DarkIsRising
The Night Will Go As Follows
3. DON’T NEED A NEW LOVE OR A NEW LIFE
Five members of the Order proposed to Remus in the following week and a half. He sought out none of them. Frankly, he tried to avoid every available witch he knew lest they follow Hermione’s example and ask for his hand. The three days of the full moon had been easy enough as he holed up in the safe room that he had conjured beneath his flat. He could still hear tapping on his front door. He thought he could hear Hermione’s voice all the way through the floorboards. She sounded sad. His bones ached from the transformations and his head ached from his incessant thoughts. I will not do this to anyone else. I will not be selfish. I will not be selfish like I was with Tonks. No matter who they are. I will say ‘no.’ He enjoyed the darkness of his cubby hole as long as he could.
Margie Pollock proposed two days before the full moon. He had been in a foul mood, not only because his wolfish nature was bubbling to the surface, but also because of the anxious looks that followed him wherever he went. Poor Remus, their faces said. Poor werewolf. He hated their pity; he hated the circumstances; mostly, he hated himself. Margie cornered him as he left the Muggle grocers closest to his flat. Remus dared not return to the Burrow or any other magical place. He hadn’t even seen her creep up behind him until he was prepared to Apparate out of an alley.
She cleared her throat to get his attention, and then looked around conspiratorially. –Remus, I know this must be hard for you,†she whispered. –But I can help you. More than you know.†Delicately, she touched his arm then winked at him. He awkwardly shifted his bags around trying to avoid her.
–Yes, well, it is for me to worry about. I have already made it quite clear that I will not be complying with the law. Very kind of you...–
–You must know how I feel about you. Remember when we went on that spying mission together. Out to Brighton. Do you ever think about that?â€
Gods, did he ever remember. She sat by him the entire time. They watched a Death Eater’s house, waiting to see if they were gathering forces in that part of the country. Margie breathed down his neck whenever he peered through their spy glass, feigning that she wanted to get a better look. She had pressed her breasts against his shoulder repeatedly. Tonks had been alive and his fiancée.
Rage built within him. She backed away. He must have looked frightful because her mouth fell open and she gasped. The bags felt strangely light in his hands as he felt himself tense.
–The answer is ‘no,’ Margie. To all your questions. The answer will always be ‘no.’ Even if I was considering, it would not be you.â€
He shook her off, disgusted by her touch. Quickly, he Apparated before she could get in another word. Remus pressed his head to his cold front door. Someone had left him a note. Setting down his bags, he pulled the yellow piece of paper off the door and unfolded it.
I left you a casserole and a pie on the counter. You must be hungry. I know you will be this time of the month. I promise this is the last time I break in.
[HJG]
He could see thick crossed out lines on the back and flipped it over. The first two sentences had been marked out heavily with blue ink. The final one, the only legible one: I’m terribly sorry, Remus. For everything.
A snarling overtook his body. A wrathful anger filled him, leaving him lightheaded. His heartbeat filled his ears. She had no reason to be sorry. What had she ever done to feel such guilt? It was all him; it was always him and his damned affliction. He slammed his fist into the door. The action barely made a dent in his rage, but left quite a hole in between the door hinges. Shaking off the pain, he moved his groceries inside and shut the door behind him.
Two covered dishes sat innocuously next to his stove. He thought of how her hands carefully measured out the ingredients. How she wouldn’t use magic whenever she was cooking. How a small furrow appeared between her eyebrows when she had to reread the instructions. Molly let her putter around the kitchen after the battle, after everyone had died. Hermione made cakes. She made muffins. She made tarts. She even made casseroles and pies. The first time she laughed after losing Ron was when she royally burnt a soufflé. She pulled it smoking from Molly’s oven, took one look at it and giggled. Remus had looked up, startled by the noise. They locked eyes. Hers went wide when she saw that her atrocity had a witness. Then, she snorted into the oven mitt she held over her mouth. He felt his own lips quirk up. Deviously, she glanced between Remus and the soufflé, and then touched its burnt top with her wand. She howled with laughter when that set the soufflé on fire. They were both in tears by the time Molly came in to see about the smoke. The older witch took one look at the two of them, shook her head, and put out with the wave of her own wand.
He lifted the lids. She made beef and noodles with a chocolate pie for dessert, his favorites. Remus ate them in one sitting.
As the deadline approached, the other three witches asked to marry him. The moon was hard on him this month. After the last night, he showered and then looked himself over. His eyes appeared puffier than usual, and deeper, redder lines crisscrossed his face. Not even Wolfsbane could completely shut out his self-loathing this time. Keeping his human mind did not make any of his thoughts any more pleasant. His mind kept returning to a few nights ago when he sputtered awake to a cold shower and Hermione Granger. A knock came and shook him from his thoughts. Suzanne Bilby barely addressed him before Remus shut his flat door in her face. He considered such a short meeting a kindness to Suzanne after his run-in with Margie. The very next day another knock came. At first, for a moment, he thought it might be Hermione. Small feet shuffled just outside the door. But it didn’t smell like her. There was no hint of vanilla or crisp parchment. He listened closer. There were two pairs of feet. After a length of time, a slip of paper slid underneath his door.
Remus, we’re here about the law. We want to help.
A moment passed. More words appeared.
It’s Hannah and Parvati.
He crumbled up the paper and receded to his bedroom. The paper followed him; it floated by his head.
We don’t care who you pick, honest. Our feelings won’t be hurt.
–Reducto,†he said. The paper shredded into thousands of tiny pieces. After a while, he could no longer hear them outside. He knew one of them sighed heavily before Apparating.
He dreamt his kitchen was on fire that night. Black smoke billowed around him. And she was laughing. He kept trying to extinguish the flames he could not see and all Hermione would do was laugh. The only words she said came towards the end of the dream, as he slowly awoke. –Don’t you want a taste?†she said. –I made it for you.â€
Sunday marked the end of his two weeks. He hadn’t found a bride, and he hadn’t tried to find one. He felt strangely detached, as if it were all happening to another person and not him. As if another person was going to walk into the Ministry and have their wand snapped. The small Wireless that sat on his patchwork coffee table stated that all non-compliant werewolves needed to report to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magic Creatures. Those that did not show up would be detained. Immediately. Letters had been arriving all morning. Four owls perched on the back of his sofa, awaiting his reply. Most of them asked him to reconsider his decision. Most of them asked him to stay. The last one was from the Ministry, a final warning concerning his fate:
Dear Mr. Remus John Lupin,
It has come to the Ministry’s attention that you have neither selected a satisfactory occupation or spouse, per the requirements of Werewolf Reform Bill R938. The Ministry passes such legislation for the protection and well-being of all wizardkind. We would like all werewolves to integrate into mainstream wizarding society effortlessly.
Since you have yet to comply with this law, we would like to remind you that your deadline still stands at 4:00 PM today. Report to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures with your work papers and your future spouse. Should you fail to do, you will be marked as non-compliant and have your wand snapped.
Hope your Sunday is going splendid.
Sincerely,
Corinth Overby
Remus stacked the letters neatly on his desk and left.
The Ministry was bustling for a Sunday. The elevators kept filling up and it took him nearly an hour to get to the correct floor. Once in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creature, they shifted him from line to line. The waiting room was packed. Apparently, the Ministry set out ultimatums for other –half-breeds†as well. A herd of centaurs blocked the main entrance as they exchanged heated words with a secretary. Further inside, vampires stood in line at a window marked Blood Bank. Remus soon saw his line. He pushed past the vampires, who snarled their noses at him and hid their mouths behind their dark cloaks. The werewolves stood further back, cordoned off by ropes.
The Werewolf Marriage and Occupation Registry sign floated above the longest line; it looped back on itself. Werewolves and their future husbands and brides waited to be called forward by one of the Ministry magistrates. It was easy to tell which ones were the werewolves. Their faces looked grayer and hollower. The transformations take their toll. They also looked guiltier. Only about a quarter of them looked somewhat happy to be there. A few had linked arms or were holding hands. These couples looked genuinely in love. One young werewolf with a scabbed over cut on his neck and cheek doted on his pregnant girlfriend next to him. However, most stared forward sullenly. One woman with long, unkempt hair cried and blew her nose into a well-worn handkerchief. The man with her did not even glance at her or the noise. He kept his eyes downcast, even as the line moved forward.
The other line, the much shorter one, was labeled Noncompliant Werewolf Registry. Remus stepped over the burgundy velvet ropes. The werewolf in front of him looked nearly seventy with gray hair and a red-rust mouth. He smelt like old metal and sweat. Great company to be, he mused sarcastically. Remus checked his pocket watch. A quarter ‘til four. He barely made it by the deadline. He wasn’t rushing to completely reenter the Muggle world. To live the life he had after the first war, after James and Lily had died, and Peter had disappeared and Sirius had gone to Azkaban. Remus had spent many years alone; many full moons raging at himself for all of his losses. This time he wouldn’t even have his wand or Wolfsbane. Or anyone.
When he was next in line, Remus heard a familiar voice.
–Excuse me. No really. Let me through. I said, excuse me, no need to be so rude.â€
Hermione arrived at his shoulder just as the officiating wizard yelled, –Next!†Immediately, she grabbed ahold of his cloak and pulled him toward the other line. The other werewolves behind them jostled forward to fill Remus and Hermione’s vacant spots. Remus tried to dig his heels in, but they were already around the velvet rope, and were entering the marriage registry line.
–Can you believe how rude that man was,†she said conversationally, as if he had seen the whole ordeal.
–No, Hermione. Stop it,†he tried to whisper, but it came out much louder. Gods, he was in the middle of the Ministry trying to resist a witch who was nearly a foot shorter than him. Where was his wand when he needed it? She grasped him firmly and it was difficult to slip his hand into his inside cloak pocket.
–Hermione Granger?†piped up one of the witches in the marriage queue. –Let her through. Let her through.†The older witch, who wore bright magenta lipstick and a fox-skin hat, shoved back the other werewolves and their future spouses. She snapped her fingers at the large man who must have jostled Hermione earlier; he had begun to protest with his teeth bared. –She was at the Battle of Hogwarts, she was. Leave it alone.†Remus bristled at the man’s hostility toward Hermione. Without missing a beat, Hermione turned him back toward the front of the line.
–Hi,†Hermione said to the magistrate. –I’m Hermione Granger.†She smiled demurely. –Terribly sorry. I believe he was in the wrong line. We haven’t missed the deadline, have we?â€
–No, Miss Granger, you haven’t.†The magistrate, a tall man with blond hair and a monocle, squinted his eyes at her. –Can’t say I expected to see you here.â€
–Well, sir, I expect everyone here feels the same way.†She smiled at him again. –Especially on such a nice Sunday.â€
Remus held up his hand to get the magistrate’s attention. –Actually, sir, I was in the correct line.†He glared briefly at Hermione; he gave her the stern face he usually reserved for scolding particularly troublesome students. Her face crumpled slightly before she recovered and glared back. –I am not here to get married. I need to be in the other line and she needs to go home. Isn’t that right, Miss Granger?â€
If it was possible, Hermione’s gaze became steelier than before. Remus presumed it was the –Miss Granger†comment. Even more firmly, she wrapped her hand into the edge of his cloak should he attempt to escape.
–Yes, well, what Mr. Lupin,†she emphasized his name, –here has failed to realize is... is that... he made a promise. It’s now his duty to fulfill such a promise.â€
–I don’t know what she’s talking about. I’ll just get back into the other line. My line.†Remus started back towards the other side, but Hermione shoved her wand into his ribs. She shook her head ‘no’ and her eyes narrowed at him.
The magistrate rolled his eyes upward and readjusted his monocle. –Merlin’s beard, are you getting married or not?†he asked pointedly. –There are people behind you who’ve already made up their minds.â€
–You promised,†she repeated to Remus. –We promised each other.â€
It was the day of Ron’s funeral. Although it was cold, the day was sunny for November. He was the last of their dead. All of the other casualties from the Battle of Hogwarts were already buried, nearly a month ago. But Ron had hung on, incoherent and feverish, for weeks in St. Mungo’s. He held on to the very end for her. Hermione wore a long black dress and a charcoal grey peacoat. Everyone called her a soldier. She sat by the graveside quietly; she watched calmly as they poured the dirt in. On the edge of the cemetery, Harry stood next to Remus and they watched her hover over the grave. She had yet to drop the flowers she had conjured. Their bright green leaves and orange buds contrasted sharply with the dead brown grass and rows of muted tombstones. The Weasleys had all hugged Hermione and left her be, with even Molly tearing herself away to give Hermione her alone time.
–I’ve tried speaking with her, but she doesn’t say much. Only says a word or two,†Harry said. –Same with Molly and Ginny. She’s shutting us all out.â€
–She’s a lost a lot. We all have. Can you blame her?†replied Remus.
–Not, but we’re her friends, too. We all lost Ron.â€
–She lost more than just Ron. She lost her future.†Remus felt suddenly tired as he thought back to Tonks’ funeral. Everything they planned wiped away, as if she had never existed at all, as if he had simply dreamed her up. His only proof was that piece of stone that bore her name. Andromeda had already stopped by their house (just sold last week) to gather reminders of her daughter. Remus could not stand to be in the house anymore with Tonks’ scent clinging to every surface. All her things, her clothes, her photos, haunted him from room to room. He had let Andromeda pack it up alone before the new owners showed up. He moved into a low-rent flat and still had not emptied any of his boxes. It still didn’t feel real.
–Everything has changed, Remus, I realize that. But we’re all afraid she won’t come in tonight. She might stay out here.â€
–What of it? Hermione is a grown witch. She can mourn as she pleases.â€
–She’ll be alone,†said Harry. –Ron wouldn’t want her to stand over him day and night. She won’t listen to any of us. She won’t Apparate back with me or anyone else.â€
–I’ll go talk with her.†Remus clapped Harry on the shoulder and gave him a grim smile before striding off.
He closed the distance between them quickly, taking long strides across the cemetery. Standing next to Hermione in her black dress and carefully curled hair, Remus felt self-conscious. He touched the short beard he had grown out since he had stopped shaving, since Tonks had died. His dress robes were no longer black, but a strangely off-color magenta. It was doubtful that his scruffy appearance and ill-fitting clothing would make anything better.
Gently, he took the flowers out of her hand and placed them next to the waving and smiling carving of Ron’s face. Her face was slightly swollen and her eyes lined with red. He offered her a handkerchief from his pocket.
–Thank you,†she said, dabbing at her eyes. –This is the first time I’ve actually cried. Really cried. Can you believe that? What sort of girlfriend does that make me? Horrible, right?†She did her best to grin at him, but failed, and resumed wiping at the corners of eyes.
–We all mourn differently,†Remus said.
–Yes, well, isn’t that grand.†She twisted the handkerchief around in her hands. –It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.â€
–None of this was. We lost him too soon. We lost them all much too soon.â€
Hermione crossed her arms, looking off in the distance with an indignant expression on her face. –They said he’d make it. He was fine. He was completely fine. It was just one hex. Or two. We carried him out of Hogwarts. Alive. He was alive, unlike most. Madame Pomfrey promised me. She said he would make it. She promised.â€
–She did the best she could. You did everything that you could. You were there for him. The whole time. And he knew it, too. At least, you got to say goodbye,†said Remus. This time he looked away; he tried to focus on the mountains in the distance as well to keep his composure.
She hung her head and sighed. –Gods, Remus, I’m sorry. I didn’t even... I didn’t even think.†Hermione shoved her hands into her coat pockets. –Did I ever tell you that I saw her. Right before everything. Right before they broke down the gate.†Hermione looked at him; his jaw tensed and he avoided her gaze. –She winked at me and made that ridiculous duck face.†Her voice was on the verge of breaking; tears threatened again. –You were across the room, in your fighting stance; I don’t think you saw. She blew you a kiss and then set a Protego over you. Bellatrix nearly killed you and you didn’t even know it.†Hermione cleared her throat. –I lost sight of her after that, but she loved you, Remus, ‘til the very end.â€
He found himself choking up again. Drinking had kept his feelings at bay; a nice numb feeling replaced them. Remus forced himself to sober up the past week in preparation for today. She loved you – ‘til the very end. Gods, and Bellatrix would be the death of her and by extension the death of him. His body felt colder than the November wind that swept through the gravestones.
–I won’t go back with you.†Hermione broke through his thoughts. –I know Harry or Molly sent you. I’m staying.â€
–It will be dark soon. You know that you can’t stay out here,†said Remus. He had been rational; he had left Tonks behind at her grave. Hermione was rational like him, bookish, studious, logical.
–No,†she replied fiercely. She took off her coat and laid it on the ground and then sat down.
He knelt behind her and took ahold of her shoulders. A chill already set about her skin since her dress was sleeveless. –Let’s go. Molly will be expecting us. He was her son, too.â€
–But he was mine,†she said softly at him. She pried his fingers off her. –I knew him.†Her voice rose in volume. –He was mine.â€
Remus stood back a moment, letting her fume. He then crouched in front of her and put his own coat around her shoulders. It was a well-worn and washed-out jacket that had patches at the elbows, but it was warm. She angrily wiped tears from her face; she did not look at his face. Begrudgingly, she pulled the fabric around her body.
–You’ll get cold.â€
–Then let’s go. No need for either of us to stay out here.â€
She didn’t even say a word. Hermione just slapped him. Then she punched his chest. He rocked backwards on his heels, but stayed on his feet. She tried furiously to knock him over, to harm him, to remove his face from her line of sight. The slap came as a shock; however, he let her rage at him. Eventually, he was able to trap her hands within his own. He moved his weight to his knees and pulled her against his chest. Once she was in his arms and pressed against him, she allowed herself to sob freely. He held her head to him and made soothing noises, saying nonsense words until she began to grow quiet. Remus put his face against those perfectly formed curls, so different from her usually wild hair. When she had ceased shaking, he pulled her to her feet.
–Promise me. Promise me that you will always get back up. No matter what. We can’t lose you, too. Promise me that you will remember how much you are loved.†She didn’t reply. He gripped her arms and bent closer to her face. His eyes pleaded with her to agree with him. –Promise me.â€
–I promise.†She nodded for extra emphasis. Her face remained pale though.
–Good. Good, girl. We always fight. We bite and claw ‘til the very end.†He smiled sadly at his choice of words. –Come on.†He started leading her toward the exit.
–Wait.†She stopped him. –I promised you. Where’s your promise? What will your promise be?â€
He smiled sadly and thought for a moment. –How about I promise to be there. For you, that is. If that’s okay? Is that a good promise?â€
–Very good.†She took his hand. His coat sleeve was too long for her and it hid their intertwined fingers. It was comforting to hold someone else’s hand. –I promise to be there for you, too. No one else understands. They try, but they just can’t.†She looked over at him and said, –Is that a good promise?â€
–Yes,†said Remus. The magistrate looked on expectedly. Hermione seemed to be holding her breath. She looked nervously at him; her wand no longer jabbed into his ribs. –Yes, I remember the promise.†This time he took Hermione’s hand. –I believe I’m in the right line this time.â€