Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

December 1983

Remus hurries along Diagon Alley as the rain begins in earnest. A flash of his wand has an Impermeable spell cast over him in the absence of an umbrella.

His head down, he almost barrels straight into a figure coming out of Flourish and Blotts. He begins to splutter an apology, to step past them, but freezes as he belatedly recognises the stern visage of his former Transfiguration Professor, one of the few people in Britain with whom he still corresponds.

“Professor McGonagall!” Remus stutters. “I’m so sorry!”

She arches an eyebrow. “I’m fairly certain you’ve been calling me Minerva for years, Remus, or should I return to calling you Mister Lupin?” Her Scottish brogue rolls through the words in a familiar way which comforts the wolf within him.

“Minerva, it is,” Remus corrects himself, flustered, and trying not to dwell on the memory of her granting permission since she had done so at an Order of the Phoenix meeting. “My apologies, habit.”

Her blue eyes rake over him briefly. “Well, you may make up for your lapse by accompanying me to tea at The Teacup so we may catch-up properly and out of this rain.”

“I couldn’t possibly…” Remus begins self-consciously.

“Do you have somewhere else to be?” asks Minerva directly, with an arched eyebrow.

Remus takes a breath. “I was just doing some last minute Christmas shopping,” he admits. “But I couldn’t possibly intrude on your day.”

“Nonsense, I’m also Christmas shopping and this will be a welcome diversion,” Minerva states briskly. Her eyes hold his. “Unless I would be intruding on your day?”

“Of course not,” Remus allows, flustered again. He offers his arm, aware of his bedraggled look. His old woollen overcoat has seen better days.

Minerva seems unphased as she takes his arm. They set off down the Alley.

The Teacup is not far from the bookstore, the thin door tucked in-between two other storefronts. Remus opens the door for Minerva who steps confidently inside.

She makes her way through the busy teashop, up the stairs to the second floor where the layout is less a dining room and more a comfy parlour with cosy seating arrangements spread across the floor.

Remus wistfully looks towards the fireplace with its crackling fire, but the sofas around it are occupied by a family of six.

Minerva settles them instead by a window at the front, rain cascading down the outside of the glass in a multitude of droplets.

Remus accepts the menu she hands him and chooses the least expensive item on it, a simple pot of tea for one, tapping it with his wand.

“I was sorry to hear about your mother’s illness in your last letter,” Minerva says as she taps her own selections and sets the menu down. “How is she?”

Remus sighs and runs a hand through his scraggly brown hair. “She’s back at home and Dad says the potions have made a huge difference to her memory blips.”

“Dementia is not an easy illness for the family,” Minerva comments quietly. “My Uncle Kenny unfortunately suffered with it in the final years.” She regards him without pity though. “Are you staying in England?”

Remus shook his head. “I’ll be heading back to Marseilles after the holidays. I own a flat in the same district as my grandparents there. I’m still employed as a research assistant to a Professor at the University.”

Minerva nods.

There is no need for them to say more. Remus knows Minerva understands the restrictions against werewolves in England prohibit them owning property or having gainful employment. There had been a ruling only the year before which had barred them from owning a Gringotts vault. Luckily Remus had already moved his to France.

Maybe his apartment is small and squished in the middle of a tall block and maybe his work is not that inspiring or interesting, but they are his.

“I offered to stay,” Remus says suddenly, wanting Minerva to know that he wasn’t a terrible son. “Dad says he’ll be fine. He thinks it’s probably for the best. She’s already started to forget things.” Like Remus being a werewolf.

“Your father is probably the best judge of the situation,” Minerva says kindly.  

Their tea arrives along with a stand of scones, two pots of jam and clotted cream, and accompanying cutlery and crockery.

Minerva offers him a plate and gives him a look which dares him to argue with her. He accepts the plate.

They set about the tea.

Remus hungrily devours his scone with relish. It is the nicest thing he’s eaten all week since the majority of it has been spent at Saint Mungo’s visiting with his mother.   

“I was sorry to hear I missed you the other day at Hogwarts,” Minerva says as she sips her tea and sets it aside to finish her scone.

Remus grimaces. “I assume you know why Professor Dumbledore asked me to visit.”

Resentment flares in his chest again that the Headmaster had only contacted him because of Sirius. His own return to England had apparently coincided with Sirius returning himself to sit a Mastery of Transfiguration exam. Dumbledore had thought they’d planned it that way; that they were still in touch. He hadn’t even known.

Remus had stupidly thought Dumbledore’s invitation was…well, it did not matter what he had hoped, Remus allows quietly. Harry is being raised safely and away from the wizarding world. Dumbledore has assured of him that at least. If Remus mourns the fact that he cannot visit or look in on the little boy…

He looks up and sees Minerva looking at him thoughtfully over her teacup. He flushes bright red as he realises that he’d spoken quite rudely.

“I apologise…” he begins.

“No need,” Minerva holds up a hand. “Albus told me that he’d specifically invited you for tea to glean information on Sirius Black.”

“I’m afraid he was disappointed,” Remus states gruffly. “I haven’t spoken to Sirius since…” he trails away as he realises that he hadn’t even spoken to Sirius at the funeral of their friends. He’d turned away when Sirius had tried to approach him. He hadn’t responded to any of the letters Sirius had initially sent and he hasn’t seen one for months. He shakes himself even as he stares down at his empty plate. “Let’s just say it’s been a long while.”

“Of that I am very aware,” Minerva says dryly.

Remus’ eyes snap up.

Minerva arches an eyebrow. “If Albus had actually taken the time to examine Sirius’ paperwork for his Mastery, he would have realised that I was his sponsor.”

Remus blinks. “You…”

“You are not the only former Gryffindor student with whom I’ve remained in contact, Remus,” Minerva says almost gently.

Remus flushes. “Of course not, I just…” he trails away because there is no unkind way to say that he’d never thought she would want to stay in touch with someone like Sirius. He took a breath. “I guess he told you of our estrangement.”

“You forget that I was at the funeral, Remus,” Minerva says briskly and uncompromisingly. “I saw your refusal to speak with him then and he confirmed you were not part of his life the first time I saw him after that, I drew my own conclusions.”

Remus tries not to feel that his shift of position is squirming under her stern gaze. He fails. “You don’t approve.”

“It’s not for me to approve or disapprove,” Minerva replies, picking up her napkin to wipe her fingers clean delicately. “You are both grown men.”

Remus nods.

“Is it surprising to me that the close friendship you once enjoyed fell to the wayside in the aftermath of the war?” Minerva shakes her head. “The war was difficult and losing James and Lily…Peter’s betrayal? I can guess at the why, although I am simply dismayed for both of your sakes that it did so.”   

Remus sighs and rubs his brow. “It wasn’t entirely a conscious decision.”

His wolf had felt betrayed and Moony wasn’t inclined to forgive a packmate who had already proven himself unreliable (even if Moony and Remus know the truth of Sirius taunting Severus about the Willow was a Severus plot to kill them and implicate Sirius). Remus’ own human heart had been hurt enough to follow the wolf’s shunning of one of his closest friends.

“He thought I was the traitor.”

The words escape him before he can prevent himself from speaking.

“Spying creates distrust, Remus. Nobody knew until afterwards that you were spending all of your time with the packs on the Continent to try and find out information at Albus’ directive,” Minerva points out.  

Remus frowns. That wasn’t…

“The Headmaster said he would tell them,” Remus says slowly, forming the words in his head out loud. “I tried to tell him that my sudden move to Europe would be concerning to them, and he said…”

He’d assured him that he would allay their concerns, Remus realises. He lets his head drop into his hands briefly before he plucks up the courage to look over to Minerva.

“I’m an idiot,” Remus declares. “I thought he would tell them, but he didn’t, did he?”

Her expression holds more understanding than he would like, but there is no pity which he appreciates.

“Albus told me he believed that it was safer for you if everyone believed that you had truly defected,” Minerva confirms. “To be fair, he had realised that there was likely a spy in the Order. His intent was to protect you.”

“He thought it was Sirius,” Remus recounts. He remembers that the leader of the Order had asked pointed questions about Sirius in the same meeting where he’d asked Remus to go to the packs – questions which had made it much easier for Remus to wonder about Sirius.

Remus rubs his brow. The wolf is stirring under his skin, stung by a new sense of betrayal and the stirrings of guilt. Had Albus set out to destroy his friendship with Sirius, he wonders, or had it just been the inevitable fallout of Albus trying to keep Remus safe and his bias against Sirius?

“If they’d trusted me, I would have been the Secret Keeper,” Remus says quietly.

“Yes,” Minerva agrees, “James made it clear he would have chosen you over Peter if you’d been in England.”

Remus stares at her in confusion, not understanding how she could possibly know that.

“Sirius turned over a copy of the memory of his discussion with James to clear himself from suspicion after Albus wanted him arrested along with Peter,” Minerva explains.

Remus blinks back his shock.

“Why does he hate Sirius?” Remus feels his cheeks heat as he realises that he’s spoken the question out loud.

Minerva sighs and taps the teapots with her wand to have them refilled. She pours them each another cup. “Sirius’ great-grandfather was one of the Aurors who arrested Albus’ father. His distrust in the Blacks is immense because of that childhood trauma. Unfortunately, Sirius resembles his great-grandfather very much.” She gestures. “Add in that the Blacks have always followed a traditional political stance; that they are known in society for their knowledge and expertise in the practice of Dark Arts…” she sighs again. “I fear Albus has always blindly seen them as the opposition to his own views despite evidence to the contrary, and unfortunately, the likes of Cygnus and Walburga Black serve to prove his point rather than disprove it.”

Remus picks up his tea and sips it. He has never considered that Albus’ own history might have coloured the older wizard’s views. It was foolish, Remus remonstrates with himself. His studies have shown him that an author’s personal bias can change the narrative of what starts out as factual evidence entirely at times.

“Unfortunately, Sirius’ own behaviour during your schoolyears and in the early part of the war rather stuck Albus into a mindset that while Sirius might not hold the same views as his family, he held the same traits and temper,” Minerva says quietly. “I suspect that Albus will always view Sirius with suspicion.”

Remus takes another sip of his tea. Guilt churns in his gut and makes his regret the scone. “How is Sirius?”

Minerva looks over at him sharply. “He is rebuilding his life.”

The statement is like a blow. He loses his breath. The memory of Sirius’ grief-stricken face at the funeral flickers to the forefront of his mind. Sirius’ silver eyes had held nothing but devastation in them. Which, Remus thinks, is entirely understandable. Sirius had loved James, Lily, and little Harry.

“Is Sirius…is he…” Remus struggles to articulate the question he wants to ask; he’s not really sure what he wants to ask.

Minerva seems to take pity on him. “He’s still grieving, Remus, but he is moving forward. He has no choice.”

There’s a hint of rich amusement in her final words which makes no sense to Remus, so much so that he thinks he has misheard.

She turns the topic back to Remus and his work. Remus lets her. She’s clearly enforcing a boundary and will not tell him more about Sirius.

Like where he is.

Who he has in his life with everyone who Sirius had considered family gone.

Why Minerva sponsored him to get his Mastery when Sirius had always eschewed it before.

Their tea concludes and Remus walks Minerva to her next store before heading back to the bookstore himself.

It is late when he gets back to his childhood home. He heads up to his room to store the gifts he’d bought.

He pauses at the mantelpiece where his treasured photo of James, Lily, and baby Harry is situated. His heart clenches tightly in his chest as Photo James winks at the camera before turning back to his smiling wife, Harry’s little arms waving up at them.

He goes to the trunk at the bottom of his bed and opens it, delving into the depths to bring out another photo.

Four schoolboys grin back at him from the lawn outside of Potter Hall. Young and stupid, Remus thinks fondly at their young faces. His amber eyes alight on Sirius.

It had been taken the summer Sirius had run away from his family. There’s still a faint hint of the bruise and swelling across Sirius’ brow if someone knows where to look.

Remus frowns.

Moony stirs again under his skin as the guilt he’d felt at tea rises back up.

Sirius had been an abused child and a reckless teen, but he had loved James as a brother, and he had adored Harry. He knows Padfoot had revelled in the easy affection of their brotherhood, of their small family of choice.

He puts the photo down and hesitantly picks up a parchment.

It is the last letter Sirius had sent him in early August. He had taken it from the owl, seen the glimpse of Sirius’ handwriting on the name scrawled on the outside, and tossed it into his trunk. He hadn’t bothered to read it.

Remus opens it up and finds a blank parchment. He sighs and briefly closes his eyes. He reopens them, blinking away the sting of tears. “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”

The words unravel in front of him.

“Dear Moony,

Yesterday was Harry’s birthday.

Three years old.

I try to be cheerful that Harry is growing up, but I can’t help but mourn for how much of his life James and Lily are missing.

I miss you, Moony.

Padfoot.”

Inside his mind, Moony howls for his lost packmate.

Remus’ fingertips skim the words. He sighs heavily. “Mischief managed.”

The words disappear.

His father calls him to dinner and Remus quickly packs the parchment away.   

Sirius may not want to hear from him after so many months of silence, but Remus will write to him and wish him a good Christmas. He’ll write to him after dinner.

He picks up the photo, his amber eyes affixed to the young Sirius.

“I’m sorry, Padfoot. I won’t leave you alone anymore,” Remus promises.

His heart is lighter as he leaves the room.

fin.

Next story: A Promise to do Better

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