when she had watched helplessly as he drowned in despair. Now, she felt she had to always be watchful, ready to jump back in if he started to slip again.  

She wondered if she should invite him to stay the night with her and Arthur - she doubted any good could come from him sitting alone in the dark with his memories. His regrets.  

As if he had heard her thoughts, Remus rose to his knees, wiping Teddy's face with a napkin. He clambered to his feet, knees clicking audibly. Molly couldn't help but wince in sympathy.  

Remus stretched slightly, rolling his shoulders as though shaking off an invisible weight. Molly watched as he cast a glance towards the ocean, his expression unreadable. After a moment, his gaze drifted toward Teddy, who was lowering himself to his belly, kicking his feet restlessly.  

“I'm sorry to eat and run, but I think Teddy's ready for a lie-down,” he said apologetically to the group at large. Still, Molly got the impression he was eager to leave.  

“No!” Teddy whined, even as he shifted to a more comfortable position, obviously moments away from sleep. Molly looked at Remus anxiously.  

“Did you even eat?” she asked, nodding to the single plate he had prepared for Teddy. He tipped his head, as if considering.  

“A bit,” he said so nonchalantly Molly knew he was lying.  

Molly pursed her lips. “You should take something with you, then.” She reached for a plate, but Remus shook his head.  

“I'm fine, really.” She was getting tired of hearing him say that. She opened her mouth to argue, but Charlie cut her off.  

“Leave the man alone, Mum,” he said with a forced chuckle. Molly glared at her son, but Remus shot him a grateful look before kneeling beside Teddy, brushing back damp curls from his brow.  

“Come on, cariad,” he murmured. “Let’s get you home.”  

Teddy groaned but didn’t resist as Remus gathered him up, his small arms looping instinctively around his father’s neck. His eyes fluttered shut before they had even taken their first steps away from the picnic.  

Molly watched him walk away as the chatter around the blanket picked back up. He pulled his wand to summon his shoes from the porch, but he didn't bother to put them on before making his way towards the security perimeter.  

Molly felt a sense of defeat as he and Teddy disappeared with a distant pop .  

“Granny!” Victoire chirped, tugging at Molly's skirt. “Cheese please!”  

Molly smiled down at her granddaughter. “Of course, dear,” she cooed. She glanced one more time at the spot where Remus had vanished, vowing to refocus on her family in front of her.  

He'll be okay.  

*  

He needed to go to bed.  

It was still early - the sun had only recently disappeared behind the trees - but he knew no good could from sitting with the thoughts that had been plaguing him since the afternoon.  

Never should have married her. Shit husband. Selfish prick.  

He regretted leaving the beach so early. Regretted the lonely night ahead. Regretted that he could have been seated at a bonfire right now, listening to others laugh, watching Teddy run around the dark beach, sipping a butterbeer instead of whisky.  

He sat at the piano, encased in a soundproof bubble that was rapidly filling with smoke from his fag. He wasn't playing anything in particular, just a series of mournful notes that seemed to spill from his fingers without thought. The sound was thick, heavy, as though the weight of his regrets was sucking the air the room.  

He took a drag from his cigarette, the ash falling onto the scarred wood of the piano.  

Teddy hates you, the voice in his head sneered, forcing him to relive the tiny moment of rejection that had all but broken his heart. The look in Teddy’s eyes. The firmness in his voice as he protested.  

Remus let the last of the smoke escape his lungs before vanishing the cigarette with a wave of his hand. He closed his eyes, his hand moving to the keys again, but he didn’t play.  

His fingers hovered, then finally, they fell, landing on the keys with an exhausted sigh. He could feel his chest tightening.  

I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.  

He wasn’t going to cry. Wasn't going to mourn the life where it had been Dora playing with Teddy in the water. Wasn't going to dwell on his fears. His regrets.  

He reached for his glass, taking a large gulp that sent an unpleasant shiver down his spine. He set it down with a hollow clunk, berating himself for pouring it in the first place.  

Pathetic.  

He rose from the bench, only mildly unsteady. He picked up the whisky bottle, determined to tuck it safely back into its drawer before things got out of hand. His fingers trembled as he tried to grasp the drawer pull.  

He sat the bottle carefully in the drawer, but he didn't close it. He stared, tempted. Rationalizing.  

He shook his head, peeling his eyes away. His gaze landed, instead, on the small envelope he had deposited on the desk when he got home. It sat, creamy and puckered from the sea air, drawing him in. He reached out a hand, frowning slightly as he slipped out the pile of photographs, unsticking the last one from its neighbor.  

He stared at the picture, mildly awed to see a glimpse of the man buried under so many layers of pain and grief. The man who smiled and laughed without effort. The man who could exist without guilt or shame or doubt. The man his son could love. Could look back on without resentment or pity. The man he had to believe he could be.  

He set the photograph on the bottle and closed the drawer.  

Chapter Text

Friday, July 27, 2001  

In a revelation that has sent shockwaves through the wizarding world, Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt has come out as homosexual, publicly introducing his new partner, Chip Lawson, to the public. The announcement, made in an exclusive interview with the Daily Prophet, marks a significant moment in the Minister’s already tumultuous tenure.  

“This is a deeply personal matter,” Shacklebolt stated in the interview. “But as Minister, I understand that who I am - both as a leader and as a person - matters to the people I serve. Hiding this part of my life no longer felt right.”  

Lawson, the Director of Magical Legislation in the Australian Ministry, has been a quiet presence by Shacklebolt’s side in recent months, though their relationship had remained private until now. “Kingsley is a man of integrity,” Lawson told the Daily Prophet. “I’m proud to stand beside him.”  

While many have praised Shacklebolt’s courage, others have responded with skepticism. Some critics argue that the timing of the announcement is a distraction from recent Ministry controversies, including ongoing tensions over the proposed removal of dementors as guards of Azkaban prison. Others, particularly from older and more conservative wizarding families, have expressed discomfort with the Minister’s personal life becoming a topic of public discourse.  

Nevertheless, Shacklebolt remains steadfast. “This is not about politics,” he said. “This is about being honest. If my decision to be open helps even one young witch or wizard feel safer in their own identity, then it is worth it.”  

Remus stared at the article, his stomach souring. He knew he should feel proud of Kingsley's courage. Happy he had someone brave enough to face this with him. Pleased to see the obvious affection between the two men plastered across the front page, arms wrapped around each other's waists, exactly how Remus had imagined.  

Chip was not what Remus had pictured. He was handsome, he supposed. He had a rather square face, his jawline so strong it was almost absurd. He had thick, blonde curls and a smile that filled his entire face when he looked at Kingsley. He was short - far shorter than Remus had expected - with the broad shoulders of a beater. The type of man Kingsley deserved.  

Remus set the paper down with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. He had known it was coming, had prepared for it, but now his stomach twisted anxiously thinking of the possible fallout. The public scrutiny Kingsley was about to endure. The letters he'd receive. The threats.  

He reached for his tea, only to find it had gone cold. With a quiet sigh, he set the cup aside and leaned back in his chair, his gaze flicking over the article once more. This is about being honest . Remus wondered if Kingsley truly believed that honesty would be enough to shield him from what was coming. Wondered if he could possibly be that naive.  

He rose stiffly, crossing the room to his desk. He loaded his quill, pulling a scrap of parchment from the drawer.  

K  

I saw the article. I know this must be a difficult time - please let me know if there is anything I can do to help.  

R  

Remus paused after writing the short message, his fingers lingering over the parchment. It felt inadequate, the words far too small. He wanted to say more - wanted to offer something bigger, something that might actually be of help, but he knew he had nothing to give his friend.  

He never had.  

*  

Lyall was not looking forward to the evening ahead.  

He had been in a snit against his son since lunch the day before - he had been mortified by what his companion had to say about Remus’ recent behavior. Remus rejecting his invitation to dinner at the pub had done nothing to improve his mood.  

He wasn't stupid - he knew when his son was trying to avoid him, but he wouldn't let him get away with it this time. They had something important to discuss.  

In the end, Remus had relented, offering to host so he could at least get Teddy to bed on time. Lyall wasn't thrilled with the arrangement - it was hard to hold the moral high ground surrounded by reminders of everything he had cost his son.  

He barely saw Remus for a full half hour after arriving. Remus had offered him a small wave before disappearing into the steamy kitchen without a word, leaving Lyall to entertain Teddy while dinner cooked.  

Lyall let the boy perch on his knee to read together, Teddy interjecting with questions every other page. Lyall might have been annoyed, but he found himself feeling far too grateful for the quiet moment to be bothered by the interruptions. Grateful to have this grandson, this second chance. A chance to make things right. To give him everything he could never give Remus.  

He could hear the scrape of pots and pans against the hob, along with the occasional soft swear. He considered offering to help, but Teddy had him glued in place. Besides, he was still rather miffed with Remus.  

Teddy's hands had started exploring Lyall’s buttons, his breast pocket, his collar. His hair had changed to match the light blue of Lyall's shirt. Lyall smiled at the incredible little boy. Pure magic.  

Teddy buried his fingers in Lyall’s beard, giggling delightedly as - rather disturbingly - facial hair began to sprout out of his childish face. Lyall managed not to shout out in surprise, but he suddenly felt out of his depth.  

“Remus!” he called. “I need help!”  

Remus’ long stride thudded down the hallway and he appeared a moment later, his face pinched in concern.  

“What's wrong w-” he snorted, his face immediately lighting up with amusement. Lyall was a little taken aback. He hadn't seen that look in Remus’ eye in far too long.  

Still chuckling, Remus knelt beside them, smiling up at Teddy.  

“And who is this gentleman?” he inquired, poking Teddy playfully in the tummy. The boy shrieked with delight. Lyall sat frozen, his frustration with Remus momentarily forgotten, unwilling to interrupt their little game.  

“It's me!” Teddy laughed, patting his own face. “It's Teddy!” Remus peered at him with narrow eyes.  

“I don't think so,” he said suspiciously. “Teddy told me Grandpa's beard is yucky. He would never -”  

“I did not!” Teddy squealed. “Daddy say it!”  

Lyall rolled his eyes, only mildly insulted. “Well, yucky or not, I'm keeping it,” he said firmly, stroking the neatly trimmed beard with one hand. “Teddy, on the other hand…”  

Remus still looked amused as he nodded in agreement. He turned his eyes to Teddy.  

“Do you think you can try to do the mirror? I want you to try on your own for two minutes, and then I'll come help.”  

Teddy nodded enthusiastically. His eyes twinkled with excitement as he stood up on Lyall's knee and jumped off, his small feet thudding softly as he ran towards the stairs. Remus watched him with a fond smile, a glimmer of pride in his gaze. Lyall felt almost guilty at the thought of dousing his son's fragile happiness.  

*  

They sat around the kitchen table, Teddy's face completely beardless. Remus had prepared a surprisingly good lasagna for dinner, along with a salad and a decent glass of merlot for Lyall.  

Lyall suspected it was the first decent meal he'd had since the end of term, but on closer examination, he noted that Remus seemed to have actually gained a little weight since he had last seen him. His face was a little less sharp and seemed to have a little more color than usual. His nose was scattered with tiny, light freckles, as if he had spent a fair amount of time in the sun lately. He sipped water, rather than wine, and seemed to actually have an appetite for once.  

“You look good,” Lyall said, trying to sound off-handed. Remus frowned dubiously.  

“Er, thank you,” he said, looking as though he was bracing for a sneak attack. Lyall couldn't deny that had been his plan, but at the look in his son's eyes, he decided not to go straight for the kill.  

“I assume you saw the paper?” he asked, watching Remus for any sort of reaction, but Remus seemed determined to appear nonchalant.  

“Do you mean the attack on that colony in Scotland?” he asked disinterestedly. Lyall hesitated for a moment - he hadn't read past the front page - but he refused to fall for Remus’ deflection.  

“I'm talking about Shacklebolt.” Remus dropped his fork to his plate and rubbed his hand down his face.  

“Dad, please. Just, don't.”  

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Lyall lied, sounding mildly affronted. “I was just wondering if you knew about it, that's all.”  

Remus gave him a doubtful look. “I did.” His voice was edged with defensiveness.  

Lyall shook his head in disappointment. Of course, Remus had known. One of the million secrets he kept locked away. Lyall sighed.  

“I wish you had told me,” he said sadly. There were a lot of things he wished him son would tell him.  

Remus ignored the heaviness in his father’s voice. “It didn’t seem relevant,” he said firmly, crossing his arms across his belly.  

Lyall pulled a distasteful face. “I'm just saying, if I had realized -”  

“I suggest you keep the rest of that sentence to yourself,” Remus said, his voice cold, face pulled into a tight smile. “Kingsley is my friend, and I don't want to hear it.”  

Lyall held his hands up in surrender.  

“Alright, alright, I didn't come here to argue,” he said in a placating voice.  

Remus did not uncross his arms. He watched his father warily, as though waiting for him to strike. As though he feared where the conversation might lead.  

Lyall exhaled, rubbing a hand over his chin. He hadn’t come here to push Remus into another fight - at least, not about Shacklebolt - but he was starting to think it would be inevitable.  

They fell silent for a moment, tension heavy in the air as they both resumed eating. Even Teddy remained quiet, watching them both with concern.  

Lyall took a breath, preparing to bring up the real reason he had come.  

“I had an interesting meeting yesterday with Damocles Belby,” he said lightly, piercing his salad with his fork. He could hear Remus tense across the table. Looking up, Lyall fixed his son with a meaningful look. “Thought it might interest you.”  

Remus took a long moment to chew, staring into his plate like it might somehow save him from the conversation.  

Finally, he looked up, his face resolutely uninterested. Lyall pressed on.  

“He wanted to talk to me about a new center he's planning to open - offered me a seat on the board.”  

Remus reached over to wipe sauce from Teddy's chin with his napkin, swallowing hard despite his blank face. “Sounds fascinating. I'm sure you'll enjoy it.”  

He sounded almost bored. Lyall narrowed his eyes.  

“It's funny, he told me that he reached out to you as well. Received a rather curt refusal, it seems.”  

Remus looked back down at his plate before nodding. Lyall crossed his arms.  

“Care to explain?”  

Remus sighed heavily and looked at his father. “He asked, I wasn't interested, I sent a perfectly polite refusal.”  

Lyall wanted to smack the self-righteous blankness from his face. “Remus -”  

“And besides,” Remus interrupted, his mouth twisting into a naughty smile. He turned to Teddy with a wink and an exaggerated eyeroll. “They're giving it the stupidest name!” Teddy giggled at his father's audacity.  

Lyall shook his head in frustration. “And what, exactly, is so stupid about ‘The Belby Center for Werewolf Welfare?’”  

Again, Remus looked at Teddy with a face that invited mischief. “Teddy, can you say ‘werewolf welfare’ five times, fast?”  

Teddy leapt up on his chair, eager for the challenge. “Werewolf welbear, werewolf welw- werewoll-” He giggled and grinned at Remus. “I can't!”  

Remus nodded, as if a three-year-old’s failure to pronounce the name validated his snub.  

Lyall frowned and shook his head in disbelief. “I have to say, I'm extremely disappointed in you. After all you've been given -”  

“Dad!” Remus nodded meaningfully at Teddy. Lyall held his gaze until Remus sighed, picking up his fork again. “If it means that much to you, we can talk about it after Teddy goes to bed.”  

Lyall considered him another moment before nodding.  

*  

Teddy was wild as Remus wrangled him into the tub. He splashed and squealed, pretending to swim in the shallow water, sending water droplets flying through the air, wetting Remus’ shirt.  

Remus took his time washing Teddy's hair and scrubbing down his rapidly growing body - he was in no rush to get back to his father.  

“You know, I think you might be taller than me soon,” he said with an awed tone. Teddy laughed and plopped down so hard Remus’ tailbone hurt just watching him.  

The boy picked up the cup Remus had been using to rinse the suds from his hair and began industriously scooping up water and pouring it back out. The bubbles around him were beginning to melt away.  

“Daddy?” he chirped unexpectedly. “Why you not help Grandpa?”  

Remus paused, his hands stilling in the water as he looked at Teddy, who was innocently splashing away. The question hung in the air, heavy in its simplicity, and Remus felt a pang in his chest. He didn't want to answer, didn't want to explain the mess of emotions that had been tangled up inside him for a lifetime.  

But Teddy was waiting expectantly, his small face tilted with genuine curiosity.  

Remus forced a smile, his voice softening. "It's... complicated.”  

“Why?”  

Remus swallowed down his frustration at all the questions. He cleared his throat and summoned a towel from the hall cupboard, casting a warming charm on it before inviting Teddy into its toasty folds.  

“You see, Teddy,” he said, rubbing the towel over Teddy’s body. “I'm already so busy. You know how there are times I can't play with you?” Teddy nodded, looking suddenly solemn. Remus paused his efforts to dry Teddy off, looking deep into his face.  

“If I help Grandpa with this, I won't have as much time with you. And we have fun together, right?” He cringed at the hint of desperation in his own voice.  

Teddy nodded again, frowning in deep thought. He looked up at Remus, his eyes full of questions.  

“What's welbear?” Remus felt a nibble of guilt in his stomach and a bit of ire at his father for bringing up the topic in front of Teddy. Still, he sighed, trying to come with an explanation Teddy could understand.  

“Welfare is… it's helping people who have a hard time in life. It's helping them to get what they need when they can't get it themselves.”  

Like you, once-upon-a-time. Like you. Like you. Like you.  

Teddy looked at Remus with confusion. There were water droplets dripping from his hair down his unscathed torso. His arms, which had never broken. Never been pierced by teeth or claws or unreasonably long needles.  

“What's a werewolf?”  

Remus’ blood froze at the deceptively simple question. His stomach clenched, muscles tightening. He searched his mind for the right words but couldn't find them.  

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.  

“Er, werewolves… werewolves are people who turn into wolves,” he said hesitantly, watching Teddy closely for any flicker of fear, but his son merely looked confused.  

“Why?”  

Remus’ heart began to race, heat rising up his throat. Because we're cursed. Because we're monsters. Because I -  

“Hey!” he said, as though he had had a brilliant idea. “What do you say to two books before bed tonight?”  

*  

Lyall was not amused when Remus meandered down the stairs an hour after disappearing with Teddy for bedtime. The world had gone dark, and he had been forced to light the lamps in the sitting room. Rather than improve the small space, the lamplight merely highlighted the gloom, casting elongated shadows across the walls.  

Remus dropped into the chair opposite Lyall, rubbing his hands over his face. He exhaled sharply, clearly exhausted, but Lyall had no intention of letting him off the hook so easily.  

“You took your time,” Lyall noted dryly.  

Remus sighed. “Teddy had questions.”  

Lyall arched an eyebrow. “About?”  

Remus hesitated, then shook his head. “Nothing you need to worry about.”  

Lyall studied him for a moment, then decided to let it go. There were more pressing matters at hand.  

“You’re really not going to reconsider?” he asked, his voice heavy with disappointment. Remus’ face hardened.  

“You really don't know when to let up, do you?”  

Lyall leaned forward, pressing his palms together earnestly. “Belby is trying to do something good, Remus. Something that could make a real difference.”  

Remus’ jaw tensed. “I know.”  

“Then why won’t you be part of it?” When did you become so selfish?  

Remus sighed again, bracing his elbows on his knees and digging the heels of his hands against his eyes.  

“Because it isn't going to work,” he said, sounding as though the statement caused him considerable pain. “It's a lovely idea, but he'll never get anyone to trust him enough to actually -”  

“Don't you see?” Lyall interrupted, fed up with Remus’ willful hopelessness. “That's why it's important for you to join the board! They'll need someone the werewolves can trust, someone they can relate to. You could be that person.”  

To his surprise, Remus dropped his hands, his face twisting in a dark smile. He started to laugh - a harsh, bitter laugh that didn't suit him.  

“No one gets it,” he said, his teeth bared as he shook his head. “Not even you.”  

Lyall froze, his heart sinking at the sharpness in Remus' voice. Remus’ face was tight, barely masking the anger behind his eyes. Lyall shifted uncomfortably.  

“What don't I get?” he asked carefully. Remus closed his eyes, steepling his hands against his brow. He took several measured breaths before speaking.  

“I’m nothing like them, alright? They don’t trust me and they sure as hell won’t trust a potioneer-turned-philanthropist,” he finally said, sounding weary. “I've tried to help, tried to make those ferals see reason, but it's never going to happen.”  

Lyall sighed roughly. “But you could -”  

Remus rose suddenly, patting his pockets before pulling out his cigarette case and striding towards the door. Lyall was still seated by the time the front door snapped shut.  

Shaking off his mild surprise, he stood and followed his son to the front porch, where Remus was lighting a rollie, frowning at the flame as though it were to blame. Lyall leaned his shoulder against the house, waiting for Remus to explain himself.  

Remus exhaled a stream of smoke, the ember at the tip of his cigarette flaring in the darkness. His hands were steady, but Lyall could see the tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw.  

“I just - I've had my fill of werewolves,” he said to the darkness, sounding somewhere between disgust and shame. Lyall frowned.  

“And what, exactly, do you mean by that?”  

Remus finally faced him, glaring accusingly. “Why do you care so much?” he asked. His voice was gentler now, but his words cut Lyall to the core. His throat tightened as unexpected tears stung his eyes.  

“How could I not?” he rasped, dropping his gaze to the sagging porch. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Remus stiffen before taking a long, thoughtful drag from his cigarette. Neither spoke for a long moment. Finally, Lyall took a shuddering breath, fixing his eyes to the back of Remus’ head.  

“There's going to be a children's ward.”  

As he had hoped, Remus turned, looking mildly interested for the first time all evening. Lyall pressed on.  

“Do you know what I would have given for something like this? There will be resources for families, for the kids. Healthcare, tutoring…”  

He could see Remus thinking, considering. Lyall kept pushing. “This could change everything! Families could stay together - no more children ending up in camps. They could have a real chance - they could have everything you were given.”  

Lyall watched as Remus exhaled another long plume of smoke, the night air growing thick with the scent. The flickering light of the porch lamp illuminated the strained lines of Remus’ face.  

“I'll think about it,” he said begrudgingly, but Lyall knew he had broken through. He resisted the triumphant smile tugging at his lips.  

“Thank you,” he whispered, something between hope and excitement burning inside him. They could do this together. They could work to fix things, to make things right.  

A second chance.  

Chapter Text

Sunday, July 29, 2001  

He hated everything.  

He hated the sun as it glinted off the glass in the window, blinding him every time he turned. Hated his ugly couch and the scratchy upholstery and the spring digging into his back. Hated the taste of Wolfsbane that never seemed to leave his mouth.  

He shifted on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position. He told himself to get up and go to his bedroom. Then he told himself to fuck off.  

He was supposed to be resting while Teddy kipped upstairs. He had felt himself growing irritable throughout the morning - tensing at every sound, clenching his fists at every minor inconvenience - but he was determined to be pleasant at Harry's party that evening. He told himself he just needed some rest. Just needed to reset. Just needed to stop thinking for a bit.  

His mind buzzed until he could no longer escape the swirling thoughts that had been taking over since Saturday morning.  

The colony attack he had read about. Kingsley's announcement. Belby. His fucking dad. The pain he feared might grip his stomach any moment. The violence he felt heating his blood.  

He gripped the fabric of the couch, his fingertips burning against the rough material.  

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.  

He wondered if he could just halve his DR dose, rather than skipping it altogether. He could ask Elaine -  

No, you can't.  

He couldn't tell her about the racing thoughts or the panic or the desire to go to sleep and never wake up. She would take him off the potion permanently. She would say the mood swings were too dangerous. She'd say he had to feel like this forever.  

You're being paranoid.  

He forced himself to sit up, rubbing his face hard with both hands. He needed to shake this off. He couldn’t afford to spiral - not today. Not when he was supposed to be celebrating. Not when everyone would be there to witness. Not at Harry's birthday party.  

He swallowed hard against the grief swelling inside him. Twenty - One . The same age James and Lily had been when they died. It seemed impossibly young.  

His chest tightened at the thought, a mournful pang that mingled with guilt and anger and a sense of injustice at their fates. At his own.  

Twenty-One. Almost half the age he was now.  

He felt heat rise in his face as tears welled in his eyes, fat and heavy with sorrow and fury and regret.  

He swiped at his eyes, sniffing as he eased himself to a standing position. He needed a calming draught. He needed a kip. He needed to pull it the fuck together.  

*  

Grimmauld Place was filled with familiar faces when Remus and Teddy arrived. Remus looked around at the collection of former students, select Hogwarts staff, Order members, and people he recognized only from the wedding - Aurors, Ginny's teammates, random strangers he couldn't quite place.  

He felt light and hazy as he made his way around the outskirts of the room, grateful that he had taken a healthy dose of Draught of Peace before coming. The storm in his mind had seemed to settle, nothing more than dark clouds overhead. A temporary peace before the winds and rains would return.  

He kept a hand on Teddy’s shoulder as they weaved through the crowd, nodding politely at familiar faces.  

He still couldn't get accustomed to the renovated house. It looked wrong. Felt wrong. Too bright and warm. Too filled with laughter. Too cheery, too loving, too hopeful. Nothing like it used to be.  

It felt like a betrayal, almost. Grimmauld Place had always been dark, cold, silent - a place where whispers of rebellion and resistance had lived, and death had lingered in the shadows. The bright lights and cheerful decorations seemed so out of place now, like someone had taken the old house and forced it to be something it could never be. Something it wasn’t meant to be.  

He shook himself, remembering to smile. To celebrate.  

*  

Teddy had long since disappeared as Remus sat at the kitchen table, too mellowed from the calming draught to be terribly worried about where his son had gone. He smiled vacantly, listening to the chatter around him.  

Molly and Charlie had spent the last ten minutes debating the job offer he had received in New Zealand, Percy interjecting with occasional comments about international policy and the logistical challenges of such a move.  

Remus wished he had found a quieter room to hide in.  

“What're you all doing, hiding in here?” George burst into the room, his eyes glinting, ready to stir things up. Remus refrained from sighing as he tried to think of a polite way to excuse himself before the young man got on a roll, but his brain was slow and sluggish, bogged down with the potion.  

George flopped unceremoniously into the chair across from Percy, giving his brother a twisted smile.  

“So, Perce - any updates on the Kingsley story? Papers have been awfully quiet this week,” he said pointedly. Remus snuck a glance at Percy, who was adjusting his glasses on his nose.  

“Well, there's nothing else to tell, is there?” he said evasively. “The Ministry is taking a neutral stance on the issue.”  

Remus felt his neck tense at the way Percy said ‘issue.’  

Molly shook her head. “I just never suspected it of Kingsley,” she said, poorly masking her disbelief. Remus drummed his fingers awkwardly against the table, his shoulders beginning to tighten.  

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Mum. It's the twenty-first century! Don't be so narrow minded.”  

Remus raised his eyebrows, staring at his hand as he sucked in his lips. He found he was equally impressed and shocked by Charlie's bluntness. Molly huffed.  

“I'm not - there's nothing wrong with being -” she lowered her voice to a whisper, as if she was saying something taboo - “gay.” Remus tried not to cringe at her obvious discomfort. “I just never realized - who could have guessed?”  

George laughed, giving her a disbelieving look. “I mean, he's never exactly hidden it - he's got the gay earring and everything!”  

Molly pursed her lips. "That's not what I meant. I just - he’s always been so - serious. Focused on work. I suppose I never thought - well, you know..."  

"Right, because only people who crack jokes can be gay," George said, grinning. "I'll let Lee know he's off the hook then."  

Charlie snorted into his drink, and Percy cleared his throat. "Regardless, the Ministry isn't commenting further. Kingsley’s leadership remains intact, and that’s all that matters."  

Remus took a slow breath through his nose, resisting the urge to comment. He wasn’t sure what unsettled him more - Molly’s awkwardness, Percy’s carefully neutral stance, or the fact that Kingsley’s private life had become public debate at all.  

His fingers curled against the tabletop as something bitter roiled beneath the blanket of calm.  

“Does it really matter?” he asked, his voice mild but firm. “People will say what they want to say, but it doesn't change -” He cut himself short at the look Molly gave him. Pitying. Heavy with understanding.  

“Of course,” she said, her voice placating and gentle. “It doesn't matter what people say.”  

He wanted to argue that he wasn't talking about himself. Wasn't referring to the way his name had been dragged through the mud. His life put up for debate in the paper.  

Instead, he sat back, fingers gripping the edge of the table as he nodded stiffly. He could feel dread peeling back the protective dullness of the potion. Could feel despondency threatening to envelope him. His heart pounded painfully.  

“I should go find Teddy,” he mumbled, pushing back his chair, keeping his eyes down as he passed Molly.  

He left the kitchen, feeling the weight of the conversation pressing against his back. The house hummed with laughter and clinking glasses, voices weaving through the rooms in warm, celebratory tones, but he felt miles away from it all, his pulse drumming in his ears.  

He wasn’t sure where he was going until he found himself in the hallway near the staircase, his fingers curling around the banister. He let out a slow breath, glancing upward. The dimly lit corridor above was quiet, urging him forward, promising a brief reprieve.  

He hesitated before he started climbing the stairs slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last. He needed space. A moment of calm where he wouldn’t have to pretend to be okay, where he could just breathe without the constant pressure of smiling, of pretending to belong in the celebration happening downstairs.  

“Everything okay?” He whipped around in surprise at the sound of Harry's voice from the foot of the stairs. His stomach flipped.  

“Er, just looking for Teddy,” he said, painfully aware of the guilty edge in his voice. Harry shifted awkwardly.  

“Oh, he's with Bill,” he said, thumbing over his shoulder. Remus nodded vaguely.  

“Right.” His grip tightened around the banister, unwilling to let go of the hope of escape. Harry eyed him, leaving Remus feeling horribly exposed.  

The young man ran a hand through his messy hair. “Er, we hung up some of the pictures from the albums you gave me,” he said in an obvious attempt to break the odd tension building between them. He used the butterbeer bottle in his hand to point up the stairs. “Would you like to see?”  

Absolutely not.  

“Of course!” Remus replied with a forced grin. He swept his arm up the stairs, inviting Harry to lead the way, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach.  

They climbed the stairs, Remus habitually softening his step as they passed the landing where Walburga's portrait once hung. He didn't ask how they had managed to remove it.  

Harry turned down the hall towards the library, pointing proudly at the chaotic gallery of framed photographs and small mementos hanging on the wall, stretching the entire length of the hallway. Remus took a moment to steel himself before stepping forward.  

It was an eclectic mix of memories. A newspaper clipping about Ginny's position with the Holyhead Harpies hung alongside a picture of Moody, whose eye swiveled suspiciously between Harry and Remus. Familiar photos from Remus’ collection were interspersed with pictures from Harry's Hogwarts days. His wedding. The life he had built.  

They should have been here.  

Teddy waved to Remus from one picture, his hair as black as Harry's. Remus swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat.  

“There's the snitch from my first match,” Harry said excitedly, pointing to a small shelf. “I wanted it next to the wedding photo - you know, of Sirius and my parents. Seemed right, you know?”  

Remus nodded, clasping his hands behind his back as he took in the photograph. He felt a wave of nausea as he looked into their faces. He could hardly recall any of them looking so happy. So hopeful.  

So young.  

He looked away, scanning the wall for less painful memories.  

His eye caught a familiar shape hanging amongst the photographs and mementos. His mouth quirked in something that was almost a smile at the sight of the spoon he had carved.  

Harry followed Remus’ gaze and raised his brows as if he had solved a particularly difficult puzzle.  

“Was that from you? There wasn't a card, so we weren't sure.” Remus hesitated a moment, staring at the intricate shapes he had dug out of the formless branch. It looked surprisingly nice, mounted against the creamy wall. He scanned the symbols, feeling the memory of each edge in his hand.  

“No, sorry,” he said, his eyes lingering a moment longer before fixing a gentle smile on his face. “It just reminded me of the one my mam had.” The lie came easily, though he wasn’t sure why it felt necessary. Why he couldn't admit to the labor of love.  

Harry looked a little disappointed.  

“Oh, Hermione said it was probably from you - apparently it's a Welsh thing - but, like I said, there wasn't a card, so who knows?” He shrugged one shoulder and Remus felt the sudden urge to amend his statement, but he wasn't sure how to explain why he had lied in the first place.  

“Well, if you find out, I'd be curious to know,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets as he made his way further down the hall, ignoring Harry’s searching gaze as he took in the familiar and long-forgotten faces smiling down on him.  

Chapter Text

Sunday, August 5, 2001  

Remus woke to find the world blanketed in darkness. He looked around groggily, trying to orient himself before reaching for his nightstand, searching for his watch. 

11:43 PM 

He buried his face back into his pillow, breathing in the stale scent of sweat that clung to the faded pillowcase. He needed to get up. Needed to eat something after last night's transformation. Needed to go to the loo after sleeping for sixteen hours straight. Needed some water. 

He grunted in protest, as if he could debate with his body. As if he could convince his empty stomach and full bladder and parched tongue that sleep should be his top priority. 

He pressed his head deeper into the pillow, trying to ignore his discomfort and the thoughts bouncing around his exhausted mind. 

The transformation had gone well. There had been no blood. Yes, he had been overwhelmed by the pain in his belly. But no blood. And, yes, he had spent the better part of the night resisting the urge to rip the veins from his leg. But he hadn't. 

No blood. Not in the dried puddles of sick scattered across the cellar floor. Not on his body. 

No need to tell Elaine. 

*** 

Wednesday, August 8, 2001  

Belby's face shone with excitement and a thin sheen of sweat. It was a particularly warm day as he sat on the patio of his manor, Remus Lupin seated across from him, looking over the plans Belby had spread on the table between them. 

He had been thrilled when he received the man's letter, stating that he had reconsidered and would be willing to discuss the plans for the new center. Belby knew he needed at least one werewolf on the board - he had pinned his hopes on the only one with a remotely positive public image. Yes, there had been that mess with the Hogwarts board, but it had all worked out in his favor, in the end. 

Lupin was everything Belby had hoped for - gentle, well-mannered, unassuming. He had a kind face - neither offensively plain nor remarkably handsome, but pleasant in the way that put others at ease. Relatable. Unthreatening. 

He looked better than he had when his photo had been plastered across the papers - decent haircut, close shave, wearing a set of neat robes that, while simple and a bit worn, suggested an effort to present himself well. 

Perfect . 

Lupin nodded thoughtfully, stroking his chin as he examined the illustrations of the proposed building. Belby leaned forward, eager to see his reaction, but Lupin's expression remained unreadable, his features calm and detached as he studied the plans. 

Belby cleared his throat, tapping the edge of one parchment. "This is the proposed layout for the medical wing. It will include treatment rooms, private quarters for those in crisis, and a small clinic for ongoing care.” 

He expected Lupin to be impressed - his father certainly had been - but the man remained impassive. The silence was unsettling, but Belby forced himself to remain patient. 

"We intend to employ both healers and specialists in magical maladies,” He continued, watching for any flicker of interest from Lupin. “As well as provide Wolfsbane free of charge to all registered werewolves.” 

Lupin finally reacted, his brow furrowing. 

Belby cleared his throat again, shifting slightly in his chair as he tapped another sheet of parchment with his index finger. 

"As you can see, the center will be designed to accommodate not just medical needs but also provide legal support, employment assistance, and even educational resources. And, of course, support for families – your father seemed very excited about that!” 

Lupin gave a final nod before straightening in his seat, his eyes still fixed on the collection of parchments in front of him. Belby was starting to wonder if working with him would always be this uncomfortable. 

He leaned forward, trying not to look too eager. “So… thoughts?” 

Lupin finally turned to him, his blue eyes holding something disturbingly close to regret. 

“It's… ambitious.” He did not sound particularly enthused. 

Belby frowned. He had expected the werewolf to be thrilled with his plans, but he was clearly reserving comment. 

"We've also secured funding," Belby offered, determined to sell the idea. "A substantial amount. If we move quickly, we could have the center operating within a year, assuming we get the right support." His gaze locked with Lupin's, trying to gauge his reaction. 

Lupin finally spoke, his voice even but with a touch of something that might have been doubt. "And who, exactly, is funding this?" 

Belby hesitated. Lupin’s question wasn’t confrontational, but it carried a quiet weight - a note of caution that Belby hadn't anticipated. He leaned back, choosing his words carefully and offering a practiced smile. 

"We have a variety of benefactors - mostly anonymous, but we've garnered support from several foreign ministries and, shall we say, high profile donors whose families have been affected by lycanthropy.” 

Lupin nodded slowly, but Belby noted the tension in his shoulders. He wasn’t convinced. 

Lupin exhaled slowly, his fingers idly tracing the edge of the parchment, his eyes betraying the battle waging inside his head. “And what do they expect in return?” 

Belby blinked. “In return?” 

Lupin looked up, his gaze sharp now. “For all this.” He gestured to the plans. “Wolfsbane, medical care, legal aid - none of this comes without a cost.” 

Belby’s smile tightened. “It’s philanthropy, m’boy. Surely you understand that some people simply want to do good.” 

Lupin didn’t look away. “At risk of sounding paranoid, that has rarely been my experience.” 

A flicker of irritation crossed Belby’s face before he smoothed it over. “I won’t deny that some donors may have political motivations,” he admitted, leaning back in his chair. “But does it matter? If this center helps people like you -” Lupin tensed at the phrase, but Belby pressed on. “- then does it truly matter who holds the purse strings?” 

Lupin studied him for a long moment, then set his hands on the table. “It matters if the people using it are beholden to someone else’s agenda.” 

Belby exhaled, shaking his head. “I'm sure you can understand that - at this stage - we can’t afford to be choosy. If we wait for funding with no strings attached, we’ll be waiting forever.” 

Lupin leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “I assume that, in order to receive these services, werewolves will have to be registered? They’ll have to agree to monitoring, to evaluations -” 

Belby frowned. “That’s not the intent.” 

“No,” Lupin said, his voice dry. “But it will be the result.” 

Belby let out a small, exasperated laugh, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. "You're looking for problems where there aren't any, Lupin. This is a step forward - a monumental one. A proper facility, real resources – we'll be giving people like you a chance at a real life!” 

Lupin's fingers curled slightly where they rested on the table, but his expression remained composed. Belby swallowed down his growing frustration. He hadn't expected this level of resistance from the one person he'd spoken to who would actually benefit from the center. 

Belby sighed, resting his arms on the patio table. 

“Do you know why I set out all those years ago to invent the Wolfsbane potion?” he asked, hoping to gain at least a little trust. Lupin nodded politely. 

“I believe I've heard the story, but I'd be happy to hear it again,” he said in a far friendlier tone, though he still appeared guarded, shoulders tensed and rigid. 

Belby folded his hands together, his face drooping sadly. 

“When I was a kid, my dad got bit,” he said heavily, fixing Lupin with a meaningful loook. “He struggled for a few months - mum wanted us to stay together as a family - but after three transformations, he’d had enough. Found him hanging from a rafter in the cellar a few days before what would have been his fourth moon.” 

Lupin nodded solemnly but seemed wholly unsurprised. Belby let out a sharp breath - after all these years, it was still a painful story to tell. 

“Anyway, even as a young boy I understood why he did it - why so many do. I want to do something to help, to make it so other people won't have to feel so desperate.” 

Lupin's gaze softened and, for a brief moment, Belby felt certain he had struck a chord. To his dismay, however, the werewolf's face took on an apologetic expression. Silence grew between them, Lupin’s eyes growing distant as he formed his words. 

“I hope you know what a difference you've already made,” he said carefully. Diplomatically. “It has been one of the greatest gifts I have ever received, knowing that I won't have to wake up wondering if I somehow hurt someone. To keep my own mind.” 

Belby could sense a ‘but’ coming. Lupin smoothed his hands over the plans for the children's ward, looking conflicted. 

“You have done incredible work, and I think your vision for this center is beautiful, but -” He cast a regretful look at the blueprint beneath his fingers. “But it isn't going to work.” 

Belby’s mouth turned bitter at the finality in Lupin's voice. He leaned forward, taking a steadying breath. 

“Why not?” His voice betrayed the frustration that he’d held at bay for so long. 

Lupin sighed, the sound almost inaudible. He met Belby’s gaze, his eyes clear and direct - not unkind, but unwavering. 

“As wonderful as this all sounds, most werewolves are very distrustful of normal wizards. They'll likely view this as some sort of trap or -” 

Belby cut him off. “That's why I need you!” he urged, willing the man to see reason. “I need you to be the face of the center, to convince people that this is a place where they can receive help - education, decent medical care - all the things that have been denied to them!” 

Lupin shook his head, unmoved by Belby’s petition. “I'm not sure I'm the right man for that job - in fact, I know I'm not.” He looked out over the neatly trimmed lawn, his brow furrowing. “I've spent some time in a werewolf colony, and I was met with a great deal of mistrust – hostility, even.” 

He paused again, tapping his fingers distractedly against the table. For a moment, Belby thought he was finished, but Lupin finally turned his gaze back to him, the lines in his face far deeper than they had been a moment before. “You are talking about a population that has come to expect the worst from the world. If I'm honest -” He shut his mouth and looked away again, as if he had not meant to say the last few words. 

Belby frowned. “Please, be honest.” 

Remus shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, softer this time. “I just don't see how you will convince your clientele, so to speak, that this is truly a place built for their benefit.” 

Belby let out a slow breath, leaning back in his chair, deflated. “So that’s it, then? You’re saying this is doomed before we even start?” 

Lupin hesitated before rubbing his hands down his face with a frustrated sigh. “You’re offering a place built by wizards, funded by wizards, run by wizards. And you expect werewolves to trust it when -” He eyed Belby shiftily, as if he worried his next words might be too harsh - Belby doubted he could say anything worse than he already had. He opened his hand, welcoming Lupin's comment. 

“Please, I'd like to hear.” 

Lupin watched him for another moment before taking a breath, his mouth twisting uncomfortably. “They won't trust it because it's just Werewolf Services wrapped in a pretty bow.” 

Belby froze. The words hit harder than he expected, a sharp sting that cut through the haze of his hopes. He stared at Lupin thoughtfully, tapping his fingertips against his chin. 

“Remus,” he said, his voice heavy, afraid to hear the answer to his question. “If you were to hear about something like this, would you use it?” 

The other man's silence was answer enough. Belby’s heart sank. “I see.” 

“I'm sorry. It really is a beautiful idea.” Lupin’s blue eyes truly did look remorseful. 

Belby folded his hands beneath his chin, trying to process what the man had said, bitter disappointment laying heavy on his stomach. He sat for a minute, gathering his thoughts while Lupin looked guiltily across the lawn. 

Belby sat forward with a sharp intake of breath. “Listen, Remus. I know that this place could have the power to change lives, and I am not willing to let that go. I know that, right now, you have no faith in my vision but, please , will you help me to find a way to make this work? Even if we have to start smaller than I hoped. Even if we can only help new cases. Can you help me?” 

He thought, for a moment, that the other man might cry as he bit his lip and dipped his head, as if in prayer. He felt a flicker of hope at the conflicted look on the younger man's face. 

Slowly, but deliberately, Lupin shook his head.  

Belby’s stomach twisted, the heat of the afternoon suddenly suffocating. He searched Lupin's face for some hint that he had misunderstood, but his expression was set in a quiet, unflinching resolution. 

"I'm sorry," Lupin said softly. "But I can’t help you.” 

Chapter Text

Saturday, August 11, 2001  

His hands shook as he looped the tie around itself, tensing as it tightened around his throat.  

Too tight.  

He jammed his thumb beneath the poorly tied knot, tugging until he felt the choking pressure ease.  

Teddy lay on the bed behind him, pretending to read the copy of Rebecca Remus had left belly-down on the nightstand. He kicked his feet, looking as though he was attempting to march as he lay on his back, holding the book open mere inches from his face. Remus would have taken a picture, if he weren't so distracted.  

He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. Kingsley was his friend. It was inevitable that he would meet his boyfriend sooner rather than later, but it felt too soon. Too monumental. Too real.  

He tried to recall if he had been this anxious before meeting Andromeda and Ted - had Dora been right to roll her eyes at him back then, laughing at his nerves while she smoothed out his collar? He wished he could remember more clearly, but the memory blurred around the edges, the colors fading like an old photograph.  

He combed his hair back, frowning at his reflection before combing a neat part through the curls.  

You look like a choir boy.  

He tossed the comb aside, ruffling his fingers through his hair and wrenching the tie from around his neck. He popped the top button of his collar, scrutinizing himself. It wasn't a bad look, he supposed. Still, Kingsley would likely raise a brow at any attempt at nonchalance.  

He did up his button again. Smoothed down his hair. Shook his head in disapproval and undid the button once more. Then another. Too much . Rebutton.  

He was contemplating the possibility of wearing a loose tie with one button open when the Floo roared in the other room, announcing Andromeda's arrival.  

“Shit,” he whispered to himself, accepting that he would have to settle for the half-tamed hair and one-button-no-tie look. Teddy peered around the edge of the book in his hands, grinning mischievously.  

“No say ‘shit,’ Daddy,” he scolded, his voice high and sweet. “It not nice.”  

Remus sighed and scooped Teddy into his arms, the book tumbling to the floor with a hollow thud.  

“You're right,” he said with an apologetic look as he started carrying Teddy towards the sitting room. “I'm going to have to set up a swear jar soon.”  

Teddy, who obviously had no idea what Remus was referring to, nodded enthusiastically.  

Andromeda stood near the fireplace, brushing soot from her robes. She glanced up as Remus entered with Teddy in his arms, her sharp gaze sweeping over him in an instant.  

“You still haven't been to the barber?” she asked, by way of greeting. Remus’ hand flew self-consciously to his hair as Teddy slithered from his arms and ran to Andromeda, arms outstretched. She leaned down to hug him against her skirt, murmuring a quiet greeting.  

“Is it that bad?” Remus asked, trying not to sound overly concerned despite the renewed anxiety tugging at his heart. Andromeda gave the question a little more thought than it required.  

“Not yet, I suppose,” she conceded with a thoughtful tilt of her head. “But you'll need to go before the start of term.”  

He nodded obediently, even as his pride stung at the fact that he was allowing his mother-in-law to dictate his haircut.  

“Yes, well, I'll arrange something soon,” he said, giving his grey locks a final comb-through with his fingers. “Thank you for watching him,” he added, picking up Teddy's bag.  

Andromeda accepted the weekender with a nod. “Of course,” she said, not quite warmly, but still sounding genuine. “I'll be interested to hear about the Minister’s mystery man,” she said, raising her eyebrows. Remus’ mouth twitched.  

“Consider ‘Operation Triple-M’ a go,” he said cheekily, mildly disappointed that Andromeda didn't seem to appreciate the attempt at humor.  

Her expression remained impassive as she adjusted the strap of Teddy’s bag over her shoulder. “Poor man,” she said dryly, and Remus knew she was referring to Chip.  

Remus chuckled despite himself, nerves momentarily easing. He crouched to Teddy’s level, brushing a stray curl from his son’s brow. “You be good for Gran,” he said, his voice soft, eyes warm. He cupped Teddy's cheek in his palm, planting a kiss on his head.  

Teddy hummed in acknowledgment, but his attention had already shifted to the messy pile of picture books scattered across the couch. Remus exhaled, smoothing his hands over his trousers before standing. His stomach fluttered nervously.  

“Right, I should get going.” He hesitated, eyeing Andromeda. “Are you sure you don't mind watching him? I can cancel if it's too much -”  

“Just go,” Andromeda huffed, rolling her eyes and shoving him by the arm towards the door. He gave a final look over his shoulder at Teddy, who was blissfully flipping through brightly colored pages and tossing unwanted books over his shoulder.  

Remus nodded to himself, bracing as if for battle.  

“I'll, er, see you in the morning.” He paused one last time, as if Andy or Teddy might call him back, but no one stopped him as he slipped through the front door into the sweltering night.  

*  

Kingsley shuddered slightly as a bead of sweat ran down his spine, sending an unpleasant tickle through his core. The Soho street was practically steaming from the heat of the day, the night air too still to offer any relief. Music hummed faintly from inside the club, blending with the murmur of the evening crowd.  

He reached out a hand to squeeze Chip's, offering him an apologetic smile.  

“Sorry, he's probably waiting on his babysitter,” he explained, unsure why he was so anxious to get the night over with. Remus was his friend - he would like Chip, no doubt. They'd all have a laugh and listen to the muggle music Chip and Remus both liked. They'd swap stories and Remus and Chip would playfully try to one-up each other with embarrassing anecdotes about Kingsley, who would shake his head in loving exasperation.  

Chip gave him a reassuring smile, tightening his grip around Kingsley’s fingers. Grounding. Loving.  

“He's not even five minutes late,” Chip chuckled, giving Kingsley a playful nudge.  

The light of the neon sign overhead - proudly flashing the words Ronnie Scott's - reflected off Chip's blond curls and golden skin, casting him in a glow of pink. It suited him.  

Kingsley looked over his shoulder towards the little jazz club, debating whether to go inside to escape the heat and secure a table when he caught sight of Remus striding toward them.  

Even in the dim streetlights, Kingsley could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched at his sides. The heat must have been unbearable in the long-sleeved button-down he wore, but Remus looked put-together - almost too much so, like he’d spent far too long agonizing about what to wear.  

Remus spotted them and hesitated for half a step before steeling himself and continuing forward. Kingsley smiled, releasing Chip’s hand to clap Remus on the shoulder as soon as he reached them.  

“I was starting to think you were bailing on us,” he laughed, giving Remus a little shake. Remus smiled sheepishly.  

“Sorry, I got in a bit of a fight with my tie,” he said dryly, his mouth curling. Kingsley didn't point out that he wasn't wearing a tie.  

He rested his other hand on Chip’s arm, looking between the two men. The two most important men in his life.  

“Well, I suppose introductions are in order,” he said with false grandeur, smiling at them both. Chip held out his hand, grinning toothily at Remus.  

He has the best smile.  

“So nice to finally meet you, Remus,” he said, his voice friendly and inviting. Remus hesitated only a moment before returning the handshake.  

“The pleasure is all mine,” he replied in the carefully polite voice he used around strangers. Chip looked down at their clasped hands, his smile broadening.  

“What the hell are we doing - come here!” Remus startled as Chip drew him in for a bear hug. Kingsley chuckled to himself, equally amused by Remus’ discomfort and touched by Chip’s warmth.  

Remus, positively rigid, patted Chip’s back awkwardly, clearly at a loss. Kingsley bit back a grin.  

Chip released him with a laugh, stepping back to survey him. "Kingsley's talked about you so much, I feel like I already know you. And don’t worry, it was all good things.” He waggled his eyebrows at Kingsley. “Mostly.”  

Remus huffed a small laugh, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off his nerves. “That is deeply concerning,” he said, glancing at Kingsley with mock suspicion.  

Kingsley threw his arms around both of them, steering them toward the entrance of the club. “Come on, let’s get inside before we all melt.”  

They entered, cool air washing over them, a welcome relief from the heavy night. The dimly lit room was buzzing with the murmur of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the smooth sounds of a saxophone. The scent of gin stood out against the undertones of polished wood and warm bodies, mingling with the rich, heady aroma of cigars. It was the sort of place that invited intimacy - not just in whispered conversations and low laughter, but in the way time seemed to slow, music filling the spaces between words.  

They settled around a high top by the far wall of the small room, perching on stools and resting their elbows on the table, leaning in to better hear each other.  

They exchanged the usual pleasantries:  

“Yes, the travel from Australia isn't bad at all - just a few Portkey transfers.”  

“Teddy's quite well, though he's developed an obsession with Elton John that I'm eager to get past.”  

“I tell you, work has been a nightmare the past few weeks, but things are settling down.”  

“ Five brothers? I can't even imagine!”  

They were getting around to the story of the weekend the couple had spent visiting Kingsley’s parents in Southern France when a young, bored looking woman approached the table. The waitress didn't speak as she looked at them expectantly, pen poised to take their orders. Chip smiled.  

“First round's on me!” he announced, pointing to Kingsley and Remus in turn, inviting them to place their orders.  

Remus suddenly looked uncomfortable again, his mouth tightening, face turning a light shade of pink.  

“Er, I'm going to start with a soda water,” he said, smoothing his hands across the surface of the table. Kingsley felt a small flicker of pride for his friend.  

A knowing look passed across Chip's face before he covered it with an easy smile. “Same here,” he said with an odd tone of enthusiasm that failed to erase the awkwardness from Remus’ face. Kingsley's mouth twisted, but he forced a chuckle.  

“Well, I guess I'm drinking for three tonight!” He ordered a gin-and-tonic - extra lime - nodding to the waitress in thanks as she turned to fetch their drinks.  

The mood at the table had shifted, the lighthearted ease of their earlier conversation giving way to something more uncertain. Remus kept his gaze fixed on the tabletop, fingers tracing idle patterns against the grain.  

Kingsley cast around for a new subject, his eyes settling on the band performing on the small stage, cast in blue light that winked off their instruments.  

“Chip,” he said, as if he had just remembered something he had been planning to say. “Did I ever tell you what a remarkable pianist Remus is?” Remus finally looked up, cocking a dubious eyebrow. Chip tilted his head, looking impressed.  

“Is that so?”  

Remus shrugged self-consciously, his eyes darting to the bar as if he expected the waitress to return any moment with their drinks.  

“Er, I - I wouldn't say remarkable,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the music. Kingsley rolled his eyes.  

“Keep that false modesty up, and I'll force you to prove me right one of these days.” Remus looked mildly concerned for a moment before smirking hesitantly.  

“Don't tempt me with a good time,” he said dryly, his face easing with relief as the waitress returned, handing out the fizzing drinks. Kingsley pretended he hadn't immediately pictured the sort of ‘good times’ he used to fantasize about when it came to Remus - before he'd convinced himself to stop.  

Chip lifted his glass, grinning. "Well then, to good times," he declared. The clink of their glasses seemed to cut through the momentary unease.  

"To good times," Kingsley echoed, catching the quick flicker of something in Remus’ eyes before he lowered his glass and took a sip.  

They eased back into light conversation, ordering several more rounds. Chip had switched to martinis, but Remus continued to nurse his soda water, his eyes only occasionally drifting to the bar with a look of yearning.  

The music shifted to something slower, the deep croon of a trumpet weaving through the murmuring crowd. Something about the mournful instrument, shimmering in the spotlight, crying out its sad song, seemed to demand their attention. Their silence.  

Kingsley exhaled, glancing between the two men across from him as they each fell quiet, turning their attention to the stage. He took a sip of his drink, the fizz from the tonic tickling his face.  

Chip shifted in his seat, crossing his legs as he hooked his arm around the back of his stool. Kingsley couldn't hear him, but he could tell Chip was humming along, soaking up the moment. He loved that about him - Chip was a man who loved life and could never get enough of it.  

Kingsley’s eyes drifted to Remus, who looked fully settled now, the sharp lines of tension in his shoulders softening as he focused on the music. He looked shockingly young, his face cast in a stray beam of blue light from the stage. He was smiling softly, the lines of his face masked by the blue haze around him. There was a glimmer in his eye that may or may not have been from the stage lighting.  

As if he could feel Kingsley staring, Remus turned slowly, holding Kingsley’s gaze for a long moment. He smiled - a warm, affectionate, real smile that reached his shining eyes. The rare smile that made him look like a different man. The one that made Kingsley’s heart swell and stutter, that made him want to either laugh or cry. The one that made him want to lower Remus gently against a soft white -  

Kingsley stood abruptly, alarmed by the flutter that had taken up residence in his chest and the images laying siege to his mind.  

“Refills?” he offered, sounding as calm and commanding as ever. Both men nodded, turning their attention back to the music as Kingsley squeezed his way through the crowded room towards the bar.  

He was blowing things out of proportion, he knew that. He realized that he was drunk and emotionally charged and overworked and nervous about the night and bursting with love for his partner.  

Remus was just a friend. A very dear friend, yes. A complicated friend with soulful eyes and a sad smile and music in his bones. They had agreed. Just friends.  

He just needed a minute of space. He needed to pull it together.  

He needed another drink.  

*  

Remus fixed his eyes on the stage, trying to ignore the sudden stirring that had taken him by surprise. The tightness around his heart. The heat creeping up his neck. The steady pulse between his legs.  

He couldn’t tell if it was the music or the way Kingsley had looked at him just now. Maybe both. Or maybe it was a new side effect of the potion.  

He nodded to himself as he reached for his soda water, fingers trembling slightly as he brought it to his lips.  

He needed a smoke, a chance to be alone for a few, quiet moments. The evening had been pleasant enough so far - far better than he had expected - but there was no denying it was hard. Hard to watch the casual little touches between Kingsley and Chip. Hard to see the look Kingsley had once given him directed at the handsome man beside him. Hard to remember how he had refused to be seen in public with Dora, robbing her of the ease and openness Kingsley now shared with Chip.  

Stop it, he scolded himself. He wasn’t going to let the ugly things inside him ruin the night. Not jealousy, or regret, or the voice that sneered, reminding him that he didn't deserve that kind of love. Not the sick part of him that wondered what would happen if he -  

“So, you met the elusive Shacklebolts!” he chirped. Chip jumped slightly, like Remus had startled him out of a dream, but he smiled all the same, ready to hop back into conversation.  

“Are they elusive?” he asked, looking mockingly shocked. “You mean, tucked away in the South of France with visits by-appointment-only?”  

Remus smirked in genuine amusement. “Getting more interesting by moment,” he said mysteriously, rubbing his hands together. “Tell me, is there a labyrinth that leads to the front door? Dora -” He paused, shocked by how casually her name had spilled out. His heart leapt to his throat.  

He leaned back in his seat for a moment, gathering himself, before offering Chip a small apologetic smile. “Dora -” He cleared his throat. “Dora had this whole theory about Kingsley’s family. It was just for laughs, but…”  

He trailed off, the suddenness of his grief far more shocking than its intensity. He felt his chest tighten slightly - not the crushing squeeze it had once been, but still there. Still painful.  

Now he really needed a cigarette. And a drink. He patted his pockets as he craned his neck to seek out Kingsley. Chip gave him a questioning look.  

“Need a gasp,” Remus explained, fishing the case from his pocket. “I was just wondering where Kingsley - er - I don't want to leave you alone, but…”  

Chip waved off his concern with a smile. “I appreciate you hanging around to defend my honor, but I'll be okay,” he said with a friendly wink.  

Remus wanted to point out that he simply didn't want to be rude by leaving Chip alone at the table, but he let it drop.  

“Cheers,” he offered, already perching a rollie on his lip before starting his way to the exit.  

If he had hoped for a bit of refreshing night air, he was sorely disappointed, but what he truly craved was a chance to be alone. To pull himself together away from watchful, concerned eyes.  

He lit up before he started to meander down the pavement towards a small alley where he could find some quiet. His mind wanted to fixate on Dora - on everything she'd missed because of him. How much more she would have lost had she lived.  

He leaned against the alley wall, shaking his head, determined to think of something else.  

Chip , he decided.  

Remus could easily see what Kingsley liked about the man. He was friendly, lively, not to mention attractive. And he was kind. He had offered to shake Remus’ hand. He had hugged him harder than he'd been hugged in years. It was a rarity for Remus to feel so effortlessly accepted by a stranger who knew the truth about him.  

That said, he wished Chip would go away.  

*  

Chip watched as Remus disappeared, slipping between the crowded tables, shoulders hunched in apology for taking up space.  

He seemed nice - a proper mate. Kingsley had made it sound like the man was going to be some kind of enigma, but Chip felt like he was getting a grasp on him.  

He was friendly but cautious. Funny, but self-conscious. Kind, but burdened with a permanent sadness. Loving, but afraid to get too close, even to Kingsley.  

Still, there was no denying the deep affection between the two friends, the unspoken bond that made Chip feel a little like a third wheel.  

It didn’t bother him, exactly. Rather, it felt like a stark reminder of everything Kingsley had been through before Chip met him. Remus had the same haunted look that sometimes came over Kingsley - the same air of loss that hung in the air whenever Kingsley was quiet for too long. It was a pain that Chip had never fully understood. He doubted he ever could.  

“Did he abandon you?” Kingsley asked, surprising Chip as he leaned over his shoulder, depositing a fresh martini in front of him and sneaking a quick kiss on his cheek.  

Chip smiled appreciatively, taking a sip from his drink.  

“Nah, I told him it was fine - bloke needed a durry.”  

Kingsley shot a glance at the door before taking his seat, bringing his glass to his lips for a deep drink. He smirked as he rested the glass on the table.  

“Remind me to give him shit when he gets back,” he chuckled, slipping his hand beneath the table to brush his fingers against the back of Chip's hand. Chip felt a surge of affection at the touch, a wish for more, but he could see Remus out of the corner of his eye, returning to the table. Kingsley immediately withdrew his hand, lacing his fingers around his glass as Remus approached. Chip’s hand felt oddly cold.  

“Sorry about that,” Remus said breathily, slipping back into his seat. Kingsley looked at him with feigned anger, though his twitching lip gave him away.  

“I can’t believe you left poor Chip - a guest, a stranger in a strange land - to fend for himself.”  

At first, Remus looked mortified, but his face quickly shifted into a wry smile. He turned to Chip, bowing his head slightly.  

“You'll have to excuse my manners,” he said, his mouth curling. “It seems I’ve failed in my hostly duties.”  

Chip chuckled, the sound warm and easy. "No harm done, mate," he said, lifting his glass in a mock toast. "I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”  

Kingsley’s lip curled in an ‘I'll say’ expression. If Remus noticed, he didn't comment. He simply gave a small nod, his shoulders beginning to lower from their habitual perch around his ears.  

They stayed far later than Chip had expected, swapping stories and jokes and debating the relative merits of Muggle and magical music. Chip was particularly enchanted by the notion of self-strumming guitars, but Remus insisted he was a purist when it came to such things. Kingsley threw up his hands, claiming that he didn't care one way or the other, as long as he got to pick the song.  

Chip tried bringing up the new werewolf center he'd heard about - the Australian Ministry had given a controversially large contribution, given the large lycanthropic population in the bush - but it quickly became clear that it was not a welcome subject.  

Remus didn’t bristle exactly, but the light in his eyes dimmed, his posture stiffening just slightly. He gave a short nod, the kind that signaled a desire to change the subject without having to ask.  

Chip backed off immediately, pivoting to a story about a drop bear sanctuary his cousin ran outside Alice Springs.  

Eventually, the music faded, the crowd thinned, and the lights shifted from cozy to closing time. The trio spilled into the street, Kingsley and Chip both swaying from a few too many drinks, clinging to each other for balance as Remus lead the way to an alley where they could apparate.  

They turned the corner and Chip pulled Remus into a hug, pounding his bony back affectionately before releasing him. Kingsley threw open his arms, stumbling forward to do the same.  

The two friends hugged a beat longer than Chip would have expected, Remus muttering something in Kingsley's ear. They parted, Kingsley clapping Remus’ shoulder with a heartfelt smile that told Chip he had won the man's approval.  

Remus gave a small wave as he stepped back, his expression open but already beginning to shutter, as though the warmth of the evening had been borrowed and was now due back.  

“Get home safe,” Kingsley said. His voice was low, rougher than usual.  

Remus nodded, smiling softly as his eyes darted between Kingsley and Chip. Chip couldn't help but think he looked a little sad. “You too.”  

And with that, he turned on the spot and disappeared, the crack of apparition echoing softly in the still air.  

Chapter Text

Monday, August 27, 2001  

The potion tasted like guilt. Sharp. Bitter. Lying heavy on his stomach.  

He closed the medicine cabinet, his hand braced on the mirrored door, head hanging low as he grimaced against the lingering taste.  

Selfish prick.  

Damocles Belby’s face floated behind his eyes, eager and hopeful and full of conviction. Brimming with the belief that he was going to change the world. That Remus could help him do that. He wondered if he would forever feel this twisting shame every time he took Wolfsbane from now on.  

He sighed and turned on the tap, rinsing his mouth before splashing cold water on his burning face.  

***  

Friday, August 31, 2001  

His eye twitched. His fingers twisted together in his lap. His ears were ringing. His face burned. His limbs felt both heavy and cold.  

He was trying to listen to Minerva as she stood at the head of the staffroom table, discussing updates to rules surrounding student clubs and supervision hours, but the words were swimming uselessly past him. He caught only fragments - "safety protocols," "restricted corridors," "parental consent forms." The hum in his ears grew louder.  

He hadn't slept. Not really. Perhaps two or three hours at most, and none of it restful, leaving him ragged and fraying at the edges. He had spent the night clawing his way out of blood-soaked dreams, trembling as he squeezed his eyes against the shadows that stalked him.  

The scrape of a dozen chairs told him that the meeting had been adjourned, but he remained seated, trying to muster the will to move.  

Someone lightly kicked his foot, nudging him back to reality. He looked up.  

Michael hopped onto the table, seating himself beside Remus, legs swinging. Felicity stood over Remus’ shoulder, waiting.  

“You alright?” Michael asked with an overly bright smile.  

Remus blinked at him, dazed. “Fine,” he said, too quickly. He could hear Felicity shuffle behind him, obviously anxious to move along.  

No one's keeping you.  

Michael looked at him with concern - Remus had to swallow back his suggestion for where his colleague could shove his pity.  

“I'm guessing we won't be seeing you at the feast tomorrow?”  

Remus’ jaw remained tight as he shook his head, doing his best to appear mildly disappointed.  

“I'm afraid I'll be otherwise engaged,” he said dryly, annoyed at the reminder of the pain and fever and anxiety facing him the next two days.  

Michael gave his shoulder a light punch. “Well, we'll miss you.”  

Remus offered him a faint, closed-lipped smile. He could still feel Felicity watching him.  

Probably waiting for the werewolf to lose it on her boyfriend.  

“I’ll be back Wednesday,” he said, his voice thin. He wished they would go away.  

“Right.” Michael hesitated. “Well, if you need anything -”  

“I won’t.”  

***  

Saturday, September 1, 2001  

He wanted to bash his head against the wall. Wanted to smash the record Teddy had been listening to on repeat. Wanted to scream.  

I miss the Earth so much, I miss my wife  
It's lonely out in space 

His head pounded with a blinding migraine, his muscles and joints complaining at every tiny shift. His skin burned, raised and angry.  

I'm not the man they think I am at home  
Oh, no, no, no 

He bit the inside of his cheek until it bled, face buried in the threadbare pillow propped against the arm of the couch. He breathed deeply, steadily, ignoring the tightness in his shoulders as Teddy thudded around the room, dancing.  

Mars ain't the kind of place to raise your kids  
In fact, it's cold as hell  
And there's no one there to raise them if you did 

The scent of fire and the roar of the Floo told him that Andromeda had arrived, but he couldn't bring himself to move. Couldn't bring himself to sit up.  

“Are you alright?” she asked after a long pause. He nodded wordlessly against the pillow. Another pause, heavy with concern.  

“Do you need anything?”  

“No.” His voice was muffled by the pillow. He could hear Andy shuffle awkwardly, could feel the pulse of her unease. He didn't care.  

“Well, then, I guess we'd better get a move on,” she said in a bright voice that was clearly meant for Teddy.  

He didn't look up. Didn't thank Andromeda. Didn't hug Teddy goodbye.  

Another rush of flames. The heavy press of an empty room. The sharp sting of tears in his eyes.  

Burning out his fuse up here alone  
And I think it's gonna be a long, long time  
And I think it's gonna be a long, long time  
And I think it's gonna be a long, long time  
And I think it's gonna be a long, long time 

***  

Monday, September 3, 2001  

He sat up on the cellar floor, every newly-grown human muscle screaming out in agony, but he needed to know. He needed to assure himself.  

No blood .  

No need to tell Elaine .  

He thought of the forged medical report he had tucked away in his desk.  

No need to go to Werewolf Services.  

He collapsed back against the clay floor, nearly laughing with relief.  

***  

Tuesday, September 4, 2001  

He felt surprisingly well, all things considered. He was still using a cane to support his swollen hips and knees and, yes, he generally felt as though he had lost a fight with a Horntail, but neither pain was worse than usual.  

He had no abdominal pain, even after eating a massive rice bowl when his hunger kicked back in after he resumed DR. The emotional distress had settled back to his new normal, the disturbing images banished, save for the occasional nightmare.  

The smile he offered Elaine was forced, but not painfully so as he handed over the forged document with as little interest as possible.  

He did, however, brace his arms on his thighs, leaning in close to see her expression as she read. He threw out occasional questions, hoping she would buy his act - an anxious patient, eager for her opinion on his test results.  

She nodded approvingly and he felt his heart soar with pride and relief. “I'll be honest,” she said, sounding pleased. “You're doing much better than I would have expected - kidneys look good, liver…”  

He resisted the triumphant smile tugging at his lips, even as he felt a pinch of guilt for deceiving her.  

“I'd like another follow up in three months, but if your numbers continue to look like this, we may even be able to consider increasing your dose of DR.”  

His stomach dropped, but he nodded.  

“That, er - that sounds great.”  

***  

Wednesday, September 5, 2001  

He felt almost well by the time he welcomed his first class of the year - a boisterous group of third-years who all seemed to have grown a few centimeters over the summer.  

His gait was still a little stiff, but his heart felt light, his appetite had returned, and he had overheard a group of whispering sixth-years refer to him as a ‘peng.’ He had no idea what the word meant but, based on the tone they had used and the shy giggles that followed, he decided to take it as a compliment.  

He looked out over the class, taking a moment to soak in their infectious energy before calling them to order. He clapped once, drawing their attention, smiling as the room fell quiet.  

“Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts, Year Three!” He was glad to hear his voice come out steady, even warm. “I hope you’re all ready for a year of hexes, jinxes, counter-curses, and the occasional brush with mortal peril.”  

A ripple of laughter moved through the classroom. It wasn’t forced. They weren’t afraid of him. They weren’t pitying him. They were just kids - amused, curious, eager. For the first time in weeks, he felt something close to peace.  

He rocked back on his heels, smiling to the ground for a moment before continuing.  

“Actually, I'm afraid there won't be much peril - or hexes for that matter - but we will be taking this year to explore some of the more common dark creatures you may face in your lives.”  

He gave the students a cheeky smile. “But I'll see if we can squeeze in a few explosions here and there.”  

*  

His back ached, his hips stiff from a long day of teaching, but he couldn't help but smile as he watched Teddy dance around the room. His arms swung wildly, feet kicking, hips twisting.  

Oh, but they're weird and they're wonderful 
Oh, Bennie, she's really keen 

He felt a laugh bubble in his chest as Teddy stumbled, nearly toppling to the floor. Like Dora.  

We shall survive, let us take ourselves along 
Where we fight our parents out in the streets 
To find who's right and who's wrong 

He felt a sudden urge to join in. To have a little fun. To make up for the time he'd wasted being a miserable bastard.  

Oh, Candy and Ronnie, have you seen them yet? 
Oh, but they're so spaced out 

He reached out, playfully snatching Teddy by the arm. In one fluid motion, he pulled his son towards him, laid him on his back across Remus’ knee, and tilted his head towards the floor. He bent, face nearly touching Teddy's as he sang in a thick, goofy voice.  

“T-T-T-T-Teddy and the Jets!”  

Teddy shrieked with laughter, his face red, feet flailing in the air. Remus grinned, rocking Teddy up and down. Delighting in his joy. His smile. The way his hair flopped with each dip.  

“Teddy! Teddy! Teddy! Teddy and the Jets!”  

Remus bounced Teddy a final time, his voice squeaking out a falsetto, before hoisting him upright. Teddy collapsed against him, hiccupping with laughter, one tiny hand gripping Remus’ shirt.  

“Again!” Teddy demanded breathlessly.  

“Again?” Remus laughed, flopping backwards with an exaggerated groan, pulling Teddy with him. His heart pounded. His limbs thrummed. The pain in his joints seemed to melt away in the warmth of the moment.  

He squeezed his son against his chest, Teddy's giggles vibrating through him, filling the hollow spaces inside.  

He rocked him gently for another moment before, with a lurch, he tipped Teddy's head back, sending the boy into another fit of laughter.  

“T-T-T-T-Teddy and the Jets!”  

"Again!" Teddy shouted as Remus righted him, his face flushed with delight.  

Remus grinned. “Oh, I don't know. I'm a little -”  

Dip.  

“T-T-T-T-Teddy and the Jets!”  

Teddy shrieked again, nearly boneless with glee, and Remus laughed with him - a real laugh, something rare and golden.  

He dipped him once more for good measure before flopping them both back against the couch, the record still spinning faintly in the background.  

Chapter Text

Tuesday, September 11, 2001  

The forest danced with shadows from the trees overhead, leaves fluttering in the gentle breeze. Remus sat on the stump of what had once been a massive oak, watching as his sixth-years darted between trees, firing off stunning jinxes as part of the field-defense unit he was teaching.  

It was a beautiful day. The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, offering the perfect amount of warmth. The faint whisper of wind played with the hem of his robes as his students’ laughter echoed throughout the clearing.  

A good day.  

He checked his watch - they'd have to start making their way back to the castle soon - and began to rise when, in the distance, he saw a flicker of silver.  

At first it seemed like a trick of the light but, as it drew nearer, he recognized it for what it was. A patronus.  

Minerva's patronus.  

He told himself not to panic, but he knew, deep in his bones, that something terrible had happened.  

The silvery cat wound itself anxiously around his ankles as Minerva’s voice echoed from its core.  

“All staff, please dismiss your students to their common rooms and report to the staffroom immediately.”  

Remus’ chest tightened. He gave a sharp whistle. “Alright, everyone! That's enough for today!” He waved his arm, signaling his students to gather. They trudged back, cheeks flushed with exertion, tucking their wands into their belts.  

Remus did a quick headcount, trying not to look as anxious as he felt.  

“Professor?” asked a redheaded boy, nodding to the silver cat that was still pawing at Remus’ leg, urging him to get a move on. “Is something wrong?”  

Remus offered a strained smile. “Just a change of plans,” he said breezily, herding the group gently towards the castle. “But I need you to head back to your common rooms. No detours, please.”  

He was doing his best to avoid causing alarm, but several students exchanged glances, clearly sensing the shift in mood. Still, no one argued.  

As they began to file toward the castle, Remus broke into a quick stride, leaving the clearing behind.  

*  

The staffroom hummed with a strange, electric hush when he arrived, sweaty and tracking mud behind him. He thought he saw Filch shoot him a nasty look, but he was too busy seeking out Minerva to care.  

The headmistress stood at the front of the room, her hands braced on the long table where everyone sat, looking concerned and deeply confused.  

Remus took the first available seat, clasping his hands in front of him as he leaned on the table, waiting for Minerva to explain.  

She took a steadying breath before addressing the table.  

“There's been an attack.”  

*  

Lyall drew his wand.  

He had stepped from the fireplace, startled to hear a voice floating down the hall. He considered stepping back into the Floo to fetch help, but, as he was reaching for the pot of powder on the mantel, he realized that the voice was coming from the television in his office.  

Frowning, wand still drawn, he crept towards the partially open door.  

His hand flew to his chest as his heart leapt. “Christ, you scared me!” he scolded to the back of Remus’ head. Remus turned slowly, as though his father's startled shout had barely registered.  

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his eyes impossibly sad. “I had to see…” He trailed off, turning back to the telly. Lyall’s eyes followed his son’s gaze.  

It was just as horrific as he'd heard at work. The flames. The smoke. The bodies leaping from windows. Too horrible to contemplate.  

“I can’t watch this,” he whispered, swallowing back the bile rising in his throat as he turned away, sweeping from the room.  

Remus didn’t respond. It seemed he was incapable of looking away.  

*  

Remus stared at the television for hours, the sight of the towers burning into his mind, screams echoing in his head. His skin burned with the phantom pain of flames, heart hammering with the familiar feeling of running for his life with little hope of escape. His soul ached with the knowledge that, unlike him, these muggles hadn't cheated fate.  

The voice of the reporter droned, but he barely heard her words. All he could hear was screams.  

Screams. The god-awful screams he knew must have filled those halls. Those offices. The same screams that rang throughout his nightmares, echoes from battle. The screams of the doomed.  

He had spent ten years of his life fighting evil. He was no stranger to senseless violence. To the deaths of innocents. But never like this. Never this scale. Never beyond his capacity to do something about it.  

He felt paralyzed by his own powerlessness. Frozen in place, as if grief and shock had turned his limbs to stone.  

*  

Lyall stood in the doorway to the office, resting his temple against the doorframe as he watched his son. Remus’ eyes were dead as they stared at the screen, watching the same footage playing over and over as if it might change. As if it might become less real.  

Lyall could see him crumbling.  

“Please turn it off,” he said weakly. Pleading. Remus didn't seem to hear. Lyall took a deep breath, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see.  

“Andy said she'll keep Teddy for the night.” He might as well have been speaking to a wall.  

Lyall sighed, crossing the room with a heavy stride and clicking off the telly. Remus continued to stare blankly, as if he could still see the smoke and carnage.  

“Come on,” Lyall muttered gently, blinking back tears, his chest tight. “We need to eat.”  

*  

The pub was eerily quiet.  

The regulars sat in scattered clusters around the room, staring into their drinks, shaking their heads sadly. Lyall waved to a few of his neighbors as he passed, keeping a hand on Remus’ shoulder as he guided him towards a table in the back.  

The drive had been excruciating. He had spent the whole time with one eye on the road, the other on his son, who had slowly curled in on himself, bracing his temple against his fist as he stared out the window at the dark countryside. Neither of them had spoken. Lyall had kept the radio off.  

They sat across the table from each other, both drumming their fingers against the tacky surface. Across the room, Lyall could hear the faint voice of a radio announcer coming from an old wireless.  

Alys pursed her lips as she approached the table to take their orders. She looked as wrung out as Lyall felt, her face drooping and pale. Her eyes flickered towards Remus for a brief moment before she turned to Lyall.  

He ordered two pints - he wasn't going to deny his son a drink tonight - and a pie for himself. Alys turned to Remus, her brow cocked in a silent question, but he seemed lost in thought, spinning his ring around his finger, his eyes distant.  

“He'll have fish and chips,” Lyall said softly, nodding to Alys as she left to fill their glasses.  

*  

The golden batter glinted with grease. Remus looked down at his dinner - when did I order this? - trying not to look disgusted.  

He felt sick. His mouth was dry, his eyes pulsing with pressure. The mere thought of eating was enough to send acid up his throat.  

Lyall’s fork scraped across his plate, sending a shiver down Remus’ spine. He closed his eyes, his vision flashing with a purple light, his ears ringing with cries of distress.  

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.  

“You need to eat,” Lyall cragged, his eyes flickering up. Remus sighed and picked up his fork, but he simply held it, tapping the tines against the table. He could feel his father's eyes on him.  

Lyall took a bite of his dinner, looking thoughtful. He swallowed and cleared his throat, his voice carefully casual.  

“I, er, had my first board meeting,” he said, watching Remus carefully for a reaction.  

Remus’ brow creased ever-so-slightly as he stared at his plate, keeping up a steady beat against the tabletop with his fork.  

“Oh?”  

Lyall leaned forward, twiddling his thumbs in front of him. “Yes, I - it was all rather exciting. It's an international project, you know, so there were -”  

Remus dropped his fork and rubbed his hands roughly down his face, sighing.  

“Could we please -” He rested his elbows on the table, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. He swallowed hard, taking a few raspy breaths before looking up, his eyes red. “I just can't right now.”  

He was so tired. So heartsick. So weary of the never-ending evil that plagued the world.  

Lyall nodded solemnly, turning his eyes back to his plate. For a long moment, there was only the low murmur of conversation around them, the clinking of glasses, and the faint hum of the radio.  

“You should drink that,” Lyall finally muttered, nodding to the fizzing ale in front of Remus. Remus stared into the pillowy foam, expecting the rat to leap at the chance to indulge, but he found he didn't want it.  

He shook his head, sliding the glass across the table.  

***  

Friday, September 14, 2001  

Kingsley was back.  

Remus had exchanged a few brief notes with his friend over the course of the week, but the Minister had failed to share any meaningful details about his engagements in New York. The papers had been equally devoid of information about the International Federation of Wizards proceedings.  

Now, Remus anxiously handed Teddy off to Lyall, already hurrying to the Floo to meet Kingsley in his town house.  

“Kings?” he called as he stumbled out of the marble fireplace, nearly tripping over the rug in his haste.  

He pulled open the double doors of the parlor, stepping into the grand hall that ran the length of the house.  

“Kingsley!” His voice echoed off the walls and he heard a soft reply from behind a half-open door.  

Kingsley sat on the couch in his drawing room, bracing his head against his hand. He looked like he was in pain, but Remus could tell his pinched expression was one of grief and fatigue and hopelessness.  

Remus tapped softly on the doorframe, a pitying look on his face.  

“May I come in?” he asked softly, suddenly ashamed of himself for barging in, ready to demand answers. He didn't like how small Kingsley looked as he nodded, closing his eyes and pursing his lips.  

Remus sank gently onto the opposite end of the couch, watching Kingsley with concern. He seemed to have aged ten years over the past few days.  

“Are you okay?” It was a stupid question, but it was the only thing he could say. Kingsley's mouth trembled.  

“No,” he croaked, tears streaming from behind his closed eyes. Remus wanted to reach out to him, to do something. He stayed where he was.  

“Does, er - does Chip know you’re back?” he asked. Another stupid question.  

Kingsley nodded, taking a wet, shuddering breath. “Yeah, he's - he's coming tomorrow to stay for a few days.” He wrung his hands in his lap. Remus shifted closer.  

“Is there anything I can -”  

Kingsley collapsed into him, nearly bowling him over as he broke down into retching sobs.  

Remus was too shocked to move, sitting rigid for several beats before he wrapped his arms around Kingsley's broad back.  

“It's so - fucked - up,” Kingsley gasped, his whole body shaking. Remus tightened his grip around his shoulders, smoothing his hands across his back.  

He could feel how tight Kingsley's muscles were, the tension he had been carrying. He wished he could somehow pull him tighter, draw him in so close he could take on some of the pain himself.  

“What's the fucking point?” Kingsley sobbed into Remus’ shoulder, tears soaking into the sleeve of his shirt. “All this magic - all this power, and - and -” He choked on his own tears. Remus didn't answer.  

He held Kingsley as tightly as he dared, his cheek pressed against his friend’s brow. “I know,” he whispered. “I know.”  

To his own surprise, Remus slowly brushed his lips against Kingsley’s temple - a barely-there touch. Not quite a kiss. Not quite not.  

Kingsley didn’t flinch. He simply curled closer, shaking in Remus’ arms. Remus rested his chin against the crown of his head, his eyes staring fixed on the far wall, unseeing.  

Chapter Text

For weeks, every paper - muggle or magical - continued to spotlight the tragedy in America, speculating on the global impact. But, as Kingsley clearly resented, it seemed the International Federation of Wizards was choosing to stay out of the matter.  

A preliminary investigation had confirmed there had been no magical involvement in the attacks. It seemed that was enough for the Wizarding World to wash its hands of the situation.  

Life moved on.  

September passed in a haze of routine - classes, Teddy, Dueling Club, Teddy, therapy, Teddy. By the time October arrived, the air had turned crisp, the trees bursting with color. The moon came and went. Grief ebbed and flowed.  

Remus wondered if this was what it had been like after the battle. If, while he and everyone he knew grappled with life-shattering loss, the rest of the Wizarding World simply shed a tear, shook their heads, and moved on with their lives.  

He supposed they had.  

***  

Sunday, October 7, 2001  

“Daddy?”  

Remus sighed at the note of curiosity in Teddy's voice. They seemed to have reached a new phase, where Teddy's mind brimmed with the most random questions.  

“Why my shoes brown?”  

“Where Winky live?”  

“Why Harry short?”  

“Why Ron tall?”  

Remus had been pleased, at first. Had praised Teddy's curiosity. Answered his questions as best he could. But, after what felt like the hundredth question of the day, he was starting to wish Teddy was a hair less curious.  

“Yes, cariad?” he asked patiently, smiling encouragingly - if a little tightly - as he slid Teddy's chicken nuggets across the table.  

“Where ‘Tar live?” Remus’ smile eased a bit at the simple question. He sat in the chair next to Teddy, leaning an elbow on the table.  

“Victoire lives at the house where we go to the beach, remember?”  

He thought it was a straightforward enough answer, but Teddy's nose wrinkled in confusion - just like Dora - as thoughts wheeled behind his eyes.  

“Why?”  

Remus ran his hand through his hair with a sigh. “Because that's where her parents live,” he said in his Professor Lupin voice. “Like how you live here with me.”  

Teddy stared up at him, his small face scrunched in thought. “I can go to the beach?” he asked, looking hesitantly optimistic. Remus rubbed at his face, feeling as though he had lost the plot.  

“I - do you mean to live?” Teddy nodded, looking a little more hopeful. Remus chuckled wearily. “No, cariad. We live here.”  

“Why?”  

Merlin's tits.  

“Because we do,” Remus sighed, pushing back the voice that mocked him, sneering at the sad little house. He forced a smile, brushing back a lock of Teddy's hair. “You're happy here, right?”  

His heart pounded as he waited for the answer, but Teddy chose that moment to shove a chicken nugget in his mouth. He chewed loudly, wiggling in his seat while Remus waited, his question hanging in the air.  

Teddy swallowed, his brows furrowing thoughtfully. “Why Fleur lives there?”  

Remus nearly groaned. “I suppose she likes it there.”  

“Why?”  

Remus huffed an exasperated laugh. “You'll have to ask her at dinner tonight.”  

Teddy opened his mouth, another question poised on his tongue. Remus interjected.  

“I think we should try playing the quiet game for a little bit,” he said gently, pleading with his eyes for a reprieve. Teddy tilted his head.  

“Why?”  

*  

It was a much smaller crowd than usual - just Molly, Arthur, and Bill's family. The Burrow felt oddly quiet without the chaos. Cavernous. Empty.  

The scent of rosemary still hung in the air from the roasted chicken and potatoes Molly had prepared. They had settled into the various chairs around the sitting room, Bill and Fleur sitting embarrassingly close together on the couch. Remus couldn't imagine ever sitting with Dora that way in front of others - arm around her shoulders, fingers playing with the tips of her hair.  

A fire crackled in the fireplace, reflecting off the glass of wine in Arthur's hand. Remus had turned down the offer for a drink, feeling a quiet sense of pride at the ease with which he had shaken his head.  

He listened to Molly's play-by-play of Harry and Ron's graduation ceremony as he watched Teddy and Victoire play side-by-side on the rug.  

“… and they looked so handsome in their uniforms! I have a picture somewhere…” Molly looked around the room thoughtfully before pulling her wand to summon the photograph.  

Remus nodded as he looked at the two smiling young men waving to him from the picture. They did, indeed, look quite handsome in their scarlet Auror robes. Happy. Proud.  

He handed the photo back, opening his mouth to offer his congratulations, but Teddy piped up, frowning at the couple on the couch.  

“Fleur? Why you live with ‘Tar?”  

Molly laughed softly, the sound rich and warm, but Bill shifted on the couch, his eyes flicking to Remus. Fleur gave Teddy an indulgent smile.  

“Because I'm her maman - her mummy,” she explained simply. Remus closed his eyes, his heart sinking as he realized where the conversation was leading. He felt Arthur giving him a concerned look.  

Teddy shook his head and giggled, as if Fleur had suggested something ridiculous. “No, you not Mummy!” he laughed.  

The room stilled. Remus passed a hand over his mouth as he fought back a sudden wave of grief so sharp it stole the breath from his lungs.  

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.  

Teddy blinked at the silence, his grin slipping into a look of concern as he picked up on the tension in the air. With a bemused frown, he spun on his rear to face his father, his eyes filled with questions.  

“Where Mummy live?”  

Remus’ jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists against his thighs. The room held its breath. Fleur’s smile faltered. Molly set her wine down with a soft clink .  

Remus let out a slow breath as he opened his eyes, willing his voice to work.  

“We'll talk about it at home,” he lied, forcing a soft reassuring smile. Bill gave him a barely perceptible nod of understanding, while Molly’s eyes softened with something between grief and pity.  

Teddy nodded, unconcerned, as if his musings about his mother were nothing more than a passing thought. He looked around at the adults, his eyes fixing on Arthur for a moment before he turned back to Remus.  

“Daddy?” Remus closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he braced for another painful question.  

“Yes?” His voice broke around the single word. Teddy looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes.  

“When you going to be bald?”  

*  

He leaned closer to the mirror over his sink, cocking an eyebrow as he inspected his hairline for the third time since returning home.  

Remus hummed critically, running a hand through his hair, which was still thick, despite the fact that it was now almost entirely grey.  

Molly had chuckled at the look of panic on his face at Teddy's question. Arthur had chortled, promising that going bald was hardly the end of the world, but Remus hadn't been able to stop his fingers from investigating, feeling his temples every few minutes to confirm his hair was as full as it had ever been.  

Teddy wandered down the hall, pausing in the doorway to watch Remus with undue interest.  

“Daddy?”  

“Hmm?”  

“Why you old?”  

Remus’ chin dropped to his chest, his hands gripping the sink as he stared into the basin, trying hard not to laugh - or cry.  

“Because time is cruel, cariad,” he muttered.  

Teddy stepped closer. “What’s time?”  

Remus chuckled softly, shaking his head, before he turned and scooped Teddy up, giving him a playfully stern look.  

“You know, maybe we should save some questions for later - you're going to use them all up at this rate!”  

Teddy didn't seem to get the joke. “Why?”  

Remus breathed deeply, smiling at the ridiculousness of the situation.  

“I think it's time you went to bed.”  

He climbed the stairs, carrying Teddy on his hip. When they reached Teddy's room, Remus gently set him down on the bed, pulling the covers up around him. The boy was already yawning, his curiosity seemingly satisfied - at least for the moment. Remus brushed a stray lock of hair from Teddy's brow, planting a soft kiss on the crown of his head.  

“Goodnight, cariad,” he whispered, giving his son one last smile before stepping back towards the door.  

“Daddy?” Teddy’s voice stopped him before he could leave.  

“Yes?”  

“Daddy? Where Mummy? Where she lives?”  

Remus froze. His heart stuttered in his chest, and for a moment, he couldn't find his breath. He turned slowly, forcing a smile, trying to bring himself to answer.  

“We'll talk about it tomorrow.” Another lie.  

Coward.  

Teddy nodded, laying his head down on his pillow. Remus lingered in the doorway, watching his son’s sleepy, trusting face. His stomach curdled with the knowledge that he couldn't avoid the question forever.  

He opened his mouth to speak, but he immediately clamped it shut, shaking his head before giving Teddy a final, sad smile.  

He closed the door behind him with a soft click , his heart heavy, knowing there was no tomorrow that could make the truth any easier.  

Chapter Text

Tuesday, October 30, 2001  

Two more days.  

He wondered if he should be concerned that the promise of the moon filled him with relief.  

Two more days.  

He just needed to get through the next 48 hours. Just needed to breathe. To ignore the voices and the visceral fear and the unbearably heavy sadness.  

Two more days.  

Two more days.  

Two more days.  

*  

Elaine did not have high hopes for their session.  

From the moment Remus limped through the door, she could tell he was guarding something. Bracing to defend himself against her prodding. Cagey.  

Despite his closed off expression, however, she could tell that something was weighing on him, pressing down on his heart. He looked as though he was holding back tears, his eyes bloodshot and glittering.  

Elaine smiled gently. “Hello, Remus. How are you feeling today?”  

He merely nodded in response. She thought she could see his lip quivering before he sucked it between his teeth.  

Tilting her head, she fixed him with a kind look. “You seem distressed,” she pointed out, earning herself a quick sidelong look from Remus.  

“Did something happen?” she asked hopefully, but he shook his head, his red, shining eyes fixed on the bookshelf. He swallowed hard, looking both grief-stricken and terrified. His hands trembled slightly.  

Elaine waited, sensing the struggle playing out in his head.  

“I -” He let out a slow, stuttering breath. Elaine tensed, resisting the urge to lean towards him. She could tell he was on the brink of something.  

He hiccupped as his face twitched and reddened. He squeezed the arms of his chair until his nails turned white.  

“I'm ready to talk about them.”  

His breath hitched, eyes darting as if seeking asylum from whatever he was about to uncage.  

Elaine softened her posture, placing her notebook gently on the side table, giving him her full attention.  

“Take your time,” she said quietly, nodding in soft encouragement. Remus gave her a wide-eyed stare, like he was about to leap from a ledge, trusting her to catch him. He rubbed his palms against his knees, taking a moment to build up his courage.  

“I'm ready to talk about Lily and James.”  

Elaine held her breath, afraid to disturb the moment. Remus’ fingers curled around his bony kneecaps. He looked almost mad with tension, twenty years of buried grief and trauma fighting its way to the surface.  

“I - it'll be twenty years ago tomorrow and - and I - I -” He broke down into gasping sobs, his hand flying to his chest, clawing at his shirt against the pain Elaine knew he must be feeling. Tears began to trail down his cheeks, his blue eyes stark in his reddening face. A lock of hair fell across his brow.  

“It's my fault,” he cried into his hands, his breath coming in deep, suffocated gulps. “I was - they thought I - if I had -” Elaine feared he might faint as he gasped for air, his face scarlet behind his trembling hands.  

Elaine slid quietly from her seat, crouching in front of him, resting her hand on the arm of his chair. She could feel the heat radiating from him.  

Her voice remained soft. Even. Grounding. “Remus, listen to me. You’re safe. You’re here. Breathe with me, okay? Breathe in -”  

He shook his head wildly, fists still pressed against his face  

“I disappeared. I let myself - so they - and then -” For a moment, he looked like he might be sick, but he swallowed and pressed on, caught in the rapids of his self-loathing.  

“The whole thing - they wouldn't be animagi - because of me - Peter couldn't have -”  

Elaine reached out, breaking the shield of professionalism. Remus flinched as her hand rested on his arm.  

“Remus,” she said firmly, trying to catch his eyes. “You are not responsible for what happened to them. I know it feels like it - you've spent twenty years telling yourself you're to blame - but it's not -”  

“I should’ve died.” Remus’ voice was hoarser than ever, breaking around the words like a confession.  

Elaine's heart clenched at the rawness of the words. It wasn’t the first time he had said it - wasn't the first time he meant it - but there was a chilling finality in his voice. It wasn’t a murmur of shame or a whisper of exhaustion. It was a verdict - one he'd rehearsed over and over in the echo chamber of his own mind. She couldn't help but feel a pang of heartbreak for the man sitting before her.  

She searched for the right words, but he spoke before she could open her mouth, his voice cold and distant, his tears frozen on his face.  

“I tried.”  

Elaine’s gut twisted, but she nodded, unsurprised, urging him silently to continue. He wrung his hands together, sniffing back tears.  

“After they died and Sirius went to prison and Peter - well, I used to play a game with myself.” Elaine felt a shudder at the dark smile on his face as he fell into his memories.  

“I'd put my wand to my head and try to cast Avada Kedavra,” he continued, as dispassionate as if he was discussing the weather. He finally looked up, his face oddly calm, as if he was leading at lecture at Hogwarts.  

“You have to really mean it, that curse. Every time I wished I was dead, I'd test to see if I meant it.”  

The room pulsed as he held her gaze, his face incongruously blank. Elaine took a fortifying breath, shifting slightly.  

“Remus, you know I have to ask -”  

“I'm not going to hurt myself,” he said, sounding almost bored. Elaine frowned.  

“This… ‘game’ - when is the last time you tried it?” she asked, peering into his face, seeking any hint of what was happening behind his mask.  

He shook his head shamefully, his composure cracking again. Elaine doubled down.  

“I need to know,” she insisted, giving him a serious look. “Otherwise, I have to consider you at risk -”  

His face crumpled in disgust. He turned away from Elaine, spitting out his words like glass on his tongue. “When I abandoned Dora.”  

The room weighed down on them, heavy with his confession. Elaine's heart drummed, hard and steady. This was it - the shameful secret. Or at least one of them.  

She leaned forward carefully. The air felt ready to shatter.  

“What do you mean, Remus?” she asked in a hushed voice, watching as his eyes widened with panic as the magnitude of his words settled in. His chest began to rise and fall at an alarming rate.  

“I want to go home,” he said breathily, his eyes darting, seeking an escape.  

“What do you mean?” She wasn't going to let him run without a fight - not this time. His face drained of blood, his eyes shining as he gripped the arms of the chair.  

“I don't want to talk about it,” he whimpered, his eyes finally settling on his lap. Elaine ignored the part of her that warned not to push.  

“I know you don't, Remus, but you have to.”  

His mouth clamped shut, eyes scrunched shamefully. Elaine took a deep breath, trying to steady her own nerves as she watched him tremble.  

He opened his mouth to speak. Closed it. Open. A shuddering breath hissed through his parted lips.  

“I abandoned my pregnant wife,” he whispered, his voice crackling around the edges. “I - James died trying to protect - and I -” He ran his arm violently across his face, wiping away the fresh tears in his eyes. He was shaking. Sweating. A vein throbbed in his temple. Elaine squeezed his arm.  

“Remus, whatever you think you did -”  

His face flared with an anger that took her breath away. His voice was dangerously calm, sliding between his gritted teeth.  

“Don't.”  

He winced as he rose to his feet, taking up his cane. He was gone before Elaine could even think to speak.  

***  

Wednesday, October 31, 2001  

He stared bitterly at the full glass, determined not to lose himself. Not to give in to the grief that had haunted him for twenty years. But the moon was nearly full and ghosts hovered in every corner of the house and his heart was so sick he wanted to break through flesh and bone and rip it from his chest. Wanted to throw it the floor. Mash it into the dirt with his heel like a spent cigarette.  

He wondered if Harry had ever considered that Halloween marked the anniversary of his parents’ deaths. He doubted it. He figured he should be glad the young man wasn't spending his night wrapped up in a sense of loss, but the idea made him angry enough to spit.  

His throat burned after downing the glass in three large, painful swallows.  

He didn't know if it was the alcohol or the fever or his deteriorating mind, but his thoughts blurred together, spiraling into a dark, suffocating loop. The room felt too small, the walls pressing inward, threatening to crush him.  

You should have died.  

He wondered, for the thousandth time, what James would think of him now. Lily.  

The question had haunted him for decades, resurfacing on nights like this. Nights when he knew it was never meant to be this way. That he was never meant to be the one who survived.  

He had mused on the question as he lay on a filthy mattress the Christmas after they died, his veins ice-cold as he plunged a syringe into his arm. When he had followed strangers home out of desperation. To be touched. To be used. To have a chance to sleep in a decent bed afterwards.  

He would torture himself with imagined conversations with his friends, who always shook their heads at the state of his life as he was forced to move from one horrible house to another. Forced to camp out for weeks on end, conducting research to validate his living situation.  

Pathetic.  

He sat heavily at his desk, his fevered brain seeking a distraction from the guilt and sorrow dragging him beneath the waves.  

He picked up a quill, telling himself he would try to grade a few essays before bed, but he merely twirled the feather between his fingers, his mind laying a merciless siege against him.  

James died for Lily. Remus ran from Dora. Lily and James had counted on each other until the very end. Dora had spent the last few years of her life wondering when and how Remus would hurt her again.  

They should have lived. All three of them. And Sirius. And Dumbledore and Alastor and the fifty tombstones in Hogsmeade.  

You don't deserve to be here.  

He stared at the feather as it spun, catching the lamplight in its dark, silken barbs.  

Remus paused, staring at the object in his hand with a sudden, all-consuming interest.  

The room faded away, melting out of his vision until the only thing left in the world was the quill in his hand.  

It was one of the nice ones his father had given him at Christmas. Still his charity case . It was lovely, its plume still full, the fine metal nib glistening with ink.  

He imagined lifting the quill. Pressing it against his wrist. Bearing down.  

He pictured the way ink and blood would run together, soaking his sleeve in a lovely, rich shade of red. He could almost feel the bite of the nib as it punctured his skin, his vein. Craved it.  

Something twisted in his chest, sharp and wrong.  

With a sickening lurch of his stomach, he threw the quill away from himself, his heart pounding.  

This isn't normal, he told himself, even as he shook his head against the words. It's time to tell Elaine.  

Remus leaned back in his chair, breathing in uneven bursts. The room felt even smaller now, pressing against him from all sides.  

He stared at the quill lying on the floor, its sleek black feathers glistening under the lamplight. He clenched his fists, fingers trembling.  

Just one more day, he assured himself. He just needed to get through one more day and then he could get back to normal. He could tuck the darkness away for another three weeks, smothered beneath the effects of his potion.  

One more day. All he needed to do was get through the transformation. Get through the onslaught of memories and regrets.  

His gaze drifted to the Marauders Map over the fireplace, his mouth twisting bitterly as tears threatened to blind him. He could almost hear the echoes of the four boys who had sat cross-legged on their dormitory floor, chattering excitedly as they crafted their masterpiece. They were so innocent. So naive. So blissfully ignorant of the future.  

What would you think of me now?  

He picked up the whisky bottle sitting on the desk, raising it to the map in a silent toast before taking a long, deep drink.  

To Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.  

To the men they should have been.  

Chapter Text

Thursday, November 1, 2001  

I'll tell her when there's blood.  

He stumbled on four legs, half-blind with pain as his stomach twisted and burned and clenched.  

I'll tell her when there's blood.  

There was nothing left for him to give. Nothing to satisfy the need to purge himself.  

I'll tell her when there's blood.  

He snapped his jaws at the air, needing to feel his teeth crash together. A satisfying snap bounced off the stone walls.  

I'll tell her when there's blood.  

He eyed his leg, drooling with the desire to rip it from his body.  

I'll tell her when there's blood.  

When there's blood.  

When there's blood.  

***  

Friday, November 2, 2001  

Lyall's head pounded with fatigue as he sat at his desk, staring wistfully out the window at the frost-covered field beyond the house. The moon had set, the sun not yet casting its pale morning light over the valley.  

He'd need to grab a kip before work, once Remus called to check in. Lyall rubbed his hands over his tired face, waiting.  

The phone rang out. Lyall snatched it up.  

“Everything alright?” he asked hurriedly.  

“Yeah, fine,” Remus said, his voice trembling and weak and filled with a note of what sounded like panic. Lyall’s stomach dropped.  

“Remus?” Click. The line went dead.  

***  

Tuesday, November 6, 2001  

Something was wrong.  

Elaine could tell from the moment she laid eyes on Remus that something had happened. Something that frightened him. Her mind raced, offering up possibilities. A threatening letter, perhaps? Another argument with his father? Something to do with Teddy?  

His face was drawn, his cheeks sallow and sunken, as though he hadn't been sleeping. He stared at the carpet, his eyes empty as his chest rose and fell in deep, measured breaths. Controlled.  

“How are you doing today?” she asked gently, leaning forward. He didn't seem to hear her. Elaine shifted in her seat, waiting another moment before pressing on.  

“You were rather distressed when you left here last week.” Nothing. “How have you been holding up?”  

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he closed his eyes and worried his lip. His voice was little more than a rasp as he tried to speak.  

“I -” He cleared his throat, the sound like wet gravel underfoot.  

“If I tell you something…” He trailed off, his voice breaking. He twisted his ring distractedly, the gesture frantic and jittery. His eyes darted to the floor, then the ceiling, searching for an escape.  

“Can you swear…” His words faltered and his head dropped as his hand moved to his arm, gripping it tightly. Elaine's shoulders tensed, but she offered him a reassuring smile.  

“Everything you say is confidential,” she assured him. “As long as you aren't a danger to yourself or others.”  

To her concern, this statement only seemed to convince him he couldn't tell her what he was thinking about. His eyes darted as he squeezed his arm, wincing as his mouth tightened into a grimace.  

A long silence stretched between them, thick with his reluctance. With her dread.  

She eyed his squeezing hand, steeling herself for the difficult question.  

“If you think you might hurt yourself -”  

“No, no, I -” Remus looked up at the ceiling, taking deep, shuddering breaths. He was losing his composure, visibly unraveling before her eyes as he began to tremble, his mouth twitching as he struggled to speak.  

“I'm not going to hurt myself,” he said weakly, doing nothing to alleviate Elaine's worry. Subtly, she allowed her hand to rest against her wand, just in case.  

“Whatever it is, I think it's important to tell me. You seem very upset.” His fingers had dug themselves into his left arm, puckering the fabric. His eyes were shining.  

“I'm not going to hurt myself,” he reiterated, a little more convincingly than before. He looked down at his arm, his fingers clutching it so hard the knuckles went white. He swallowed hard, then finally whispered. “It's just that -” He hesitated, his voice faltering as if the words themselves might shatter him.  

“I - I already did.”  

Time stopped as the words fell from his reluctant lips. Elaine felt ice flood her veins as she resisted the urge to leap from her chair to tear back his sleeve. She kept her posture coolly professional, even as concern etched itself in her face.  

“Can you tell me what you mean?” she asked as evenly as she could, her eyes drifting to his arm against her will, picturing long, straight cuts along the soft underbelly beneath his sleeve.  

He pressed his lips together and shook his head, shameful tears welling in his eyes.  

“Remus.” Her voice was firm as she fixed him with a serious look. “Remus, I need you to tell me what happened. I need to know you're safe.”  

“I'm safe,” he rasped, releasing his arm as if he could draw attention away from it. “It - it happened during… you know.” He made an abstract circular motion over his head, pointing to the ceiling with a shaking finger.  

“I see,” Elaine said, leaning back in her seat. She could feel some of the fear seep from her body into the floor beneath her feet, but she wasn't entirely relieved.  

“Has this happened before? Do you think there may have been something wrong with the Wolfsbane this month?”  

His jaw flexed. He was trying not to cry. She watched the struggle behind his eyes as he composed himself, pressing his lips into a hard, quivering line. When he finally spoke, his voice was almost inaudible.  

“No. No, the potion was fine. I just -” He wrung his hands, lacing and unlacing his fingers as he looked at the wall to his right, avoiding her eyes.  

“It wasn’t - he didn't do it. I did.”  

Elaine felt her heart speed up again, adrenaline pumping through her veins as his words sank in.  

“What do you mean?”  

He sighed, hesitating a moment. He eyed her cautiously before, with an air of resolve, he started unbuttoning his left cuff. Elaine braced herself, determined not to be shocked by whatever he was about to show her.  

He rolled up his sleeve, moving gingerly. Elaine kept her face steady, though her stomach twisted at the sight as he revealed inch-by-inch of scarred flesh - a lifetime of trauma carved into his skin for her to read.  

His whole forearm was a crosshatch of thin white lines, several of which, she now realized, ended in barely visible scratches along the back of his hand that she had never noticed before. Scattered throughout, he was covered in an unfathomable number of puncture marks, pink and angry against his white skin.  

Even more horrifying was the thick bandage wrapped below his elbow, covering nearly half of the arm beneath. Faint pink dots stained the gauze, unmistakable for anything apart from an animal bite.  

Elaine swallowed, forcing herself to remain composed. “Remus,” she said softly, her gaze shifting between the bandage and his tight face. “Was this intentional?”  

His jaw clenched, but he gave the faintest nod.  

Elaine exhaled slowly, silently. The air felt thick. Warm. Heavy.  

She glanced at the bandage again, at the pink dots blooming softly against the gauze.  

“May I?”  

He hesitated, his fingers closing around his sleeve as if he was about to cover himself again but, after a thoughtful pause, he gave another nod.  

Elaine rose slowly, moving carefully, as if he might bolt. She reached out her warm, steady hands, taking care as she unwound the bandage.  

Remus sat, impossibly stiff, allowing her to peel away the layers of cloth that hid his shame.  

Underneath, the bite was angry and swollen, the skin around it yellow with a half-healed bruise. Elaine swallowed back acid as she took in the jagged edges, the torn flesh where teeth had punctured, deep and deliberate.  

She looked up into his mortified face. His eyes were wide, and the fear in them was unmistakable. He was broken, utterly shattered. His breath came in shallow bursts, his fingers twitching as if he could still feel the sharpness of the teeth in his skin.  

She placed her hand on his, gently urging him to meet her gaze. “Remus,” she said, her voice soft but firm.  

He flinched, pulling his hand away, as if he couldn't bear to be touched. He released a long breath, his mouth forming a small ‘O’ as he began unrolling his sleeve, covering the secret he had entrusted her with.  

Elaine exhaled gently, taking a moment to pause before sinking back into her chair. She folded her hands in her lap, looking at Remus with a sad smile. “Thank you for showing me,” she said, her voice low and unwavering. “That took courage.”  

Remus stared at the floor, his hands trembling as they rested on his thighs. He sniffed, wiping his sleeve against his face like a child before looking down at his knees.  

“I'm sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldn't have brought it up. It's nothing.”  

Elaine blinked, stunned by how easily he dismissed it. Her breath caught and her throat tightened as she held back a shocked laugh. “Do you really think that?”  

He worried his lip, his hand gravitating back to his covered arm. He thought for a long moment before he sighed.  

“I don't know.”  

Elaine could feel an anxious knot forming between her shoulder blades as she waited for him to continue.  

“Do you know why you did it?” she finally asked, leaving little room in her tone for him to dodge the question.  

His lips cracked open, his words practically hanging from the tip of his tongue. He stared at the floor, his eyes burning as he rubbed his hands anxiously against his legs, the rustle of fabric loud in the relative silence.  

Elaine waited. Remus began to rock in his seat, losing himself in the battle she could see playing out in his mind until, setting his jaw, he looked up.  

“I wanted to hurt. Not just in here -” He pressed a hand to his chest, his eyes flickering with shame. “I can’t fix what I’ve done. But I can pay for it.”  

Elaine felt herself deflate, her shoulders dropping heavily. She didn't know what to do.  

Normally, she would insist on admitting him to the St. Mungo’s Mental Health Ward, but she knew they would never accept him as a patient. She started making plans to contact his father to discuss another suicide watch, but Remus’ voice cut through her thoughts.  

“It won't happen again,” he mumbled, as if he could hear her think.  

“You don't know that,” Elaine countered. “It's my job to keep-”  

“Yes, I do.”  

There was something burning behind his blue, watering eyes as he faced her. He was terrified. Forcing himself to be brave.  

“I lied to you.”  

Elaine held her breath. Waiting. Watching him fight to speak the truth.  

“I've been - I haven't been telling you everything. I -”  

He was visibly shaking, digging his fists into his thighs as if pinning himself in place.  

“It isn't working. I - when I go off the potion, I - it, er, hasn't been good.”  

A stone dropped in Elaine's stomach. A sense of betrayal swept over her, followed by the overwhelming need to reach out and wrap her arms around him, to fix this broken man sitting before her. But she knew better.  

“What do you mean?”  

*  

Remus’ heart was pounding as he slid down the brick wall of the alley, eyes closed, breath rising in large clouds that ghosted away in the light of a streetlamp.  

He had told her everything.  

Not about the vomiting, of course. That, he reasoned, could be unrelated to the potion. Not about the fake report.  

But he had told her. Told her about the nightmares, the creeping shadows, the crippling grief. He told her about the quill, and the way he had been dreaming of spilling his own blood every month.  

Idiot .  

He told her how he had been afraid to start taking the potion again after the moon. How the past few days had been a haze of panic and pain and fear. How disgusted he was by his capacity for violence.  

He felt limp, like he had been wrung out and tossed to the side, shriveled and misshapen. He trembled, pulling his muggle coat tighter around his shoulders against the autumn evening air.  

She had been angry. He could tell, beneath her calm, professional voice, she was livid.  

She hates you.  

The truth had spilled from him like water through cracked glass, unstoppable once the first fracture split. How he had lied to her, hidden the rapid collapse of his mind. How he had betrayed her trust.  

She had been kind. Patient. But he knew she was disgusted.  

Remus pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. He couldn’t afford to cry again. He was tired of crying. Tired of the aching weight behind his eyes, the hollowness in his chest, the invisible thread tugging him ever closer to the edge of something he didn’t want to understand.  

He felt the weight of shame coil itself around his bones, pinning him to the pavement. He could hear the faint sounds of the city around him, distant voices, footsteps, the soft hiss of tyres against the road.  

She hates you.  

The thought echoed in his mind, relentless, even though he knew better. Elaine hadn’t said anything of the sort, hadn’t even hinted at it. She’d been professional, calm, but there had been something in her eyes, a flicker of disappointment that he couldn’t shake.  

Maybe she was just tired of him. Maybe she was tired of dealing with him and his brokenness.  

She wasn't going to punish him, at least. She wasn't going to commit him or even put him under supervision. Wasn’t going to tell his dad. Not yet. Not as long as he started taking his DR again and sent her daily check-ins.  

“We're going to figure this out.”  

She was going to do more research. Reach out for second opinions. Figure out a tapering schedule that would keep him safe. He felt sick with guilt - with the knowledge that she was putting far more effort into him than he deserved.  

He let his head fall back against the bricks. Squeezed his thumb against the largest tooth mark in his arm, his mouth twitching at the sharpness. He closed his eyes. In the dark, behind his lids, he saw it again.  

Blood. His teeth in his own skin. The bone-deep satisfaction of pain.  

He gagged on the memory.  

Remus forced himself to his feet, trembling, the cold air biting into his skin. The world around him felt distant, as though he were watching the scene on his father's old telly.  

He needed to pull it together. Needed to pick Teddy up from Andy's house. Needed to go home and start taking his potion again and go to sleep and get up and be a father and a teacher and whatever else anyone needed from him.  

Chapter Text

Tuesday, November 6, 2001, continued  

He could tell Andromeda didn't buy his happy-go-lucky dad act. 

Still, he grinned broadly, making sure to crinkle his eyes as he listened to Teddy’s nonsense babbling over dinner. He reminded himself not to fidget. Forced himself to eat everything on his plate. Took care not to wince when Teddy squeezed his injured arm as he jumped down from his chair. 

Andromeda watched him suspiciously, as if she could read his guilty thoughts. As if she knew how close he had come to orphaning his son. How part of him still wanted to. 

She pursed her lips, raising her brows as she speared a piece of chicken. 

“You're bleeding,” she pointed out, her voice blank. Remus looked down in alarm to find a small red stain blooming through the sleeve of his shirt where Teddy had grabbed him. He kicked himself for not replacing the bandage after Elaine had removed it. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, rising from his seat, his eyes trained on his sleeve. “Excuse me.” His face burned as he hurried down the hall to the lavatory, rolling up his sleeve to assess the damage. 

Only one of the tooth marks had reopened, but it was one of the deepest. It oozed lazily, the blood already clotting into a small, dark scab. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, swallowing back disgust. 

“I don't suppose you plan to tell me what happened?” He turned sharply, finding Andromeda standing in the doorway, arms crossed as she peered at him. He stared at her for a long moment, breath shallow with shame. 

“Nothing worth mentioning.” 

Andromeda didn’t move. Her gaze, steady and unimpressed, landed on his arm again before returning to his face. 

“Don’t insult me.” 

Remus blinked slowly, stunned by her tone. 

Andromeda sighed, her expression hovering between irritation and something that looked like worry. She raised a hand, gesturing to his arm. 

“Are you alright?” He could hear restraint in her voice, a sort of exhausted anger. Tired of his problems. Tired of having to care about him. 

He hesitated a moment. His instinct was, of course, to lie. To insist it was nothing. To gather up Teddy and go home and bury his secrets deeper in his heart. 

He looked at her with bloodshot eyes, taking a shuddering breath. 

“No,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. “No, I'm not.” 

Andromeda nodded softly, her eyes swimming with thoughts. After a pause, she gave him a meaningful look. 

“What do you need from me?” The words came out like a command - she wouldn't be accepting ‘I'm fine’ as an answer. 

He took his time, running his arm under the tap until the water ran clear. He unrolled his sleeve, siphoning the bloodstain from the cotton with his wand. 

“I - I could use some time to - to think,” he said, shooting her a sidelong look. “Could - if you wouldn't mind -” 

“Teddy can stay here,” she said. He thought he heard a hint of warmth in her brusque tone. She gave him another concerned look. “I think that might be better for everyone.” 

Remus felt something inside him coil, but he nodded in agreement. 

“Yeah,” he rasped, looking down at his hands. “Better for everyone.” 

Andromeda raised a brow. “Should you stay here tonight? You could sleep -” 

“No,” he said lightly, smiling a little too brightly. “I just need - just need some quiet.” 

* 

Teddy didn't like nights like tonight. Nights when Daddy was sad. When Daddy didn't look right, or sound right. At least he smelled right this time, but he was going home and leaving Teddy, even though Teddy wanted to go home too, which wasn't fair. 

He wanted to tell Daddy to stop being sad, but he knew that never worked. He had tried and tried. He even drew him so many pictures yesterday, but none of them had made Daddy happy. Not for real. 

Daddy knelt down in Gran's sitting room, opening his arms to give Teddy a hug, but Teddy didn't want a hug. He didn't want Daddy to leave and he couldn't leave if Teddy didn't give him a hug. 

“No!” Teddy shouted, shoving Daddy's hand away as he reached for him. Daddy looked even sadder. Gran looked mad. 

“Edward, you say goodbye to your father right -” 

“It's okay,” Daddy said in his broken-Daddy voice. “He doesn't want to.” He smiled at Teddy, but it was his not-real smile - the one where his eyes were sad. 

Daddy rose to his feet, looking heavy. He muttered something to Gran before waving to Teddy, whose heart sank with the realization that he was going to leave whether Teddy hugged him or not. 

Teddy’s tummy ached, a sharp pang that made him want to run after Daddy. But he was already gone, swallowed by the green flames. 

* 

Teddy hates you. Everyone fucking hates you.  

He knew it was true. Everyone was sick of him and his fucking problems. Everyone resented him. Everyone knew life would have been so much simpler if he had died. 

They all knew it. He knew it. 

He shivered, sitting on the porch in his shirtsleeves with his knees pulled close to his chest. He took a drag of his cigarette, his hand trembling as he held it up to his lips. 

Better for everyone.  

Elaine said she'd figure it out, but he knew it was over. Nothing ever worked out for him. Nothing ever would. He had been a fool for believing it could. 

He eyed the rollie between his fingers, admiring the bright orange glow of the ember, his heart racing as he watched the paper slowly burn away. 

Gripped with an irresistible urge, he stubbed the cigarette against his knee, hissing at the sharp bite of the ember as it ate through the fabric of his trousers. The scent of burning wool and skin curled towards him, stinging his watery eyes. 

He needed to take his potion. Needed to crawl into bed before his thoughts overpowered him. Needed to get his head on straight before he convinced himself to do something reckless. 

“I think it's important for you to tell someone,” Elaine had said. “Someone you trust.”  

He tried to picture how that conversation would go. Who he could talk to. 

His first thought was Kingsley. He could go to him. Allow himself to get swallowed up in the large, strong, safe arms. But he couldn't, because Remus was a selfish prick who would throw himself at his friend. He'd ruin everything, just like he always did. 

He could go to Molly and Arthur, but he couldn't bear to see their pity. Couldn't stomach the idea of them knowing he'd failed again. That he was this weak. 

He thought of Bill. Poppy. Filius. 

He immediately banished the idea of going to his father. 

He lit up another fag, breathing the smoke deep into his lungs. His throat burned. His nose. His chest. His tears froze on his cheeks in the frigid night air. 

Should've died.  

He gasped for air as sobs overtook him. Sobs of despair. Terror. Frustration. 

Take your fucking potion.  

He struggled to his feet, his knees locking beneath him as he shook. 

Tell Elaine.  

He tried. Tried to cast a patronus. Tried to send her a message, but he was too caught up in his own head. Too cold, too tired, too twisted up inside to conjure anything more than a faint silver mist that sputtered and died before his eyes. 

Pathetic.  

He rummaged through the medicine cabinet, pulling out the tray of pearly blue potions. He plucked one from its slot. Then another. And another, and another until he had emptied half of the tray. 

Better for everyone.  

The bottles rattled in his shaking hands. He tightened his grip until they fell silent. 

* 

Teddy thought Daddy might come back, but even after Gran had read three books and Teddy had asked every question he could think of, Daddy still hadn't come for him. It was not nice. 

He whimpered into his pillow as Gran rubbed his back. “I know,” she hushed. But she didn't know. Her Daddy hadn't come to take her home and then left. She didn't have a Daddy who got so sad it was scary. Who disappeared sometimes, leaving for days and days with no explanation. Who sometimes looked and sounded and smelled like someone else entirely. 

“Daddy!” he wailed, his face red and tear streaked. He tried shrieking. Tried beating his fists against the mattress. Tried shoving Gran's hand away, but nothing was working. Daddy had left him again. 

“He'll be back tomorrow,” Gran promised, running her fingers through Teddy's sweaty hair. “He just doesn't feel well tonight.” 

Teddy sat up, hiccupping, tears still streaming down his face. “Daddy sick?” he asked, new terror gripping his little heart. Gran looked like she was going to say ‘no,’ but then she looked sad, which was scary. 

“I'm afraid so,” she sighed. “But he'll be better soon.” 

Teddy felt another sob building inside him, ready to burst from his chest. 

He didn't believe her. 

* 

The potion swaddled Remus, soothing him as the shadows danced just beyond his consciousness. A handful of bottles - some empty, some still corked - lay scattered across the nightstand. 

He wasn’t sure what had happened to his shirt - it was gone, discarded somewhere on the floor, sleeves inside-out. His mouth was dry. His arm throbbed dully. The room smelled like smoke and sweat and something metallic. 

He’d taken the potion. That was the important part. Yes, he had taken far more than he was supposed to, but not as much as he had planned. Not enough to cause any real harm. Not enough to die. 

The ceiling above him pulsed faintly in the dark, the shadows shifting like lazy summer clouds. 

He imagined Dora's fingertips grazing his skin, ghostly and cool and sad. “You're scaring me,” she whispered. Remus let out a humorless puff of air. 

“I'm scaring me too,” he admitted, shivering pleasurably as she trailed her fingers down his spine. 

“When are you going to stop?” 

Her question was so sad. Disappointed. Mournful. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. 

“Tomorrow,” he promised. “I - I'll get help tomorrow.” 

He felt her lips brush his temple as she began to fade.  

“Please stay,” he whispered, his fingers reaching, curling around empty air as if he could hold her there. 

“Please don't leave me.” 

* 

The room where he stayed at Gran's was dark and cool. Teddy wished she'd warm the blankets with her wand like Daddy, but she said cold was healthier. 

He curled up tighter under the blankets, shoving his fingers in his mouth. Gran had told him to be a big boy. To get some sleep. She said Daddy would be back tomorrow, but Teddy wasn't sure if he believed her. Daddy had said the same thing before, and sometimes he did come back. But sometimes he didn't. 

Teddy froze at the sound of the floorboards creaking in the hallway. Gran would be cross if she had to tell him again to go to sleep, but he couldn't sleep. It wasn’t his fault. 

Still, he squeezed his eyes shut, pretending. He heard the door creak open. Heard uneven footsteps that didn't sound like Gran's crossing the room. 

The mattress groaned and sank. He could smell Daddy's soap and the potion he drank sometimes, and smoke and sweat. He felt a warm, familiar hand press against his back. 

“Daddy?” 

Teddy sat up, flinging his arms around Daddy’s neck. Daddy caught him and held on tightly, pressing his nose into Teddy’s hair. He was shaking, but Teddy didn't care. He had come back. 

“I'm not going to leave you.” His voice sounded funny, like when he smelled like grown-up drinks, except he didn't smell like that right now. He gave Teddy's hair a kiss, curling his fingers against the back of his head before releasing him. 

Teddy leaned back and saw that Daddy was smiling. And crying. It was very confusing. 

“May I?” Daddy asked, nodding to the bed. Teddy's heart leapt excitedly. It was a special treat to sleep in Daddy's bed, but Daddy had never slept in his. Teddy scooted over so fast he nearly fell off the mattress. 

“Yes!” 

Daddy chuckled softly and climbed into bed beside him, lying on his side and pulling the blanket up over both of them. Teddy tucked himself into the curve of his father’s body. It was warm there. Safe. 

Daddy shifted, wrapping his arm around Teddy like he was afraid he might disappear. Teddy knew the feeling. 

“Are you happy, cariad?” 

Daddy's voice was rough and quiet. Teddy nodded, even though he was a little scared and sad and confused. He knew Daddy wanted him to say ‘yes.’  

Daddy held him tighter. His voice became thick, like he was trying not to cry. 

“If -” He sniffed, and Teddy's heart pounded with fear, but he lay quietly, afraid Daddy might leave again. “If you could - could live somewhere else…” 

Daddy squeezed Teddy tighter, rocking him gently. A few tears slipped from Teddy's eyes. 

“If you could live with Gran or Harry - I want you to be happy, cariad, and I -” He stopped, his breath hitching in his throat. Teddy didn't move. Didn't answer. He held his breath, wishing Daddy would stop being so scary. 

Daddy gave Teddy another small smile, as if he had answered the question. 

“I might need to go away for a few days,” he said with the broken voice Teddy didn't like. “Just until I feel a little better.” 

Teddy shook his head, his face burning as he began to cry again twisting his fingers in Daddy's jumper. He didn’t want Daddy to go away. He wanted him to be better, but he wanted it now.  

“Don't leave me.” 

Daddy held him tight, pressing another kiss against his curls. He didn’t promise to stay.  

Chapter Text

Wednesday, November 7, 2001  

“Hiya!” 

Andromeda's hand flew to her chest as her heart leapt to her throat at the sharp sound of Remus’ voice. He had popped his head through the kitchen doorway, surprising her. She turned on him. 

“Where the bloody hell did you come from?” she shrieked, reaching instinctively for her wand. Remus just grinned, waving a careless hand. 

“Slept here!” 

Andromeda frowned at his oddly exuberant tone - his voice bounced loudly off the kitchen walls, bright and cheery. She studied his face, trying to make sense of the boyish delight that seemed to erase the lines around his mouth. His eyes gleamed manically. 

“Remus?” she said hesitantly, lowering the spoon she had been holding and taking a step towards him. “Are you alright?” 

He continued to beam, even as he shook his head. “No.” 

He said it so pleasantly she almost thought he was joking, but she noted the way he seemed to be vibrating with energy. His jumper was on inside-out and backwards, the faded tag trembling at his throat. 

She rested her hands gently on his shoulders, guiding him into a chair. She could feel his pulse beating through his skin. 

“What happened?” she demanded, keeping her voice quiet but firm. To her alarm, he started to laugh, his face glowing pink with amusement. 

“Funny story,” he said with an ironic smile that told her she was not about to be amused. “So, last night -” 

“Morning!” Teddy's voice rang out as he padded down the hall, clutching his stuffed dragon. Remus was still talking, his words speeding up and melting together. 

“- and the ironic thing is now I've never felt so alive -” 

“Daddy sleeped in my bed!” 

“- but I still need to tell Elaine, because I was definitely -” 

Teddy tugged at Andromeda's dressing gown. “I want pancakes!” 

“- and she made me swear -” 

“ENOUGH!” Andromeda screamed, her head spinning, even as everyone fell silent. Remus’ fingers tapped out a frantic rhythm against the table as he rocked in his seat. Andromeda tensed, squeezing her eyes shut and clenching her fists as she tried to find her bearings. She let out a sharp breath, opening her eyes to look at her grandson. 

“Teddy, I need you to give us a minute,” she said firmly but with a reassuring smile. “And then we'll have pancakes.” 

Teddy looked doubtful, his eyes darting to Remus, but he nodded seriously, ducking his head and running to the sitting room. 

Andromeda craned her neck, confirming Teddy was out of earshot before turning back to Remus, who had not stopped moving since he had appeared in the doorway. His legs bounced beneath the table, his hands drumming the surface in chaotic bursts. His grin - wild and unfocused - remained fixed like a mask. 

“Remus,” she said again, trying not to sound overwhelmed. “What happened?” 

He leaned forward, his lip curling in a lopsided smile, like he was about to share a juicy bit of gossip. His eyes were alight with something unsettling. 

“I need you to contact Elaine and tell her I tried to kill myself.” 

* 

“Fuck!” Elaine blinked back tears as she wrestled with her coat sleeves. “Fuck!” 

“Hey, it's okay,” Louise hushed, gripping Elaine by the shoulders, grounding her. Elaine shook her head, taking gulping breaths. 

“I fucked up - I let him go home - I - I have to go.” She swiped at her eyes, pulling out of Louise's grip and rushing out the door without a backwards glance. 

* 

Andromeda answered the door before Elaine had finished knocking. She looked relieved, like she had been waiting an interminably long time. 

“Is he hurt?” Elaine asked, rushing through the door, the cold autumn air sneaking in behind her. Andromeda shook her head, closing the door. 

“I don't think so.” 

Elaine unwound the scarf from around her neck. “Is he lucid?” 

Andromeda gave a noncommittal wave of her hand. “I think he's aware, but he certainly isn't normal.” 

Elaine nodded, pointing to the kitchen to confirm where she was meant to go. She paused in the hallway, forcing a breath past the lump in her throat before plastering on her therapist mask. 

Remus sat at the table with Teddy on his lap, looking happier than she had ever seen him. An irrepressible smile took up his entire face as he listened to Teddy’s chatter. 

Andromeda huffed behind Elaine. “Teddy, I told you to stay in the sitting room.” 

Teddy looked up at Andromeda’s sharp tone but didn’t seem to register the concern in her voice. He tugged his stuffed dragon closer to him as he perched on the edge of Remus' knee. 

Remus was still grinning, his leg bouncing rhythmically under the table, chaotic energy pouring from him like a burst pipe. It was a stark contrast to the Remus Elaine was used to seeing in her sessions. 

“Hi, Elaine!” Remus said brightly, his voice nearly too loud for the small space. He waved enthusiastically, his disconcerting smile growing even broader. 

Elaine crouched beside him, her tone measured and calm. “Hi, Remus.” She placed a steadying hand on his knee. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” 

Remus blinked rapidly, but nodded. “Oh. Yeah. Sure. Of course.” His words tumbled out too quickly, tripping over each other. He looked down at Teddy and patted his back with one hand, but the boy hesitated, like he was afraid to leave. 

Elaine leaned forward and smiled warmly. “Do you think you could go play with your grandmother?” she asked gently. “I just need a quick grown-up chat with your dad, okay?” 

Teddy’s eyes darted between the adults again before he slowly slid off Remus’ lap and padded towards the doorway, looking nervously over his shoulder at Remus. 

Andromeda was already waiting by the door, arms folded tight across her chest. She reached out a hand to guide him out of the kitchen, but not before casting one last anxious glance at Remus. 

Elaine watched the boy until he disappeared down the hall, her heart breaking for him. She made a mental note to discuss setting up an appointment for him with a pediatric mental healer. 

She straightened and pulled out the chair across from Remus, folding her hands in front of her. He was feverishly restless, his eyes flickering all around the room as he fidgeted. Elaine took a moment to steel herself before leaning forward. 

“Remus, I need you to look at me,” she said softly, her voice low but firm. “I need you to tell me what happened last night. Do you remember?” 

For once, he seemed only too happy to answer her questions. He nodded more enthusiastically than the situation warranted. 

“Yes - I took about ten doses of Depressione Remedium.” He slurred the last two words, smirking at himself as if something was incredibly funny. Elaine wanted to smack the goofy smile from his face, even as she felt a small bit of tension ease inside her. He didn't take enough to do serious damage, at least. 

“Do you know why you did that?” she asked, ready to drag the answer out of him but, again, he answered without hesitation. 

“I was trying to kill myself.” He said the words so matter-of-factly it took Elaine a moment to process what he had said. 

She exhaled slowly, anchoring herself against the rising panic that clutched at her chest. She nodded carefully, her voice even. 

“Thank you for telling me that.” 

Remus beamed, as if he’d given her the correct answer on a test. He leaned back in the chair, arms flopping carelessly to his sides. 

“Can you tell me why you wanted to kill yourself?” Again, there was no hesitation. He tapped his temple. 

“I wasn’t right in the head, but I feel much better now!” Elaine sighed, resisting the urge to rub her hands down her face. 

“Remus, I know you don't realize it right now, but you're manic - you've taken far too much -” 

“Oh, I know!” he said breezily, waving his hand. “But I feel fucking great, you know?” 

Elaine closed her eyes, trying to get a grip on her racing thoughts. He needed a physical exam to ensure he hadn't sustained any damage. He needed a safe place to ride out this potion-induced mania. A safe place for when he ultimately crashed and burned. 

“Remus,” she said evenly, giving him a serious look. “I think it's best if we go somewhere else for the day. It isn't good for Teddy to see you like this.” 

To her surprise, he didn't argue. “Right, of course. I need to get to class anyway.” He looked at his watch, his brows shooting up behind his fringe. “Shit - already late.” He shook his head at his own forgetfulness, pressing his hands against the table to stand. Elaine rose abruptly, positioning herself between him and the doorway. 

“No, I don't think you'll be teaching today,” she said reasonably. He shrugged, unconcerned. 

“Makes sense. Should probably let Minnie know, though.” He snorted, his shoulders shaking. “Know. Though. It rhymes!” His hands began fluttering by his sides, his head turning jerkily. 

Elaine barely managed not to roll her eyes. “Yes, I'll let the headmistress know you aren't well today. I think we ought to have Madam Pomfrey give you a once over, too. I know Werewolf Services only has appointments after the full moon, so -” She stopped, suddenly aware that Remus wasn’t listening at all. 

“You can't tell my dad,” he said with a sudden sense of urgency, his smile falling. “You can tell Minerva, but not him, okay?” He gripped the back of his chair, his mouth twitching as he tried to force a serious look on his face. “Okay?” 

Elaine's shoulders slumped. “I can’t promise that.” 

To her alarm, Remus’ eyes flared with anger. He shook his head, stepping backwards until his hip struck the counter. He gripped his hair, muttering to himself. Elaine pulled her wand, but let it hang at her side - there was no telling what was brewing in his head. 

“Remus -” 

“No,” he moaned, sliding to the floor. He gripped his knees, rocking slightly, still shaking his head. “No no no no no no no no -” 

“Remus, I need you to calm down.” 

“I don't want him to know - I promise, I won't do it again.” 

“Remus, you're okay. You're safe -” 

“Don't tell him, please .” He looked at her imploringly. His fingers dug into his legs, puckering the fabric of his trousers. His eyes were wide and glassy. 

Elaine's heart pounded. She considered him for a moment before kneeling in front of him. 

“We need to tell someone - it doesn't have to be your dad - but you can't be alone right now and I don't think it's healthy for Teddy for you to stay here until you're settled down.” 

He trembled, his eyes turning red as he looked around the room, avoiding Elaine's gaze. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. 

“Okay.” 

* 

The trip to Remus’ cottage was blessedly uneventful. He had given Teddy a tight hug, the mad smile returning to his face as he held him. Elaine wondered if he had already forgotten their conversation from the kitchen. 

He had kissed the top of Teddy’s head and whispered something into his ear, making the boy giggle. Andromeda had clutched Teddy’s shoulders, nodding stiffly to Elaine as they left. 

He bounced on the balls of his feet, standing in the middle of his sitting room, surveying the small space before stepping towards the kitchen with long strides. Elaine sighed wearily. 

“Remus, I need you to sit down, please.” 

He stopped mid-step, blinking as though only just registering she was in the room. “Right. Yes. Sorry.” He dropped onto the couch with exaggerated compliance, slinging his arms across the back of the couch. He looked quite at ease. 

Elaine looked at him with a serious expression. “I need you to sit there while I contact the school, okay?” she said firmly. He nodded, folding his hands in his lap as if to prove his obedience, though his legs continued their restless jittering. 

Elaine turned to the fireplace, grabbing a pinch of Floo powder from the pot on the mantel. She lowered herself to her knees, giving him one last look before sticking her head in the grate. 

She gave Professor McGonagall a vague explanation that Remus had fallen ill and requested that she send Poppy along for an assessment before pulling her head out of the fireplace, her brain swirling for a moment before she found her bearings. 

She turned back towards the couch, her stomach dropping as she realized Remus wasn’t sitting anymore. She whipped her head around, relieved to find him almost immediately. 

He was standing by the bookcase, head tilted at an odd angle, eyes squinting at the spines like they were written in a different language. 

“Remus,” she said gently. “Back to the couch, please.” 

He waved an impatient hand. “I need to find something - I had a thought about this fossil field I was in once - I think it was in India, but I can't remember -” 

He squatted down, pulling out various journals and flipping through them far too quickly to actually read. 

Elaine took a slow breath, stepping closer but not too close. “That’s alright. You can look later. Right now, I need you to sit. Poppy’s coming, remember?” 

He turned his head to her - the movement was snappy, like a bird turning towards a strange sound. 

“Are you mad at me?” He didn't sound particularly concerned by the possibility. 

I'm starting to be.  

“No, I just need you to sit down, okay? We need to talk.” 

His eyes darted between her and the bookshelf, weighing his options. Thankfully, he seemed to decide to listen to Elaine. He loped back to the couch, smiling pleasantly as he hummed to himself. 

He flopped into the cushion, crossing his ankle over his knee, his foot bopping. He fisted his chin thoughtfully, looking towards the bedroom door before chuckling to himself. 

“I didn't leave a note,” he observed casually. He gave her a quick sidelong look, his mouth twitching cheekily. “Was that terribly rude of me?” 

Elaine frowned, crossing her arms over her knee. “This isn't funny, Remus,” she said sternly. Her spine prickled with anger as his eyes crinkled. 

“I mean, it's a little funny,” he countered. “Last night, I was burning myself with cigarettes and trying to OD - and now this!” He gestured to himself with an air of showmanship that made Elaine's blood boil. 

Elaine swallowed back her anger. “What stopped you?” she said after a pause, tilting her head. “You said you wanted to kill yourself - what changed your mind?” 

Remus blinked, stilling for a moment, as if the question had caught him off guard. 

“Oh, er - I think I got too tired to finish. Potion made me drowsy.” 

It wasn’t the answer she had been hoping for, but she could tell it was the truth. 

“Can we talk some more about why you did it?” she asked. “There's more to these things than ‘not being right in the head.’” 

Remus smirked again. “It sounds silly now, but I was convinced that everyone hated me and wanted me dead, and I agreed with them - life would be better for everyone without me in it, right?” He looked peaceful as he said it. Elaine's heart twisted. 

“Do you still think that?” she asked, unsure which response would be less upsetting. 

He looked at her as though the answer should be obvious. “Wouldn't it? You'd be free of your worst patient. Teddy would have someone stable to raise him. Dad could stop pretending to give a shit about the center. I'd get to be free of this all.” 

Elaine’s heart dropped at his words. The casualness with which he spoke about something so deeply troubling unsettled her. She stayed quiet for a moment, trying to process the disjointedness of the situation. He wasn’t all there, and that realization felt like a weight in her chest. 

“Do you want to talk about some of those thoughts?” She felt a little guilty, as if she was crossing a professional boundary by prodding him with questions when he appeared to be incapable of hiding the truth. 

“No, but I do want to apologize for lying - I know that's why you hate me - same reason my dad doves - I mean does - I mean -” He paused to catch his breath, his eyes wild. 

“Do you want to know what I lied about?” He said it with a challenging leer, as if he had just made the first move on the chessboard. Elaine wasn't interested in playing. 

“Remus, I think it's best if we avoid those topics until you're capable of -” 

“I shagged a barmaid a little while back. Had a massive meltdown - shattered my hand, remember?” 

Elaine pushed past her shock. “Remus, I really think you should stop. I don't feel ri-” 

“Anyway, that happened. Considered killing myself then, too. Didn't tell you.” 

Elaine placed her hands on his, looking at him earnestly. “Remus, as much as I would love to have this conversation with you, it wouldn't be right. I don't want you to come out of this feeling like anyone took advantage of you - alright?” He nodded, clamping his lips together and sitting on his hands. 

He hummed softly for a minute before fixing her with a curious look. 

“You're not allowed to lie to me, right?” he said suspiciously. Elaine sat up nervously, unsure where he might be going with this. 

“No, I cannot and will not lie to you.” 

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Well, then,” he said, leaning towards her. “Am I going bald?” 

Elaine laughed before she even processed the question. She slapped a hand across her mouth to mute the sound, shaking her head in disbelief. 

“No, Remus, you aren't going bald.” 

He sat up straighter, looking immensely relieved. He sighed dramatically, collapsing back into the couch with an exaggerated flourish.  

“Good, because that would really put a damper on things.” 

To be continued...

***Louise was introduced in the one-shot Remus Lupin is a Shithead Who Needs to Get Slapped.***

Chapter Text

Wednesday, November 7, 2001, continued  

Remus was still rambling by the time Poppy arrived - he had ceased to make much sense, his words spilling from his mouth faster than his tongue could shape them. Elaine felt ready to cry, but she straightened her shoulders, reminding herself to remain calm. 

She clutched his wand between her hands, afraid to set it anywhere he might be able to make a grab for it. As happy as he seemed at the moment, she didn't trust a hair on his head. 

Poppy swept towards Remus, her eyes softening the moment she saw him. “Oh, Remus,” she said gently, sitting beside him and resting a hand on his cheek. “You’re giving us all grey hairs.” 

Elaine secretly wished the matron would be a little harsher - someone had to be the bad guy - but she stood back, letting her work. 

Poppy ran her wand over Remus with one hand, checking his pulse with the other. 

“How do you feel?” she asked clinically, peering into his eyes. 

“Fucking fantastic!” he said without any irony. Poppy raised her brow. 

“Language, Remus.” 

“Sorry!” He didn't look at all sorry. 

Poppy pressed her fingers along his jaw and down his neck as she continued her interview. 

“Does anything feel out of the ordinary?” 

Remus smirked. “Well, I'm horny as fuck, but don't tell anyone!” 

Poppy swore under her breath, shaking her head. “Thank you, love, but that's not what I meant.” 

Remus shrugged, his attention drifting again, hands flapping in his lap. Poppy turned to Elaine. 

“Would you mind checking for the potion bottles? I want to confirm how much he took.” 

Elaine nodded, aware that she was being excused so Poppy could speak to Remus privately. Still, she searched the house, summoning the empty vials that lay scattered on the floor around the nightstand. She checked the medicine cabinet. The pantry. The upstairs. 

“I found nine empty vials,” she announced as she reentered the sitting room. Her voice was steady, but she felt the severity of the situation hit her all over again as she held the bottles in her hands - a cold gust of wind slicing through her resolve. 

Poppy didn’t seem surprised, though her frown deepened as she surveyed Remus, who was still sitting on the couch, a faint, carefree smile playing at the corners of his mouth. 

“Remus,” Poppy said softly, resting a hand on his. “I need you to focus for me, love. How are you feeling now? Are you in any pain? Any dizziness, numbness?” 

He hesitated a half-second, then leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. For the briefest moment, Elaine thought she saw a silent laugh on the nurse's mouth as she patted his knee. 

“Yes, love, so you've told me.” She rose, jerking her head towards the hall. Elaine followed her, keeping an eye on Remus, who immediately rose to follow them. Elaine gave him a warning look. 

“Why don't you go look for your book?” she suggested. He looked thoroughly confused for a moment before lighting up with excitement, gesturing wildly. 

“It's not a book, it's a field journal, but it's here somewhere. Or maybe it's at Dad's - you haven't told him, right? I might be able to sneak over while he's at work, but -” 

“Remus - focus.” 

He gave her a mock salute, turning on his heel to return to the bookshelf. He nearly lost his balance, but he righted himself, loping across the room with a faint limp. Elaine glanced back at him once more before turning to Poppy. 

“What do you think?” she asked hurriedly, searching the matron's face for answers. 

“He'll live,” Poppy sighed heavily, shaking her head. “He's in for a rough night, though.” 

Elaine nodded knowingly. “I'm going to try to get him a room at St. Mungo’s,” she said without much hope. Poppy’s eyes grew sadder. 

“I think it might be a better use of time to find someone who can stay with him while he evens out.” The words she didn't say came through, loud and clear. They'll never accept him as a patient.  

Elaine frowned in frustration. “I have to try,” she said firmly. This is all my fault.  

Poppy pulled a face, but didn't comment further. Elaine's heart jumped as a thought occurred to her. 

“He could stay with you! We could set him up in the exam room -” 

Poppy shook her head, looking deeply sorry. “He isn't supposed to be on the grounds after curfew - it's part of the agreement with the board.” 

Elaine's frustration flared, her fingers tightening around Remus' wand. "I don’t care about curfew. I care about him getting through this." 

Poppy’s gaze softened. "I know.” Her voice was so understanding it broke something in Elaine. “But we both know what will happen if word gets out. They won’t hesitate to take any excuse they can get to make things harder for him." 

Elaine pressed her lips together. She wanted to yell, to argue that someone should take responsibility for Remus, but she couldn’t shake the knowledge that that responsibility fell squarely on her shoulders. 

They stood in silence for a moment, listening to the soft hum of Remus muttering to himself in the other room - something about trilobites and needing a pencil. He sounded like a child playing at being an explorer. It made Elaine’s stomach twist. 

“Let's figure out tonight,” Poppy said gently, reaching out a hand to stroke Elaine's arm. “I'll need to stay at the school, but I can sedate him, once the DR starts to wear off. If someone can stay -” 

Elaine shook her head, wiping away frustrated tears with the heels of her hands. “No - he needs to be in hospital. I need -” She sniffed, giving herself a little shake before turning on her heel, returning to the sitting room. 

Remus was sitting cross-legged on the floor, rummaging through the bottom of the bookcase. He looked up, triumphantly holding a notebook above his head. 

“Found it!” 

“Glad to hear,” Elaine croaked with forced enthusiasm before kneeling down next to him. 

“I need to leave for a bit to figure out arrangements for the next few days, but I'll be back soon. Poppy’s going to stay with you while I'm gone - I need you to listen to her, okay?” 

Remus leaned forward, peering past Elaine to wave to Poppy as if she had just arrived. Poppy gave a small wave back, her expression tight with worry. 

Elaine forced a smile and squeezed his shoulder. “I mean it. No wandering off, no trying to write a thesis on magical mollusks. Just stay here. Rest.” 

Remus giggled. “You're very bossy,” he said, leaning conspiratorially towards her, whispering. “I like it.” 

Elaine let out a weary breath, deciding to ignore the comment, reminding herself that he didn't really mean it. Still, Poppy scolded him. 

“Remus Lupin, you apologize!” He had the decency to look shamefaced as he mumbled an apology. 

Elaine tilted her head to catch his eyes again. “I'm serious, though. You need to sit quiet and do whatever Poppy says, understood?” 

Remus nodded solemnly, then immediately ruined the effect by flopping dramatically onto his back with the journal clutched to his chest. 

Elaine dropped her head in exhaustion, taking a moment to gather herself before standing and turning to Poppy with a weary look. 

“I'll be as quick as I can. Let me know if he gets to be too much to handle.” 

*