CURSED

Stepping back into the cottage, James finds himself squinting against the soft glow of several lamps in the living room and his gaze falls to his watch, noting the late hour. Remus had stayed up. And, he guesses, judging from the state of the house, had been anxious tidying. James knew that things had been hard on Remus, that since his return people had been treating him with kid gloves and as if he couldn’t be trusted - something James knew would be pricking at a very deep insecurity inside the other man.

And normally, James would do his best to soothe his friend. That no matter his conflicted feelings about Remus’ behaviour and choices, he would want him to feel safe and loved and appreciated.

That was, of course, however, the role of a James who had not just spent the last few hours beside what could have been Sirius’ deathbed. This James was far, far more frazzled.

Glancing down at the blood smeared down the front of his shirt, James lifts a hand and carelessly rakes it through his hair, tugging tightly on the strands as he does so. “Mission went badly,” he says, eyes watching the cautious way Remus approaches him, “I don’t know, I wasn’t there. He was paired with Fabian and Lily. Bellatrix got him.”

There’s no need for more words. He and Remus both know exactly the vendetta that Bellatrix Lestrange held for her estranged cousin.

“He’s fine now, he’s at Mungo’s. He’s awake, or he was…Lily made me come home,” James says, voice cracking with the effort, “We almost lost him, Moony.”

How could he have rested? Knowing his friends - all of them, everyone he has grown to care for - are out doing Merlin knows what. He hasn’t the clearance to know anymore. Remus idly wonders if this is what they all felt like, not knowing where he was, and that pang of guilt adds to the pit of it long-ago formed at the bottom of his stomach. He does his best to shove it away. No time for that. James’ shirt is caked in blood and Remus has to try and figure out how to make this less horrifying.

There isn’t a way, not as James explains and Remus feels more and more listless, standing there uselessly, but he has to try. Sieius is at Mungo’s. He’s awake. Lily is still with him.

Remus’ jaw works. He should have been there. Maybe he doesn’t believe in the cause the same way they do, not anymore, even if he won’t admit it to them, but he should have been there. Maybe he would have been able to help. Maybe he would have been able to ward off Bellatrix Lestrange, or Sirius would have been in a different place, or something would have shifted with his presence.

“ - You should get changed,” is all he can think to say. Maybe, in another year, before, Remus would have hugged James. Would have said something more comforting. “We - Lily was right to send you home. It’s not going to do you or him any good to stay there and run yourself ragged.”

who: @mooncur​ when:  1 march, 1980, 3am where: potter cottage, godric’s hollow

James’ feet drag against the still-slightly frozen ground with exhaustion. He only truly lamented the loss of Apparition at a time like this, when he had to fly a broom halfway across the country in the middle of the night. His clothing is still splattered with streaks of Sirius’ blood and there are large, purple bruises under his eyes from exhaustion.

If James had had his way, he would never have left the hospital, would never have left Sirius’ side, but Lily had all but forced him to leave, promising to watch over the other man. Placing all of his faith in his wife, as James was wont to do, he had returned to their cottage in a haze, determined to change his clothing and forego a nap; anything to return to his best friend sooner.

As the front door creaks open and James’ house keys jangle in his hands, his eyes are automatically drawn to the soft flickering of light in the living room, and he takes a few steps forward, peering inside.

His mouth curled into a distressed frown, James tries his hardest to look reassuring, for Remus’ benefit, but he knows that he fails miserably, his shoulders shrugging in defeat.

“He’s okay. He’s alive.” 

They’ve got a short leash on him. Remus can’t claim to be surprised, not after what he did - absolute silence for months near forces The Order to keep a closer eye on him, but the trade off is steep. Not being there, with James and Sirius - not being allowed to help - he hasn’t been able to sit still. Not since the others headed out. He had tried to do something useful, folding blankets and fluffing pillows and washing dishes by hand, but tasks had run short and something inside of him could not stay still, so Remus had taken to pacing. Skulking through the house, feeling all too much like a caged animal.

It’s the sound of a key in the door that has him lurching to the couch, trying to look less - less wild. More like the settled figure he projects, less of a risk, less like someone about to outstay their welcome in a home already full enough without him. It’s the sort of talk Remus knows James and Lily would bat away and insist against, but he knows he can’t stay too much longer. No one wants a stray - even friends. He’s only just settling against the cushions when James’ appearance has him lurching up again.

“What happened?” It’s Sirius. Remus knows already - even without knowing what happened, without having to be told. That look on James’ face is reserved just for Sirius. Something went wrong. Remus is across the room in an instant, though he holds back at the last moment, hands hanging useless by his side.

Maybe it’s unkind of him to even consider asking Gideon for help - especially when he knows the man favors him somewhat. It’s an odd position to be in; Remus isn’t sure how much Gideon knows about why he was in Scotland - how much Gideon knows about Remus’ condition at all. Had Dumbledore told the highest ranked members of The Order? Keep an eye on Remus Lupin around the full moon, perhaps? A warning to them before he vanished God knows where and has still yet to return? The sharp bitterness that accompanies the thought of Dumbledore these days stabs into his temple even as Remus tries to not feel it, or at least not let it show that he is; the two seem very much the same, these days.

If no one can tell you feel a certain way, are you feeling it at all? It should be an easy answer of yes, of course, but Remus can’t help but wonder. It feels like the lies - the layers of secrecy needed to live - are piling on top of him. The packs, how they view Greyback, Marlene, his lycanthropy, his refusal to talk about any of it, it all feels like weights being piled atop his shoulders and all he can do is snarl against the pressing weight.

This, though, he can be truthful about. At least a little bit. He needs a job. He needs a job desperately. Gideon is a hitwizard, is high enough up to maybe put in a good word - though the Ministry hiring a werewolf is too far out there for Remus to even dare hope. Maybe, though, maybe Gideon has friends outside who would be willing to hire a man with no references and no experience.

That’s all he’ll leave it to. If Gideon knows - as sick as the thought makes Remus feel - he’ll understand. If he doesn’t, Remus will pass it off as having no one to write a reference and no past experience in any field and do his best to brush off mentions of his good test scores and the fact he should, by all accounts, have no problem finding work. It’s a tell he hates. Why would a, by all accounts, clever man with several exceeds expectations on his N.E.W.T.S be out of work? Anyone keen enough could start to put the pieces together on that alone. It’s something he needs to work fast at remedying. It hadn’t much mattered in Scotland, and Remus had let himself begin to forget the fact that vanishing for several months would not make finding a job upon returning harder.

It’s hard to admit himself that he had considered not returning.

It would be wrong to say he doesn’t have an ulterior motive for calling upon an old school friend like Mary. He knows she has questions - of course she does, she’s Mary - and he knows she’s been more than cross with Marlene. He’s glad to have avoided that ire but is well aware she might ask him questions about where he’d gone, what he’d been doing, why he had been gone so long.

Still - he’s here for a reason, smiling his most charming smile and dressed in the least threadbare sweater he owns, the one he hasn’t had to patch the elbows of quite yet. Fortescue’s is a cheery enough place to just catch up at, though he wonders how long he’ll be able to keep up that facade.

where: leaky cauldron  when:  february 17,  late  evening who:    open.

Hogwarts was closed. 

         The flurry of owls was a great addition to Euphemia’s afternoon reading. The indefinitely was a nice addition, she must admit, truly elevated the danger in the air. Which by all accounts did exist, perhaps not just in the forms of educational institutions closing but something more pressing. Additionally, the missing figurehead of Alastor Moody was a worrisome piece of the puzzle. Mia wasn’t one to befriend others at the Ministry easily, and Moody was no exception. The change of leadership was more of a nuisance than anything. A difference in dynamic was something she could get accustomed to, perhaps it would even benefit her. 

        Euphemia thought that such a tumultuous day deserved a drink. Spiny Serpent was a longer walk than she was willing to make that night, so she’d settle for the Cauldron. She slipped a piece of hair behind her hair and headed for the door. There was a buzz in the air that she couldn’t place but was certainly enjoying. She walked up to the bartender ordering a firewhiskey. It was a busy night given all the excitement of the day. There didn’t seem to be a spare table in the place, at least not one that she could place. Mia handed the money over for the drink and taking a sip. Too loud. Too entitled. Too sad.  She thought as she went over the tables that looked mildly viable. 

        “That’s the one.” She muttered to herself, noticing a table in the corner that looked like it would make a good company. Euphemia slipped through the crowd, carefully avoiding the servers with drinks. When she finally made it to her destination she looked down at the occupant of the table, a grin on her features. “You mind if I sit here ? ” She paused a moment, taking another sip of her drink. “I’ll buy the next round.”  

The whole thing is making his head just about pound. Hogwarts, closed? Closed indefinitely? Remus cannot claim to have felt like he belonged anywhere in his life, always feeling something deep inside of him chafing at the restrictions of the world, but Hogwarts had felt as close to freedom as anything else (if he pretends that, for a few months, Scotland hadn’t felt like truth was finally allowed). There are more happy memories than ill if he doesn’t let himself think back too long on just how many hours were spent worrying how he was being viewed by those who knew and those who didn’t.

It seems right to send the place off, for now, with a drink - even if a drink out would put him back a few sickles he doesn’t have a job to replace. It’s the little things that make life worth living, at least that’s what he tells himself when he spends money and tries, desperately, to find a job somewhere, anywhere. Applications go perpetually unreplied to and a well of bitterness has opened up inside of him. No doubt they search him up and see his name on the Werewolf Register. Remus curses himself daily for being foolish enough to put his name down, though he wonders if there was ever really a choice; Dumbledore likely would have snitched on him if he tried to float beneath the radar like some others. At least they can get a damn job.

A glance is cast upward when a voice surprisingly close rings through the air. Remus looks up from his firewhiskey and offers a polite nod, fingers flexing ‘round the cup as he tilts his head to the seat across from him. “Not at all,” He’d really rather be left alone, but he’s not going to say as much, “That second round won’t be needed. Thank you, though.”

Where: St. Mungo’s When: 29 February 1980, evening Who: Open

Sirius was having a rough time of it.

He hadn’t expected the scouting mission in Hogwarts to go south, for one. After the initial infiltration, it was supposed to be easy going as they swept the castle for anything that would be useful, but nothing was ever that easy. Why would it be easy? This was his life, after all–easy was at the bottom of things that Sirius Black deserved, apparently.

He also hadn’t expected to come across his cousin in Hogwarts, to finally face off with her… and to lose. Sirius was frankly surprise she let him live at all; maybe that part of her plan was a mistake. If Bellatrix had known he would survive the injuries she caused him, she probably would’ve shot one last curse to finish the job before going on her merry way. It almost did do him in, but then James and Amelia found him, and here he was: alive for another day.

Worse for wear, certainly, but alive. 

His entire body ached, and even with all the work done on him, the Healers wanted him to stay for a day or two to be safe. Sirius absolutely did not want to do that, so when a figure came into his view, his first words were, “Wanna break me outta here? Before I lose my damn mind?”

He came as soon as he heard. James had stumbled into the Potter residence, weary from the fight, and explained what had happened - and Remus had immediately gotten up, jammed his feet into his well-worn shoes, and headed to St. Mungo’s. It hadn’t taken much to find Sirius from there, trekking the halls and glancing sidelong into each room until he finds the right figure lying in a bed, looking all too frangible there.

Remus had known one of them could die; he’s not a fool. He’d known, in Scotland, that he might return and find himself with one less friend. It’s sheer luck that they all survived this long relatively unharmed. Perhaps he ought to be more grateful for the fact that he’s here this time to lean against the door-frame of the hospital room and raise a brow at Sirius’ plea to help him escape. It’s the stuff of their school days, of sneaking Remus out of the hospital wing a few hours early after the moon so he could curl up in his bed in the dorms rather than the stiff hospital bed. They aren’t kids anymore, though. Not really. Maybe they should be, but the world is too cruel for youth to linger any longer than is necessary; Remus has seen that first hand.

“When are they supposed to let you out?” He asks, drawing nearer the bed. Remus isn’t sure if Sirius is still angry with him, or if it’s just the nagging curiosity the other boy possesses that fuels the incessant questions about where Remus was for so long. It’s likely a bit of both, though sometimes Remus wants to ask - wants to tell. It would go over like a lead balloon, Remus knows that much, and would likely destroy the scraps of pretending everything is fine that they still clutch to with both hands.