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ATARAXION: memories
His mother has been teary all day—the brave kind of crying, caught in the corners of her eyes while she's trying to smile. That's a more reliable sign than the moon. So Remus is under his bed, spine pressed along the baseboard. He runs a wooden train back and forth across the floor in front of him until footsteps in the hallway make him freeze.
It isn't his dad he's afraid of. It's locked doors and silencing spells, the damp earthy smell of the cellar, his bones bending and his teeth growing long, becoming something new and hungry and hurting.
Lyall stretches out on the floor beside the bed, kind and tired face cradled on one folded arm. He looks like he could fall asleep there.
"Where's the train going?"
Remus rolls it forward again and says, "Yorkshire, to see Granddad." He smiles. He's better at it than they are, already.
It isn't his dad he's afraid of. It's locked doors and silencing spells, the damp earthy smell of the cellar, his bones bending and his teeth growing long, becoming something new and hungry and hurting.
Lyall stretches out on the floor beside the bed, kind and tired face cradled on one folded arm. He looks like he could fall asleep there.
"Where's the train going?"
Remus rolls it forward again and says, "Yorkshire, to see Granddad." He smiles. He's better at it than they are, already.
II
Authority fits Remus as well as the cloak he's inherited from his dad: ridiculously. Too big and too heavy. Obviously not meant for him. Maybe he'll grow into it later, but right now the pack of Third Years he shoos out of the corridor look at him like he must be joking and take their time walking away, talking in low voices. Probably about how ridiculous he is.
"Next time I'll have to take points," he calls after them. He does not even approach believability.
The empty air behind him fills with snickering. He endures it until the Slytherins disappear down the stairs, then turns to sulk at the spot where he imagines his friends' heads to be.
"Shut up," he says. He never asked for this.
There's a mirror hanging on the wall a few steps ahead, dusty and unremarkable. Remus pushes it of the way and stands aside to let his friends into the passageway ahead of him. "Mooooony," someone croons invisibly, and unseen fingers pinch his ribs to make him squirm and stop scowling.
"Next time I'll have to take points," he calls after them. He does not even approach believability.
The empty air behind him fills with snickering. He endures it until the Slytherins disappear down the stairs, then turns to sulk at the spot where he imagines his friends' heads to be.
"Shut up," he says. He never asked for this.
There's a mirror hanging on the wall a few steps ahead, dusty and unremarkable. Remus pushes it of the way and stands aside to let his friends into the passageway ahead of him. "Mooooony," someone croons invisibly, and unseen fingers pinch his ribs to make him squirm and stop scowling.
III
He finds Frank sitting up in the grass, smeared red. Remus can hear him breathing. He's clutching his stomach, and Remus drops to his knees, unfazed by blood or gaping wounds since—since forever. But, "don't," he wheezes, through the pain and bloody spit; "Don't touch me," and Remus jerks his hands back like they're playing slaps. He doesn't waste time feeling shocked or wounded before he turns and shouts for Marlene.
Later, moving gingerly but back on his feet, Frank passes him while he's talking to James in the dim hallway of the latest safe house. "Lupin," he says. It's contrite, inconclusive. The beginning of some unimaginably unbearable apology. Remus pulls his cigarette out of his mouth, politely, and cuts Frank off with a smile and shaking head.
It's fine, the smile says. Not even worth discussing. If you make me talk about it, that's what I might never forgive you for. However much of it Frank can read, it's enough to release him from the clench of his Hufflepuff conscience. He claps Remus on the shoulder, hand as heavy as the point he's making, and goes to find Alice.
"He probably picked that line up from his wife," James says once he's pried out an explanation out of Remus. "Don't touch me, don't, I can't take it anymore. Poor fellow."
Everyone adores Frank, really, but Remus laughs.
Later, moving gingerly but back on his feet, Frank passes him while he's talking to James in the dim hallway of the latest safe house. "Lupin," he says. It's contrite, inconclusive. The beginning of some unimaginably unbearable apology. Remus pulls his cigarette out of his mouth, politely, and cuts Frank off with a smile and shaking head.
It's fine, the smile says. Not even worth discussing. If you make me talk about it, that's what I might never forgive you for. However much of it Frank can read, it's enough to release him from the clench of his Hufflepuff conscience. He claps Remus on the shoulder, hand as heavy as the point he's making, and goes to find Alice.
"He probably picked that line up from his wife," James says once he's pried out an explanation out of Remus. "Don't touch me, don't, I can't take it anymore. Poor fellow."
Everyone adores Frank, really, but Remus laughs.
IV
In the middle of a firefight Remus' attention snags on a girl lying beside him in the road.
She's not more than seven, legs still tangled in her bicycle, eyes open. He hopes she wasn't afraid. His attention snags and he can't pull it loose again, not for the shouting, the fire, Sirius' taunting laugh somewhere behind him, are you even trying, the pop of Apparition like firecrackers, or gunfire. Further down the road, a giant screams in outrage and peels away a roof to throw at the wizards working to bring her down.
Remus doesn't move at all until Sirius—who looks more than any of them like he belongs here, like he was made for this, fierce and thrilled and razor sharp—jerks him back by the shoulder with one hand and throws up a shield charm with the other, in time to block a curse Remus didn't see coming and fire one off in answer.
It lands. Remus watches the Death Eater fall, mask cracked down the middle. Maybe she isn't dead, but she won't be standing up again on her own.
His gaze drifts back toward the girl, but Sirius jerks Remus' shoulder again, this time to turn him away. For a beat he's silent, serious, searching for confundment or head injury. Remus recenters. His focus sharpens. He's fine.
"If you die stupidly, I won't cover for you," Sirius says. "I'll tell everyone."
"Liar."
When Sirius grins, the streaks of ash across his face make his eyes and his teeth look impossibly bright.
She's not more than seven, legs still tangled in her bicycle, eyes open. He hopes she wasn't afraid. His attention snags and he can't pull it loose again, not for the shouting, the fire, Sirius' taunting laugh somewhere behind him, are you even trying, the pop of Apparition like firecrackers, or gunfire. Further down the road, a giant screams in outrage and peels away a roof to throw at the wizards working to bring her down.
Remus doesn't move at all until Sirius—who looks more than any of them like he belongs here, like he was made for this, fierce and thrilled and razor sharp—jerks him back by the shoulder with one hand and throws up a shield charm with the other, in time to block a curse Remus didn't see coming and fire one off in answer.
It lands. Remus watches the Death Eater fall, mask cracked down the middle. Maybe she isn't dead, but she won't be standing up again on her own.
His gaze drifts back toward the girl, but Sirius jerks Remus' shoulder again, this time to turn him away. For a beat he's silent, serious, searching for confundment or head injury. Remus recenters. His focus sharpens. He's fine.
"If you die stupidly, I won't cover for you," Sirius says. "I'll tell everyone."
"Liar."
When Sirius grins, the streaks of ash across his face make his eyes and his teeth look impossibly bright.
V
Going to bed in his funeral clothes means waking up in them the next morning, rumpled and greasy, unable to pretend there's anything dignified about grief. His head aches. His mouth is dry. His feet itch in his father's dress shoes. He thinks: it would have been nice of Petunia to bring Harry, but he isn't surprised she didn't. The Minister's speech was all right for what it was. He's glad Mrs Pettigrew wasn't there to see how much larger the turn-out was than at Peter's. He won't be evicted until he's two months behind. He has seven days until the full moon. He can live through this, if he decides he wants to. If he gets up and washes his face.
A spider moved into his lampshade while he was in Scotland. A false widow. She dangles above his wand on the bed stand, waiting. Shadows shift. Hours pass.
A spider moved into his lampshade while he was in Scotland. A false widow. She dangles above his wand on the bed stand, waiting. Shadows shift. Hours pass.