#verse004

the worn suitcase had stayed untouched for months. all of its contents were still neatly packed together, various supplies of a now bare classroom shrunk inside. peeling gold letters on its side read REMUS J. LUPIN ; a gift. the man it belonged to wasn’t the type to gild his name onto his belongings. it was no name to wear proudly, now that word of what he really was spread. once, though, three people cared enough for the odd name and the one called by it to have the casket of his career as a professor made. their voices lived in his head still, memory constructing commentary and wisecracks in their speech. james’ voice was the strongest, particularly in the presence of his son. peter’s used to be just as loud before his name appeared on the map and everything he knew warped. the third, he’d tried to silence for twelve years before that fateful night three moonlit transformations ago. in his time at the castle and travelling to and fro within the very train compartment the three voices first introduced themselves, they were deafening.

all things considered, his current accommodations were an improvement: squatting in a derelict cottage, far enough into the woods to hide any signs of magic from the distant village. as accessibility grew scarce with his disgrace, his vault seldom contained enough to keep his supply of wolfsbane potion satisfactory. the gold which headmaster dumbledore provided for his lame duck professorship would last for a while, but this spot would do for the time. his ear was still to the ground for employers of his species, so he hadn’t settled on a place to live yet, even if he could have afforded it. moreover, this was the place an unfamiliar owl guided him to with a note bearing a paw print. it was gripped in his fingers, twisting the parchment sleeplessly.

the dawn was coming as the prematurely greying man made tea, watching the light fade and filter in the forest’s canopy. such things were calming for remus on most occasions. they seemed not to deliver today, though. the last he’d seen the note writer, he’d lost control and attacked. he remembered nothing between the pain of changing and waking to the headmaster, explaining how the potter boy had done the impossible. never, though, would he forget laying eyes on his name over a dot on the map- peter’s too, in a moment that made remus thoroughly doubt his sanity. he’d also never forget laying eyes on the sliver of the man he knew, created by foul creatures who dared mock harry with lily and james’ dying cries. realising he’d been mistaken about sirius for so many years turned him to dust. the thought of peter, scurrying to his other old friends, filled him with sickening rage; but remus found himself much more occupied in the revelation of sirius’ innocence. he remembered feeling hurt by the rampant mistrust during the war. it had to be incomparable to being vilified by wizard and muggle society alike. this was the thought he dwelled in until broken by a familiar BARK. remus stepped out onto the cottage’s broken stoop. he froze at the sight of the shaggy black dog. remus smiled gently.