remus j. lupin

If Peter had had his way, he would have been far from the Rosier grounds tonight, nestled in a bed filled with blankets and pillows, asleep without any worries. Alas, that was a dream, and the reality of it was that he was currently sat next to one of his best friends, while they waited to see what would happen at this disaster of a part; one that Peter had already warned his contacts to keep an eye open at, one that they had wanted him to attend and he’d made excuses for. After all, him, at a party? No way. So he was grateful to be on the reserve team, even if it made his anxiety and nerves way worse than normal.

He was quietly fidgeting, picking at his nails and just trying to focus. If anything happened, he would have to fight for the Order, of course; he couldn’t let them think that he was working for the Death Eaters, after all, and he could easily explain away that fact for the Dark Lord. Didn’t he have to be convincing as a spy, after all? And if his spells weren’t powerful or hurting any of the Death Eaters… well, then clearly he was just bad at fighting and there would be no more questions, right? All he could keep repeating in his head was that it couldn’t come to that, it couldn’t come to that…

“Moony?” His voice was soft, shaky, as he glanced over at his friend; there was so much he wanted to say, so much he was desperate to say, but the fact that he found it hard to even look his friend in the eye right now, let alone anything else, kinda negated that fact. Still, he chewed on his lip for a moment, before blurting, “It’s a good thing we didn’t have to try and find formal wear, huh?” It sounded stupid even as it came out of his mouth, and he looked embarrassed, muttering out afterwards, “Guess we squeaked by that one.” And that was even more stupid, and he really shouldn’t be acting like this while they were supposed to be on duty.

Because of James. 

But, mostly, ultimately, because of him. 

“Mm?” Right. Formal wear. Right, sure. “Yeah, yeah, suppose we did, at that...” Remus took a deep breath, followed by a deeper drag; then turned, bloodshot and frayed. Thinking - not for the first time - that he ought to tell Wormtail what was coming. After all, it wouldn’t just be Remus that this burned. It’d be everyone who’d lied, for him. Anybody they’d suspect of having known. They. Who was that, in all this? The inner circle? Not exactly. Just, the Order. The whole bloody gang would hear, and soon. It was such a fucking story, wasn’t it? A wolf in the fold. And all the traitors who’d helped keep his sheepskin stuck on, this long. James. Lily. Sirius. Peter. Traitors to the cause, to the security of their whole fragile operation. That’s what his friends would be called, for holding onto his secrets. And it would only get worse. Not before it got better - just, it would only get worse. 

Peter should know. Sooner than later. With another darting look across the landscape, Remus flicked a bit of ash into the wet, mossy grass. “It’s not a good time,” he started, swallowed, throat working to close off, clam up. “But, ah. There isn’t one. So.” Just had to cut to the fucking chase. “They know, about me. Everyone at the meeting, last night. Everyone else, soon, I...” his voice rasped out, there, and Remus bit into his lip, jaw painfully tight. “I don’t know what’ll happen. I don’t.” Fuck. Fuck this. Burning down the last of his cigarette, Remus tossed it away, hard. And went for another. “There’s a good chance they’ll come to you, about it. Tell them what you want.” He meant that, entirely, and sounded like it. These were instructions. Not suggestions. None of them needed more trouble, more lying, for his sake. “Whatever gets them off your case. Doesn’t matter now, right?” No. None of all they’d done, to hide it, to hide him, meant fuck-all. Not anymore.

Lily couldn’t believe what had just happened at the Order meeting. She still felt in shock, and had followed after James as quickly as she could, knowing that he was likely beating himself up right now and someone had to get to Remus as soon as possible. He couldn’t be sent into the days ahead without hearing from one of them what had just happened, and Lily knew she needed to be the one to do it. No doubt James would want to once he finished punishing himself however he was just now, but she knew he would be in no fit state to do it. 

She apparated to the boundaries of the McKinnon farm, tearing quickly to the little cottage where Remus was staying. When she reached it, she pounded on the door, calling out his name, her heart pounding even louder in her ears. They should have been prepared for this. They should have known that eventually someone would begin to suspect. They should have made some sort of plan, not sat around with arrogant minds that said no one would ever find out their secret.

Oh, poor Remus. This would crush him, especially to know that it was James who had let it slip. Of course, he would understand, eventually. James hadn’t meant to do it – had done everything he could to keep this secret. But for Remus to have to face the rest of the Order, to have his worst fears and the darkest lies he believed about himself reflected in their eyes? It was horrible. 

The door swung open, and Lily suddenly felt the breath leave her. She opened her mouth, but no words left it. 

Rubbing a hand over his tired, tired face, Remus closed up his most recent novel for what had to be the third or fourth time that evening, and sighed. Perhaps he should try again. Just push himself to bed, and have a go. Shoving up from the little kitchen table, he started off to the cot in the corner. And stopped, blinking in surprise, at the sound of someone at the door. Now? Checking the foe glass on the wall - empty - Remus stood, brow furrowed, and headed over, summoning and stepping into his trousers on the way. Wasn’t about to answer the door in his keks, even past midnight. 

Which was how he found himself face to face with Lily Evans. Staring, wordlessly, and - oh, no. Her eyes, full up and gleaming in the glow of the soft, golden lamplight. Remus pulled the door properly open, immediately, heart stumbling awfully at the sight of Lily, of all people, in such a state. “In you get, come on. I’ll start the tea.” Had to be James. For all they might bicker and pull at one another, those two were more real, more solid, than most seemed to think; if it were just about anything but them that was the problem, Remus was certain she’d have turned to James. But she was here. Shit. Prongs, you wanker. What had he done, now? 

She sat a moment still, the way one does when an early morning class calls and all you want to do is sit in bed and stare into the void that was the comforting darkness of your sleep. Then she took a deep breath, wiped her hand over her face and dragged herself to her feet. Nothing about her expression showed humor or anything resembling a good mood. But there was also none of her habitual bite. Her fight-lust. She just looked deflated. And when her gaze finally met Lupin’s  dented face, she neither startled nor enjoyed it. Raised but her eyebrows and thought, well, it made sense that she was here now.

“Number one, the Inner Circle’s on a mission today and so they won’t be able to come to the Farm if anything should happen. They asked you to stay here with Evans and McKinnon no matter what, and just keep an eye on things. Because you know the in and outs so well.” She gave it a smile – it looked like a grimace. “If you’re as happy about it as I am, we should put on some rock’n’roll and celebrate, what do you think?” Sarcasm, clearly. “Make us a drink and toast to just how important our role is. How vital we are to the Order.” Though even now, as she clearly let her frustration towards all this out, her voice sounded flat compared to usually. 

“Number two.” She plunged her hand into the heavy leather bag that hung around her shoulder and drew out a thermos. It wasn’t particularly big, of a delicate yellow colour with daisies on it. “For you, from Bones. Don’t ask me what it is, by the looks of it, it’s filled with motivational speeches and pixie dust.”

A mission. An Inner Circle mission, at that. Urgent, sudden - or, just as likely, nothing he would be told about in advance. Honestly, at this point, Remus couldn’t guess where he stood in the Order. On the edges, felt like. But that was best. Wasn’t it? People didn’t spend too long looking at the edges. Didn’t notice the details, so far from the center of things. Safer, there. 

But where the hell was Branwen, then? A frown gathered over his face, uncertain, cloudy. She sounded so... bitter, in the poisonous, fresh-creosote sense. Even for her. There was something watery to it, though, the usual acid thinned out. Had she wanted in on this mission, whatever it was? Plain enough she had no bloody interest in passing on whatever else - oh, well, that was lovely. From Edgar. “Ah... thank you.” With a careful nod, Remus took the thermos, unscrewing the lid, carefully. Hot cocoa. Bones... no, he didn’t quite know what to make of the man. Such a sweet, strange soul. Bit unsettling; a little too perceptive, for Remus’ comfort. But cocoa was cocoa. And it smelled wonderful, really. He closed the thermos, though. Why did they have to be vital? Like it was some sort of heroic contest to see who could make the biggest, brightest difference in this... this war, of theirs. That, Remus couldn’t understand, had never understood. The fervor. 

Then again, perhaps he was just a coward. Entirely possible. 

“Well, it... seems Edgar’s supplied the drinks, so.” No, she hadn’t meant it, but. Remus honestly didn’t know how to pick his way through Branwen’s thorns. So he’d take her up on the joke, and see how that turned out. “I’ve got The Clash, Joy Division, the Smiths? And there’s this Australian band, they’re quite good...” Muggle music, all of it. How much of a pureblood was Yaxley, again? Remus pushed a tired smile, jostled to the front of the face-line instead of the nervous, staring cringe Branwen usually inspired. "If that passes muster, eh? And we could do a vital job of the breakfast dishes.”

“I suppose,” Artem agreed, largely because it seemed like the thing to do. He wasn’t actually sure if he felt that way. The Order had some members grand in idealism, but others seemed much more interested in maintaining the status quo or just isolating human blood status. But this probably wasn’t a good time for that kind of argument.

“That’s hardly unique to them, though, is it?” Artem pointed out. “Half anything and the world isn’t interested in letting you just exist.” It was why they’d felt so free when they’d first realized they could live among muggles. Maybe Artem hadn’t been the most successful wix to do it, but they’d appreciated the feeling of having eyes slide over them or only linger because people thought they looked nice, not because those eyes were sussing out impure heritage. They shut their mouth as they listened to Remus talk about the rest of it.

He sounded so sincere, so earnest about it. Perhaps he had a friend out in the woods who had to… No. Artem’s face suddenly opened as they put the pieces together. Their eyes flicked across his face, taking in his tired appearance, then down to that muggle book again with it’s werewolf content. Why would a wizard trying to learn all he could read a woefully incorrect book for fun? Artem wasn’t sure one would.

The bitter way he said halfbreed broke something loose in Artem, some last moment of certainty.  “As best we can,” Artem said, shifting his wording slightly as they looked at him meaningfully. Whatever this conversation was, it was not a confession. Artem had come to Remus because they’d heard he was a werewolf expert, not because they’d heard he was a werewolf. Did anyone in the Order know? Did anyone else know at all? He was passionate about secrets and lying, but this must be why. It made sense, in an odd roundabout way. Artem didn’t want to actually ask the question out loud, especially if he hadn’t told anyone. He might not be ready to talk about it. 

Morgana, how long as he been living with it? Maybe the reason he’d just popped back up was because he’d been dealing with it. That would be horrible. Artem couldn’t imagine everything being normal, your adult life in front of you, and then suddenly thinking you’d lost it because of this? He was right about one thing. Their situations weren’t the same, but Artem could respect the fight he’d had to take. It wasn’t Artem’s fight, wasn’t anything like it, but they could respect that it was a fight all his own, even if they thought he might be overthinking what most of his days were like.

Hardly. No, but... but. Of course they didn’t understand. Who could see this, werewolves, the curse of them, fully, from the outside? Nobody Remus had ever met. Did he complicate things, for himself? Hard to say, when he’d spent his whole life, it seemed, complicating things for others. His parents. The boys. A secret to keep, an affliction to accommodate, so many explanations to spin. The truth was, simply, that werewolfry wasn’t simple. And the questions it left you with, left everyone with, were the kind that had few clear answers, and soured the longer they sat. Made you think about things nobody should have to. 

Like, how much of you wanted to hurt people. How much of you wanted to kill, without cause, justification, or any of the bollocks most human horrors could conjure up. No psychological contortions, no twisting and turning until it looked necessary, or fun, or... or whatever it was, to people who could imagine doing such things. None of that. When werewolves mauled, and murdered, it was - it was senseless. For the sake of it. Maybe that didn’t make werewolves worse than your average wix, or muggle. But it certainly didn’t make them comprehensible. Not to Remus. Not to anyone. 

“That’s - you’re not wrong, it’s just...” he trailed away, and laughed, wryly, scratching that hand up the back of his head. Forcing it to his lap, to his other hand, still. Always had such a habit, for fidgeting. “There’s a great bloody deal about it that is. Unique, I mean. Enough that it seems awfully unfair, to anyone else you might... be comparing to. Unfair to them. Being half of most things doesn’t make you all a genuine, rabid monster, even one night of the month.” If that’s all it was. Plenty of argument around that notion, in particular. And with people like Fenrir around... Remus cringed, deeply, remembering that yellowy glare. With things like Fenrir around, he had to wonder.

Not now, though. His head jerked up, eyes too wide - a stare, slashed open and burning like a wound to the gut. We? We? We, us, halfbreeds, like us. They’d put it softly, but. Certainly. His chest clenched, tight as a punch. Would it be so terrible, for someone to know? Somebody who could say it that - that gently? 

Yes. Yes, it fucking would. 

“Listen to that, I... I’m going on, aren’t I?” Remus pushed up from the chesterfield, a sallow, sour, frantic taste in his mouth. “Really should be getting back to work, honestly.” Fumbling to fold up the blanket he’d been nested in, Remus stepped back, a little further than necessary. But not far enough, from whatever this had turned into. “I’m sorry, Artem, really...” Sorry he couldn’t do this. Couldn’t stomach that we. “Wish I could’ve been more - more help, to you.” Is that what us was supposed to be? Helpful? Shoulders stuck, tight, Remus cut a sharp line towards the library doors. Us, a comfort. Mark missed, there. By miles. 

Date: January 11, 1982 Location: The McKinnon Farm @silveranddittany​

James had come to check up on Remus. Not only because his friend had been rather worse for wear lately, but because he had been avoiding things as well. Not in the same way as Peter, who seemed to slink away quietly, but just… obviously. Remus’ absence was noticeable and, even though the Marauders didn’t often get chances to be together all four of them anymore, James needed to understand what was going on with his friends.

The transformations had seemed… different. James never pretended to be an expert in all things lycanthropy - but he also didn’t remember Remus ever having such problems in the past. Sure, he was roughed up a bit after the full moons at Hogwarts, but never like this. James knew all too well of cursed scars from werewolves (just look at his back), but he thought that it wasn’t like that when someone was already a wolf. Had things adapted? Had the undergrounds woods changed something for his friend?

So, for the second time that month, James went to the McKinnon Farm two days after the last full moon. While he couldn’t be completely sure that Remus would be there, it was his best bet. His friend lived here, after all. And the wolves in the woods had been his project since coming home. It took longer than expected to find Remus with the farm’s size, but James eventually located him at the edge of the woods.

It was odd, standing so close to a place that housed nearly a dozen werewolves. A bit creepy, in fact, though James would never admit it. He didn’t care about Remus being a werewolf - never had and never would - and he wasn’t really prejudiced… but… those people were a different sort of wolf, based on what James had heard. They hadn’t gone to school or gotten an education. They’d lived in woods their whole lives. It was just… different.

(She hadn’t asked him why, and he’d appreciated it. Why he went back, at all, if he was so certain it would all go to shit when the Order realized what was in their midst. Not if. When.)

Not yet, though. Not yet. He’d slipped back into the fold - was that, perhaps, a terrible turn of phrase for a werewolf to use? - and got right back to it, as quiet and easy to miss as ever. But, of course, James would notice. Remus pivoted, leaning into his cane, as Prongs called out through the afternoon mist. “Ey up, you,” he started, with an easier-than-usual smile. That twinged a bit, with the pat on the back. A gentle one, but. He just wasn’t well put-together, these days. 

Where? “Nowhere, I - here,” Remus waved a hand around, taking in the forest, the ranch. Those terrifying horses, with hooves the size of bloody dinner plates, and a hundred-odd stone to throw around. Only, that... was obvious. Probably not what James had meant. “And... home. With dad.” No need to get descriptive, was there? Nothing especially pleasant to say, about it. Nothing important. “Why? What’d I miss? Besides that whole rescue. Yaxley caught me up, on Bones’ behalf.” He added, quickly. “So. Anything else?” 

Sirius shrugged and refused to let himself be insulted by the idea that he’d only come help through punishment. It was exactly his typical scene, but people couldn’t even accuse him of trying to look good. Who was around to find out? If the answer was only Remus, it clearly gained him nothing in the eyes of the Order, but Sirius was here more because it felt like a good thing to do than anything else. Hmm, perhaps this was growing up.

“Just wanting to help out.” Sirius bit his lip as Remus slumped forward. While he’d been curious and still was, he was suddenly second-guessing things stupendously. Still, this close he could see the deep shadows under Remus’ eyes, the slight bruising quality to his skin. He looked exhausted, and Sirius wondered what all he was doing to get through the moons these days. He kept insisting he had things under control, but Sirius was starting to doubt that more than he had before.

Carefully he sat down next to Remus, letting himself sink into the couch cushion at look up at Remus’ perch on the arm. “We don’t have to,” he said, even as he knew it wasn’t true. They’d have to do at least a little peck to get out of this. “We could always wait and see if someone taking down the plant helps?” That sounded like a long and ridiculous process, and Sirius didn’t really want to involve someone else. Still, Remus didn’t seem pleased to be here with Sirius, so it wasn’t fair to revel in things too much. “Or we could just get it over with. Never need to mention it again.”

He flushed quite suddenly. That sounded a bit like a guilting, and Sirius hadn’t intended it to at all. It wasn’t like he’d ever asked Remus about that stupid seventh year kiss. No, Sirius had chalked it up to being drunk and moved on. Like normal friends did.

Remus hadn’t meant it like that. Like Sirius wasn’t helpful. Merlin knew he’d been plenty of help. As a friend. 

He also hadn’t. On one extremely memorable, quite literally scarring occasion. But Remus didn’t want to think about that, at the moment. Or ever. 

“You look nackered, is all. Fit as ever, obviously, just - yeah.” He added, quick about it. Perhaps too quick. “Went on the lash, did you?” Hadn’t seen much of Sirius, the night before; hadn’t seen much of anyone, before he’d slunk back to his room. Worn out, between the moon and... the grief, the strange, cramped, quiet grief of mourning alone in a crowd of people out to celebrate. But. Sirius - he’d gone and got plastered over Christmas, hadn’t he? Relatable, that. Still, terrible thing, to be up early after a rough night. Remus could commiserate, certainly. 

He swiveled ‘round as Sirius took the couch, slowly. Because he hurt. And because he had to figure out what to do, with this. This situation, here. They didn’t have to? Like hell, they didn’t. That wasn’t how these things worked. But - Sirius was well aware. So... so what had that been, anyway? A didn’t have to, or a didn’t want to? He’d been kissable enough last time pissed-Padfoot had been in the mood. Maybe that wasn’t the case, when Sirius was halfway sober. Maybe he didn’t even remember all that, at graduation. Years ago, now. Maybe - 

Maybe he was overthinking a stupid prank that somebody was certainly owed a dread amount of payback for. Ruffling his over-long hair back, Remus shook his head, breezy as he could be. Given the circumstances. “No, let’s... not get it over with, right, we can - we’ll do it in our own time...” he stumbled away from that subject, didn’t he? Double time. Towards a laugh, vaguely. “I mean, otherwise, we might be waiting for ages.” Clearing his throat, he turned properly, his better leg tucked up on the couch-end, beckoning Sirius up to meet him. “Come on. As for mentioning it, well. Sure James would have a fit, if he heard...” That Sirius was his first kiss, nevermind his second, too. Not even Sirius knew. Which was for the best, really. Remus brushed a hand back through his hair, more blastedly self-conscious by the second. “Don’t think he needs anything else to get worked up about, at the moment, does he? Our little secret, then.” That’s all. Just a teeny, tiny secret. Just a kiss. For the sake of some triple-hexed plant.

Location: McKinnon Farm, court Time: 10th of January, rather early in the morning Status: Closed, for @silveranddittany​

Usually Bran would’ve tried to argue her way out of this job, or at least accepted it solely with a visible, palpable air of disgruntledness. Today she was just … tired. It wasn’t the first time happened. Being called to the Estate and ordered out on a job. Being asked to put her medicine training into use by brewing people tea. Being this tired…

More failures after stupid arguments after failures after illness. This was how she’d recapitulate the last three months she had had. There was not a single thing gone right. No cause for joy or celebration or even pride. The Order decided on yet another mission? Sure, whatever. The Order refused to listen to the points she had to make and how they could actually begin harming the other side? What else was new? The Order sent her an owl at six in the morning, ordering her around to run after one of those whiny children that for some reason wanted to be in the Order but had no willpower whatsoever? All right!

Nothing, as it turned out. He’d practically been carried away, told to rest, in no uncertain terms. With a lot of concerned, crinkled up frowns involved. But there was still so much to do, and - well, nobody else was going to head down to check on the pack, were they? No. That, very clearly, was his job. So off he’d gone, slowly, levitating a bit of breakfast along. They’d been well; tired, of course. Seemed like they roamed far, over the full moon. Along the valley-length of the forest, away from those great bloody horses. Remus had seen the traces, as he circled to upkeep the charms: tufts of greyish fur, terrible paw-prints, deep in the loamy earth. No sign that they’d broken out into the hills, yet. Good. Very good. 

They’d seemed worried, too. Which had, somehow, been worse. 

But he’d finished up in the trees and waved them off, smiling. Making excuses. Not thinking about how much easier it had been, when he was running wild like they did. Not, you know, psychologically, at all. Remus had broken apart terrified, each full moon with the packs. And come to, in the morning, just the same - afraid of what he might find, what he might’ve done. But bodily. He hadn’t woken clawed and bitten, every wound torn further as he changed back. Bruised and aching from hours of fighting to get out, with all the frenzy of a beast in a snare. His throat tattered from howling. Perhaps he didn’t need the cane, today, but... he had to favor an arm, and his chest was held together by Lyall’s quick spellwork and a few poultices. And what his mam would’ve called stick-to-itiveness. Only, Remus wasn’t entirely sure what he was sticking to. Besides the need to be - useful, bloody hell, why couldn’t he leave that alone? That jittery talk, with Ainsley, was still ringing in his ears. Hadn’t heard any more about it, since; but another moon had passed, with no pox to be seen, and then there’d been that mess at the Notts’, and... thankfully, more important things had come along. Than criminally under-studied curses. 

A snap, right close. Remus lurched, like a greyhound at the gate, startling to see Yaxley, of all people, reaching into his path. Her eyes, on the paddocks. Or something, past there. Pretty boy? With half his face bruising to purple? Half of most of him, really. Remus swayed, watching her. Wary. After all, last time they’d been this close... she’d pulled a wand on him. The hell was she playing at? “Ah, it’ll be reight,” he shrugged, stiffly, biting on a twinge that went squeezing through his shoulder. “What’s that? A message from who, now?”