But take your time, think a lot
Why, think of everything you've got
For you will still be here tomorrow
But your dreams may not
- Cat Stevens, "Father and Son"
iv. Remus
"Tell me about these so-called friends of yours."
Remus glanced around the home - hovel, really, because it wasn't much more than that - before turning his attention back to the woman who had spoken. She looked old in years - her hair was a mass of corkscrew red curls streaked with silver and gray, and her pale skin was lined with wrinkles - but there was a different oldness about her as well, one related to the hardships, not the years, that she had endured. Her eyes had circles as dark as bruises underneath them, and she stared at him warily.
"They're not so-called," Remus said as he took the seat opposite his host. "They really are my friends. They know what I am and they still accept me."
"For now. Give it time, Mr. Lupin." She smiled faintly, bitterly. "I had friends once, too. Just give it time."
"Mrs. Rubrum," Remus said. "Do you really think Voldemort can offer you anything you actually want?"
Cana Rubrum flinched slightly at Voldemort's name and averted her gaze for a moment.
Then she said, "And can you offer me anything I actually want?"
Moody had set up this meeting. Voldemort was recruiting werewolves, capitalizing on the discrimination and prejudice that ran rampant in England. He was clearly hoping to turn their anger and impotent fury into something dangerous, something he could use, and Moody and Dumbledore were both worried he would succeed. It was clear that they needed to reach out to the werewolves, to offer them alternatives to Voldemort's promises.
And yet…
When Moody had approached Remus with this assignment, he had accepted it without question, but now that he was actually here, he had no idea what to say.
Mrs. Rubrum gave a chilly smile in response to his silence and said, "Do you remember being bitten?"
"Not really," Remus admitted slowly, curious as to why she was asking. No one ever asked about the bite - no one except James, Sirius, and Peter... and later Lily. "I was young, just a child. I don't… I remember pain. And fear. And… the smell of blood."
"I was thirty-four when I was bitten," the old woman said with a heaviness in her words. "It seems a lifetime ago, but I remember." She stared down at her hands folded in her lap. Her joints were swollen and her skin was mottled with brown age spots.
Again, Remus didn't know what to say.
But it did not appear that he was required to say anything, because Mrs. Rubrum continued, "The same werewolf that turned me killed my husband. I woke up in St. Mungo's covered in bandages, and I could see the truth in every Healers' gaze. I could tell by the way they looked away from me so quickly, the way they pulled back when I reached for them… That was when I knew that my life was over."
"I'm sorry," Remus murmured, though he was unsure if he was expressing regret for her husband's death or her own suffering.
"Yes," she answered bitterly. "Sorry. Everyone was always sorry." She looked up at him, catching him in the intensity of her gaze. "Both my parents were purebloods - or close enough to it that no one could tell the difference. My husband was a half-blood, but respectable enough. And all of them - my parents and my in-laws - claimed that they did not care about blood purity. That it was all nonsense, that it didn't matter, that Muggles and Muggleborns weren't any less worthy of our respect. They were so noble, so righteous… and then I turned."
She rose unsteadily to her feet, gripping her chair for support, and continued in a voice heavily laden with derision and old pain, "They were sorry for what had happened to me, for my suffering. But they could barely stand to stay in the same room with me. I saw the fear on their faces when they looked at me. My parents starting warding their bedroom against me even when it wasn't the full moon. Just to be safe, they said. Just as a precaution." Her voice twisted even further, dripping with sarcasm. "But not because they didn't love me, not because I meant less to them." She shook her head and laughed, a bitter sound that made Remus instinctively flinch. "And they were always so very sorry."
Remus knew there was no appropriate response to her words.
His parents loved him - he had never once doubted that. They loved him, but his lycanthropy took its toll on their relationship. His mother had always tried to do what was best for him growing up, and some lessons had been painful to learn. But they had been equally painful for her, and he knew the burden his condition placed on her shoulders. And sometimes, when she thought he was looking, he'd seen the resentment flash through her eyes.
This was not the life she had expected. This was not the life she had planned. Even if she never blamed him for it, it was still his lycanthropy that had slowly ruined her life.
She never said the words aloud, but the sentiment was there, in the tense silence and growing distance between them.
And nothing anyone said would ever make Remus feel better about that.
After a moment of silence, Mrs. Rubrum sighed and said, "My friends, too, started drifting away. They were there for me, in the beginning. But then… some, I think, worried that I might attack their families, their children. Others felt a friendship with a werewolf was too much of a liability. It took only a year or two and then they were gone, and I was alone." She gave him a searching look. "Yours will do the same."
"They won't," Remus said firmly. "They think prejudice against werewolves is wrong. That's part of the reason they're fighting Voldemort."
"Because they think You Know Who is the only one who ever discriminated against part-humans?" she scoffed.
"No… but if he keeps his power, he certainly isn't going to give us any."
"No one is going to give us power, Mr. Lupin." She limped away from him, towards the grimy window that looked out over the smog filled city air. "Your friends think they can change the world. But tell me, have they ever experienced prejudice themselves? Do they know what it is like to be called a monster?"
"One of my friends was disowned by his family because he refused to accept their pureblood ideology," Remus said stoutly. "I think he has proven that he is committed to this fight."
"I see. So he became an outcast because of this? He had no friends, no job, no money, no support…?"
Remus didn't answer. Sirius was hardly an outcast. He'd been popular at Hogwarts, and though his own family had disowned him, he had ended up simply trading them in for the Potters. He had his uncle's money, the constant support of James' family, and the friendship of many Gryffindors and even some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.
Which was not to imply that breaking all ties with his family had been easy. Even though Sirius laughed and declared that he was better off without them, Remus knew that their treatment of him still hurt.
"Do your friends know what it is like to be overlooked, forgotten, ignored?" Mrs. Rubrum turned back from the window and looked at him. "Overshadowed?"
Everything always seemed to come easily to James and Sirius. But Peter…
Well.
Mrs. Rubrum gave him a weary smile and hobbled back towards her chair. "I am tired, Mr. Lupin. I have no intention of joining You Know Who's ranks. I take no joy in murder or in causing pain. But I am tired. You tell me to fight, and I have to ask you: why bother? I can never be as good as anyone else."
Remus carefully considered all his possible answers, but then found himself saying, "A friend of mine… he isn't really in the same… league… as my other friends. Not with looks, not with smarts, not with popularity. These things don't come easily to him, and he doesn't usually succeed at obtaining them. But even if he never reaches those goals, he still never stops fighting for them. He doesn't take the easy way out."
Mrs. Rubrum nodded. "And tell me, what exactly is it that I would be fighting for? Can you offer me my life back? Can you take away the decades of loneliness and pain? Can you even promise me a future filled with equal rights and tolerance for our kind?" When Remus said nothing, she sank into her chair once more and asked, "Why should I fight when I can't possibly hope to gain anything from it?" She shook her head. "Your friend is a better person than I am, Mr. Lupin. Or perhaps he simply isn't tired enough yet."
"Shut up!"
It all happened so fast. One moment they were standing around the table talking, and the next moment Sirius was lunging forward and punching Edgar Bones in the face. The older man doubled over and clutched at his nose, and then Sirius was punching him again and again.
Moody lunged forward and physically dragged Sirius off of Bones. "Enough, Black!" the Auror growled. "Stop it."
"Bloody prat deserved it," Sirius hissed, wrenching himself free of Moody's grip. He turned towards Remus, and the werewolf met his gaze tiredly. He could see how furious Sirius was, but he just didn't know what to do about it.
It wasn't like these accusations were entirely baseless.
"Padfoot…" he started.
Sirius shook his head. "Don't," he said shortly, tersely. "Just don't." He paused for a moment, breathing heavily, before he asked, "How can you just sit there and let him say something like that?"
Bones rose unsteadily back to his feet, his fingers pressed against his nose to slow the flow of blood. He glared unapologetically at Sirius and Remus, his expression sour. "All I said, Black," he snarled, "was that You Know Who had made a point of recruiting werewolves."
"All you said?" Sirius repeated. "And it just so happened that you brought that up in a conversation about spies in the Order? And it was a coincidence that you happened to be looking right at Remus when you said it?"
"That is enough," Moody interrupted again, and this time he drew his wand. But he didn't really need that extra threat - the anger in his voice was enough to quell the argument. No one wanted to go up against Moody when he was wearing that particular expression and talking with that particular tone.
Bones slunk backwards. "Fine," he muttered. "If you're not interested in what I have to say…"
"Go get yourself cleaned up and go home," Moody said firmly, and Bones did not argue. Instead, he spun around and stalked from the room.
Remus watched him go in silence, then looked over at Sirius.
"And you, Black," Moody was growling furiously, "what in Merlin's name did you think you were doing?"
"Standing up for a friend," Sirius shot back. Although Remus was fairly certain that Sirius wouldn't go after Bones again under Moody's watchful eye, that didn't mean he was going to apologize for his actions.
"I don't tolerate fighting within the Order," Moody said.
Sirius rolled his eyes. "And I don't tolerate people accusing my friends of being a traitor!" he retorted.
"Sirius, please just let it go," Remus said.
"Let it go?" Sirius repeated, and Remus shrank back slightly at Sirius' furious glare. "How can I? Someone has to stand up for you since you clearly won't do it for yourself!"
"I can fight this battle myself," Remus replied quietly.
"Fight it?" Sirius practically spat out the words, and his tone was downright mocking. "You're not doing a bloody thing! How is standing there letting some tosser like Bones heap abuse on you fighting the battle?"
"All he said was that Voldemort was recruiting werewolves, and we know that is true," Remus defended himself. It was a weak defense - pathetic, really - because Bones had clearly meant his comment to be more than just a statement of fact. He had been accusing Remus of betraying them, and everyone knew it.
Sirius shook his head in disbelief and stormed out of the room.
Remus closed his eyes, wishing this entire nightmare could just be over. But the war was very real, and so was his lycanthropy, this wasn't something that would end simply by him waking up.
"You'd better get Black under control, Lupin," he heard Moody say gruffly, and then he felt the old Auror pat him on the shoulder. "Or I'll chuck him out."
Remus started, snapping open his eyes, and swiveled his head to look at Moody in shock. "You'd kick him out of the Order?" he demanded incredulously. He was surprised… and angry. Sirius was rash, yes, and sometimes reckless, but he was willing to fight the rising darkness and chaos when so few others were. They couldn't afford to lose someone like that.
And for what? Defending his friend against an implied accusation? Edgar Bones was a bitter, prejudiced man, and he had made his feelings about werewolves clear long ago - without ever giving Remus a chance.
Moody couldn't possibly believe Bones' accusations… could he?
Moody seemed to be able to sense all of this churning in Remus' mind, because he said sharply, "And I'll kick Bones out as well, if I have to. But I won't tolerate infighting."
"He was defending me. Bones' accusations were completely unfounded," Remus said angrily, even though only moments earlier he had been the one telling Sirius to let it go.
Moody's hard expression did not soften in the slightest. "And I'll talk to Bones about that," he said gruffly. There was a note of warning in his voice as he added, "But Lupin, I can only keep him and the others from saying things in the meeting. I can't keep people from talking outside. So you'd better tell Black he needs to learn to use words instead of fists."
The unfairness of it all was galling. Yes, Remus knew that he would always have to deal with people's suspicions and disgust. He was a werewolf, and nothing would ever change that. But he and Bones were on the same side of this battle, so was it really that unreasonable to expect a little trust from a supposed ally?
Was it really unreasonable to expect some support from Moody?
But he said none of that. What would be the point? Moody had made up his mind already, and it was clear from the steely glint in his eye that he was not going to change his opinion on the matter.
"You tell Black… he either gets his temper under control, or he leaves," Moody said.
Predictably, the conversation did not go well.
Remus started with, "Padfoot, I do appreciate that you want to stand up for me, but you need to stop hitting people who disagree with you," and Sirius put his fist through the wall.
"You look horrible," Cynthia announced as she sank down next to Remus on the stiff chair in the hallway at St. Mungo's.
'Thank you, Cynthia," Remus replied, sarcasm lightly lining his words.
Marlene had been injured during a surprise attack in Diagon Alley. She had insisted that she was fine, that it was only a broken arm and a few bruises and she could take care of herself, but Dumbledore didn't want her left alone, and Remus had volunteered to wait for the Healers to finish with her and then escort her home.
"You do, though," Cynthia said.
"Not all of us can look as perfectly put-together as you always do," Remus countered.
Cynthia smiled brilliantly, flashing even white teeth. Even in the middle of a war that made her work at St. Mungo's absolutely hectic, she still found the time to style her hair so that not a single strand was out of place, to brush eye shadow over her lids and a hint of color on her cheeks, to pick out stylishly cut robes accentuated with blue lining to match her eyes.
But the smile faded as she studied him. "Have you been sleeping?" she pressed.
"I didn't get much sleep last night," Remus admitted, knowing it would be pointless to pretend that everything was fine. She could see the dark circles under his eyes and the paleness of his skin. And Marlene was in the hospital, and Dumbledore believed that she had been deliberately targeted during the attack, probably because of her association with the Order.
But he didn't want to say all that aloud, and he did not want to add that he was losing sleep over his argument with Sirius and Cana Rubrum's words.
So he opted instead for, "Lily's baby started kicking, and James showed up at three in the morning to tell me about it."
Cynthia blinked. "Once an idiot, always an idiot," she muttered under her breath, but she was grinning again.
"Yes, yes he is," Remus agreed. "But he's excited. Last week he sent me a list of things he expects from me once the baby is born." Remus smiled fondly at the memory and said, "In case you're wondering, the first thing on the list was not to let my boring book-reading habits rub off on the child."
"With Lily as the mother… good luck keeping that kid away from books," Cynthia replied. She hesitated for a moment, then said softly, "Marlene told me that you and Sirius got into an argument."
Remus flattened his lips into a thin line and looked away. He knew that the three girls - Lily, Marlene, and Cynthia - were close and he knew that they talked. Despite Cynthia's exclusion from the Order, Marlene and Lily would still share with her absolutely everything they could, and that apparently included his argument with Sirius.
"It's nothing," he said hollowly. It wasn't the first argument he'd had with Sirius, and it wouldn't be the last. They'd argued all the time at Hogwarts, but the stakes were higher now and the arguments hurt more.
Cynthia raised an eyebrow. "Of course," she said, but didn't sound convinced.
Remus changed the subject, "How is Marlene?" And he jerked his head towards the door behind them.
"Almost ready to go," Cynthia replied. "She says to tell you that the break was worse than expected and they had to actually regrow some of the bone, so she's sorry you had to wait. But she'll be out soon."
"There's really no rush," Remus muttered, rolling his eyes. "I can wait for as long as she needs."
Cynthia nodded, a look of concern passing through her eyes as she glanced back towards the door to Marlene's hospital room. Everything was fine - Remus knew that Cynthia would not lie to him about that, even if Marlene begged her to, but she was still upset that her friend had been hurt. Remus wondered if she worried this much about all her patients, or just the ones that she knew.
Cynthia sighed and cleared her throat, then turned back to Remus and said in a low voice, "There was an attack outside of Edinburgh. My uncle Isaac said one of his competitors shops was destroyed."
Remus nodded. "Yesterday," he agreed uneasily. "They targeted the stores of wealthy Muggleborns. I heard there was a lot of property damage, but no one died." It was difficult to have these conversations, to tread the thin line between what he could say to her and what would be considered inside information from the Order.
"Yes, that's what Isaac said. No deaths… I guess they got lucky."
Voldemort and his Death Eaters had mostly carried out brutal actions so far. The attacks - targeted assassinations or larger chaotic rampages - were bloody and vicious and left dead and injured witches and wizards in their wake. Voldemort might have risen out of nowhere, coming to cruel power without much warning for the general population, but his followers were not subtle.
Sometimes Remus thought Voldemort didn't actually want to take over the country so much as he merely wanted to watch everything burn.
He glanced around the hospital. St. Mungo's was busy, as it had been since the beginning of the war.
"My sister wants to come back home," Cynthia said, "but Mother won't hear of it. She thinks Celia is safer in Germany."
She probably is, Remus thought, but he didn't say the words aloud. Voldemort's reign of terror had only begun to seep into the Continent, and Germany was still relatively protected from the violence that plagued the British Isles. But the Connolly family wasn't much of a target anyway, and though Celia Connolly was safer in Germany, it was doubtful Voldemort would attack her if she did decide to move back home.
"Celia's adamant, though," Cynthia continued. "She's nearly twenty-seven; Mother can't tell her what to do. Something she has insisted on reminding Mother with every owl she sends." Her expression was distant, as though she was remembering something, as she added, "I think she'd like to help. She's brilliant with bureaucracy. She'd been an asset to the Ministry, and Merlin knows the Ministry needs all the help it can get right now."
"I'm sure it does," Remus agreed, though privately he wondered about that. Voldemort was causing havoc on the administration, but the Ministry had been corrupt and ineffectual long before the war. Would restoring peace change that, or would it simply send the Ministry back to what it had once been?
"Not that Mother cares about that. Ever since Dad died, she's been terrified of losing one of us, and with Charles and I both here in London, she had at least been able to take comfort in the knowledge that Celia was safely out of the way." She shrugged, and gave a faint, bittersweet smile. "They both mean well, but the argument is… well, it is all I can do not to get dragged into the middle of it."
"Wow… being stuck in the middle of an argument between two people you care about. I wonder what that's like," Remus said sarcastically.
Cynthia laughed. "You think your friends are bad?," she said dismissively. "My mother's temper makes James and Sirius both look like little angels. And Celia's not much better."
"I don't believe that," Remus said flatly.
She flipped her blonde hair over one shoulder and winked. "Then you'll just have to come to Ireland one day and meet her. She's always asking me if I've met a nice young gentleman. You can pretend to be my boyfriend and buy me a few months of peace from her nagging."
"Maybe when the war is over," Remus answered, wondering how she could so quickly switch from a subdued conversation about the war to her incessant lighthearted flirting. Sometimes he wondered if she truly comprehended how horrible things were - or did she simply manage to forget about all the atrocities when they weren't directly in front of her?
It was an uncharitable thought, but a valid one nonetheless.
"I'm holding you to that," Cynthia said. She glanced over her shoulder towards the hallway that stretched out behind them. "I need to get back to work. Tell Marlene I'll stop by to see her when I'm off my shift, and to please take it easy and rest." She paused. "And you, too. Get some sleep."
"I will," Remus replied, "I promise."
He doubted that was a promise he would be able to keep.
"He wants what is best for you, Moony," James said as he flopped onto the sofa next to Remus.
Remus rolled his eyes. "Punching Bones in the face isn't what is best for me," he countered.
James shrugged carelessly. "I would have done the same," he said, his tone colored by frustration. "Edgar Bones is a sour old man who might not believe in pureblood supremacy but is still prejudiced."
"I know," Remus agreed. "Which is why his accusations aren't a bit deal. It's not like anyone believes him." He caught the skeptical look on James' face and said, "No one who actually matters believes him. Dumbledore doesn't, and neither do Moody or McGonagall."
But even as he said the words, he wasn't sure he believed them. Yes, Dumbledore and McGonagall trusted him, but did Moody?
Moody had never shied away from giving him information that was pertinent to his missions, nor had he indicated that he didn't trust Remus. In fact, he'd been the one to suggest that Remus contact some of the werewolves known to be living in London in the hopes of getting to them before Voldemort did. He wouldn't have done that if he didn't trust Remus.
But he also wasn't defending Remus against Bones' accusations. Not that Remus had expected him to, but…
It would have been nice.
"It's not just that," James argued, pulling Remus from his thoughts. "You don't stand up for yourself. There is no reason to just stand there and let Bones say whatever he wants."
Remus gritted his teeth. "Prongs, you know half the Order already thinks Sirius is too reckless. He's not exactly helping matters by attacking people we are supposed to be allied with."
"Maybe we shouldn't be allied with Bones," James grumbled.
Remus shook his head. "You know it isn't that simple. We're fighting a war. We need all the help we can get, and if Bones can help us defeat Voldemort, I am willing to put up with his baseless accusations."
"Yeah, well… I'm not," James said stubbornly. "What is the point of winning this war if we lose everything in the process?"
"Lose everything?" Remus scoffed. "James, we didn't have fairness and acceptance of werewolves before the war. We can blame Voldemort for a lot of things, but Bones' opinions…? No, not that."
"And you are content to just accept it?" James demanded.
"We have more important things to fight for and against," Remus pointed out reasonably.
"No, we don't!" James practically seethed. "We're not just fighting against Voldemort, Moony. We're fighting for something - for a better world, a better future. Compromising our beliefs to fight the Death Eaters is wrong. Defeating Voldemort shouldn't come at the cost of everything else we believe in."
"I'm not saying that."
"Aren't you? You're so damn sure that it isn't worth fighting this. It's like you won't even try to be seen as more than a werewolf!"
Remus knew it was easy for James to say that. He had everything. He'd always had everything - intelligence, popularity, looks, money, pure blood and the prestige of the Potter name. He had to work for what he wanted, Remus did not deny that. But he never had to compromise, never had to settle for what was second best. It was so simple for him, so very black and white.
But even when this was all over, even when Voldemort was gone and the Death Eaters had been defeated, even then Remus knew he would still face discrimination and disgust.
Nothing could ever make up for what he was.
Cana Rubrum had reminded him of that.
Remus decided to change the subject. "Where's Lily?" he asked, looking around.
"She's at the McKinnons' house," James said, frowning as he glanced towards the window, "checking up on Marlene."
"She's perfectly safe there," Remus offered. James gave him an incredulous look, so he amended, "She's as safe there as she is here."
"I know," James muttered. "I just… worry."
There was something in his eyes, something that Remus couldn't quite place. An unease that had less to do with Lily's safety and more to do with… what?
He pushed the thought away. Whatever it was, he told himself, it had to just be his imagination.
He wasn't even there, in London, when it happened.
Dumbledore sent him on a mission to find a settlement of werewolves living somewhere in northern England. The mission forced him out of contact with his friends, his allies, everything he had known. For his own safety and for the success of his mission, he hadn't been able to stay in touch with any of them… and by the time he'd learned of the attack, the funeral had come and gone.
Remus stared at the letter. Lily's handwriting scrawled words on parchment, and her tears dotted and blurred the ink, but none of it seemed to register. He knew the words, knew he should understand them, and yet… somehow…
It was wrong, all wrong. These sentences didn't mean anything.
There was an attack.
He'd said those words, and heard them, many times before. There were always attacks and people died and he knew that. He'd seen it, experienced it, lived it.
But still…
Winter had come early that year, and it stayed late as well. It was even worse here, in the hills and woods, where the cold and damp clung to the air, refusing to give way to spring. The perpetually gray sky was oppressive and the rain was dreary, and his entire life seemed to be crumbling in front of his eyes.
It came as a surprise to all of us. The Order didn't know.
Remus sat in the inn, holding the letter in his hands as the owl disappeared into the night and tried not to think.
Voldemort was recruiting werewolves.
Edgar Bones thought he was likely to betray them all.
And Cynthia…
He crumbled the letter in his hand, but he could still see those words so very clearly, as though they were etched onto the back of his eyelids. Lily's words, her tears, the splotches of ink…
Cynthia was killed.
What was the last conversation he'd had with Cynthia? Something pointless about an argument between her sister and her mother and James' overbearing reaction to Lily's pregnancy. Had any of it really mattered? They were just words - exchanged pleasantries and jokes, so trivial.
Would he have said something different if he'd known it was the last time he would see her?
He closed his eyes.
Dumbledore had said once that Voldemort feared death more than anything else, and that was one of his greatest weaknesses. The man who enjoyed torture and killing, who tore apart families and destroyed lives for amusement, could not fathom that there was anything worse than death.
Her funeral was over. He'd missed it - hadn't even known she was dead when it happened.
Remus opened his eyes and threw the letter into the fireplace. He got up slowly and walked over to the window. The glass was grimy with fingerprints and the sill thick with dust, and through the pane the night sky seemed distorted. The silhouette of the owl passed in front of the moon as the bird winged its way back to London, back to his friends, back to his home.
But Cynthia wasn't there anymore.
Voldemort was wrong; there were things worse than death.
Dying wasn't easy - but neither was being left behind.