A/N: Many thanks to my beta, Chriss Corkscrew for suggesting the inclusion of the Snape scene. And I apologise for the weasel line. I really don’t know where that came from…;)
5:The Tribute
Silver light stained the overwhelming darkness, dappled patches that glinted and flashed at the eyes in a mockery of beauty. He could feel his own gasps for breath against his raw, painful throat, the tremble of exhausted limbs; he had run too hard, too fast but what else could he do? Branches slapped against his face, knocking him backwards again and again “ desperate, sobbing and bewildered, he scrambled on all fours now, his clothing torn, blood leaking from exposed skin as he fought with all his strength to get away…
He could hear it coming. Just as he’d said it would.
He had never been so scared in all his life.
He had to hide. He had to hide now.
A tree loomed in his path, low branches dangling within his reach; leaping desperately, he grasped at the trunk, bark crumbling beneath his small fingers as she scrabbled for some kind of purchase, the height that would take him safely out of reach.
He was too slow.
He heard himself scream as claws plunged into his back, dragging him down and flinging him roughly to the ground to leave him curled on his right side, trembling and sobbing against the mossy earth.
It was over.
A dark shape, more than twice his size loomed from the shadows, its forelimbs stained with the dark taint of his blood. Teeth glinted against the silver light of moonshine, vibrating to a low and primal growl that seemed to shiver to his very core. Golden eyes gleamed.
It lunged.
And then he knew nothing but pain…
Remus flung himself bolt upright, gasping for breath. He could feel himself shaking from head to tow, an icy shiver that chilled him in ways he had not even know he could be chilled. His scar itched with an odd residual of remembered pain. He felt sick.
Breathing deeply, Remus brought his heaving stomach under control, closing his eyes as he fought back the shudders and calmed his racing heart. Only when the last of the shaking had subsided, when the feeling of nausea had passed, when the twinge of his scar had faded to nothing did Remus risk opening his eyes.
It was not the first time he had had such dreams. But they had always been vague before, glimpses of images half-seen and half-forgotten, a glint of moonlit glade, the slap of a branch, a flash of teeth. And the eyes. Always the eyes.
But this had been more. Much more.
Remus had never been able to remember the night he was bitten. He was too young, his mother had told him when he had tentatively asked about it years later, and the trauma of the event had created a wall inside his mind, a protection against an experience that no child should have had to endure. He was better off, she had said, without knowing.
Only once had he asked her how it had happened. She had burst into tears. He had never asked again.
But this dream was something else, something more than a flash of brief recollection. Remus felt almost as though something had broken in his mind; the wall his mother had mentioned, crumbling brick by brick over the years in the world of his dreams, suddenly half-collapsing to provide this sudden rush of imagery.
Remus fought back the returning shivers, staring mindlessly at the bedclothes. He could have lived without the memory. But he would just have to accept it. There was no putting it back.
He was in no doubt that he had just relived his bite. But why had it suddenly come back to him now?
He shook himself. He shouldn’t dwell on it. There was nothing he could do to change events more than thirty years in the past. Light was streaming in from behind curtained windows “ it was clearly morning and probably time to be up. With a sigh he raised his head and glanced around the chamber.
He blinked. Where was he?
His brain clicked on. He remembered.
Of course. Hogwarts.
He had arrived the night before, apparating to Hogsmeade as the other teachers did and boarding the Thestral pulled carriage provided by Dumbledore for the ride up the school. He smiled to himself remembering his last journey to Hogwarts, three years before “ exhausted by a difficult full moon that had left him too tired to apparate, too nauseous to use floo powder or risk the Knight Bus, and too disorientated to even consider taking a broom, he had nostalgically boarded the Hogwarts Express, settled himself in a compartment and had promptly fallen asleep for most of the rest of the trip. He had not expected to awaken to find the looming presence of a Dementor and his first sight of James and Lily’s son in almost twelve years.
Dementors. It had been after his first encounter with a rogue Dementor, almost twenty years ago now, that these dreams had started. And although the imagery he associated with Dementors had altered since, expanding with an alarming repertoire thrown at him by life that had meant he had not been lying to Harry when he had said he was no expert against them, those brief images had always haunted him.
But he was brooding again. That had to stop.
Pulling himself out of the comfort of his warm four-poster bed, Remus checked the clock. He’d slept late. But that was hardly surprising, considering the busy night he’d had.
He grinned in spite of himself as he remembered why he’d been so late to bed. He was probably going to get in trouble. But that was nothing new.
As he had predicted, the Ministry had not been impressed with Dumbledore’s choice of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. But despite a controversy that had raged several days, the Ministry of Cornelius Fudge was simply standing on ground too shaky to wage a war with an invigorated and once more respected Albus Dumbledore. Fudge, already battling calls for his resignation over his fluffing of the Voldemort issue, had tried to use this news to bolster his image once more. It had failed. After a few days, and a ringing endorsement from the headmaster on his behalf, the Ministry had folded its tents and slunk away into the night. The British wizarding community were by no means thrilled at the prospect of a werewolf teacher, but with one year at Hogwarts with (to their knowledge) no serious incidents, a good track record with the majority of the children, and Dumbledore’s support, they seemed at least willing to give him a chance.
He was determined not to waste it.
But he ought to get a move on. The children would be arriving that evening and he still had much to prepare. Filing away his thoughts for the time being, Remus pulled on his robes and hurried down to breakfast.
* * *
The Defence Against the Dark Arts office had changed very little in the two years since Remus had last seen it. He deposited his briefcase on the familiar desk with a grin, removing several books and slotting them easily back onto the shelves they had previously inhabited. With a matter of a few minutes work, it was as though he’d never been forced to leave in the first place and more importantly, it felt right. This was the place he was supposed to be. It was where he belonged.
It was a good feeling.
The house-elves had successfully wiped out all but a minor trace of the room’s previous occupant. The pink, perfumed doily he uncovered in one of the desk drawers was mildly alarming, but a quick flick of the wand banished it safely into the fireplace where it curled up and burned quite satisfactorily. Remus couldn’t help but feel slightly offended by it, however. If that Umbridge woman was so determined to make his life as miserable as she possibly could, the least she could do was muster the dignity to have taste.
It was in the midst of trying to recall exactly how his Grindylow tank was supposed to reassemble that he sensed, rather than saw the looming presence in the doorway. A quick glance at his crisp, fresh copy of the Marauder’s Map, unfolded neatly on the desk confirmed his suspicion. They had successfully managed to avoid each other the evening before and yet again this morning, but it seemed that his now no-longer-former colleague had decided to get the worst out of the way before the children came.
“Severus.” He did not bother to turn around. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
The Potion Master’s voice drifted smoothly across the office. “The Headmaster wished me to inform all the staff that the Hogwarts Express is now underway. All professors are expected to be ready and waiting in the Great Hall ten minutes before the students arrive.”
Remus finally glanced up at the black robed figure lurking in his doorway and smiled. “That’s useful to know. Thank you Severus.”
Snape’s nose crinkled in distaste as he swallowed the brief gratitude of a man he despised, his black eyes gleaming with dislike as he stared. Remus, still puzzling his way through the Grindylow tank managed to endure the scrutiny of the Head of Slytherin for a good thirty seconds before it finally became a little too distracting.
Depositing the sheet of magically reinforced glass on his desk, he met the dark gaze squarely and cheerfully. “Was there something else?”
Snape straightened himself, his eyes flashing. “I suppose you’re feeling very pleased with yourself.”
Remus blinked. “Pardon?”
“Worming your way back in here. Pity is one way to find employment, but it isn’t one I’d use. Not that I need to.”
Just as he’d expected, Severus was here to vent. Jolly good; it was just like old times. He was feeling more at home already.
He maintained the smile deliberately. “I didn’t worm my way in anywhere. Albus all but ordered me to come back and I wasn’t going to argue with him.”
“But you were so horrified when he did, I suppose.”
“I’m not sorry to be back, if that’s what you mean.” Remus turned away to hide the fading of his smile, depositing his mug and teakettle on the shelf behind his desk. “But my reasons for resigning stand.”
“And yet you are back here.”
Remus shrugged, his back still turned. “Albus said the school needed a good Defence teacher, especially this year. He told me there was no one else to ask.”
The vast and stony silence behind him told him eloquently that this had not been the right thing to say.
“And I suppose you will expect me to continue to brew your potion for you? Given your own ineptitude?” The Potions Master all but spat the words at the werewolf’s back.
Touché. “I would not expect anything, Severus.” It was time to turn round again, to face the suppressed maelstrom of emotion cloaked in black robes that lingered in his office doorway as though loathe to venture into the coveted territory of an enemy.
“But I would appreciate it.”
“Keep your gratitude, Lupin,” Snape sneered at him with dignified poise. “I neither want nor desire it. I know what you are and now so do the students. I’ll be watching you and so will they.”
Remus met his gaze once more, firm and direct. “I know.”
Snape’s dark eyes held his colleagues’ stare for an instant longer. Then with a disdainful huff, he turned and swept into the corridor.
Remus stared for a moment at the empty doorway. Severus Snape, as charming as ever. Well, that went as well as could be expected.
He could only hope the students would be a little more understanding.
In five hours, he’d find out.
* * *
Remus had forgotten just how noisy a hoard of children could be in the echoing halls of Hogwarts. For a moment he paused at the head of the stairs that descended down into the Entrance Hall, his slight lateness in spite of the earlier reminder allowing him to take in the mass of robed figures sweeping in chatting groups through the main doors and into the Great Hall. It was more than two years now since he had seen such a sight and almost half of these children had never known him as a teacher, only as that werewolf that they had made such a fuss about in the newspaper. Snape’s words rang uncomfortably in his head. Would they be nervous of him? Would they give him a chance to prove that he was just as human as they were?
Oh well. Now or never.
He started down the stairs.
There was a distinct hush. A mass of eyes turned.
The reactions were mixed. He was flattered to note that many of the older children were beaming at the sight of him; he spotted Harry, Ron and Hermione smiling together near the main entrance, Dean Thomas and Ginny Weasley grinning arm in arm, and Neville Longbottom, who offered a small wave and a shy smile. Some, mostly Muggle-borns who had probably not witnessed the battle in the Prophet over his reappointment, seemed surprised to see him but there was pleasure too.
But the joy was anything but universal; many of the children, even some of those he had taught, seemed wary and others, most of them Slytherins, regarded him with the same outright hostility as their Head of House. Of the younger children, many of those who did not know who he was appeared confused, but those who did looked nervous.
Remus sighed. It was going to be a long year.
He started across the Entrance Hall. The volume began to rise once more.
But not enough. Not enough to cover the sound of the drawling voice that echoed loudly and sharply in his wake.
“Oh, look. The werewolf’s back.”
The confused faces very abruptly joined the ranks of the nervous. The nervous had shifted towards downright terror.
Remus sighed again. First Snape. Now Malfoy. Oh joy.
“Dumbledore must really be scraping the barrel. What’s the matter “ did they run out of human candidates?”
Ah, Draco Malfoy. Subtle as a Hungarian Horntail and with almost as much charm. Remus was fairly sure he could tell where this desperate display of assertiveness was stemming from. Malfoy’s precious father Lucius, his backup in times of crisis, was now sequestered in Azkaban; taking pot-shots at one of the people who had placed him there seemed to be his way of trying to claw back some kind of superiority. But Remus knew this game. If there was one thing that Malfoy could not abide, it was being ignored. And if you gave him enough rope, he usually managed to hang himself.
He kept walking.
“Don’t want to answer that one do you?” Malfoy’s voice had risen in pitch. “Or maybe you don’t understand what I’m saying at all? Perhaps I should be speaking to you in your own language.”
A mockery of a howl chased through the air, whooping and echoing across the Entrance Hall to skim past Remus. He stopped. Slowly, he turned to look back over his shoulder.
Malfoy was standing in the centre of the chamber, shadowed by Crabbe and Goyle, his hands on his hips as he grinned triumphantly at his teacher.
Remus simply smiled.
“Well, Mr Malfoy,” he said, his voice soft but carrying decisively across the now silent room. “If you wanted to tell me that your mother stole your underpants and the weasels are coming, you could have just done it in English.”
There was a moment of awestruck silence. And then the hall erupted.
Biting back a grin, Remus ducked his head and continued nonchalantly through the doors into the Great Hall, the vast swell of laughter bouncing from the walls behind him. It was good to be back.
* * *
The feast was excellent, as always. In spite of Molly’s fine cooking, he had certainly missed the Hogwarts food.
The anticipation only made it better.
Remus hoped he had timed it right. The time-lapse charm he had found in an old notebook of Sirius’ was quite complicated to perform and had taken more than a little practice to perfect. If he had indeed managed it correctly, then his timing would be good “ he had judged the length of the feast almost exactly. That being the case, all he had to do was wait. It was almost time.
He hoped James and Sirius were watching. He hoped he’d done them proud.
He hadn’t felt this nervous in years. Sitting next to his old Head of House as he waited wasn’t helping his nerves. He had yet to meet a former Gryffindor of the last thirty years who was not still in awe of Minerva McGonagall. And it was she who had caught the culprits on the last occasion this had been performed. The fact it had been the last evening of term had not prevented her from giving them one last late detention…
And then Dumbledore rose to his feet, clapping his hands for silence as the volume dropped. Remus leaned forward in anticipation as the Headmaster gazed out over the now silent hall. “If I may have your attention please…”
He got no further.
A sharp explosion followed by a long high-pitched whine cut shockingly across his words. A flash of red traced a shuddering path into the enchanted ceiling.
BOOM!
The firework exploded in a shower of red sparks that giggled and chuckled as they drifted towards the floor like scarlet rain, but this laughter was drowned by another whine, and another and yet another as more fireworks erupted from the carved crevices of the walls of the Great Hall, flashing and exploding in a riot of spectacular colour and noise that drowned the chamber in rainbows. Streamers, confetti and long white curls of sticky silly string catapulted out over the four house tables to settle across the bemused heads of the students like snow. Catherine wheels rolled and danced across the air, rockets whizzed and combusted in a flurry of sparks to form dragons, unicorns and hippogriffs, stags, dogs and flowers that twirled across the mimicry of the sky overhead with the joyful enthusiasm of release.
The students stared. The staff stared. Behind his vast white beard, Dumbledore bit back a smile.
Remus grinned. Merlin bless the Weasley twins. The school wasn’t the same without them.
In the chair immediately to his right, an ominous throat was cleared. Arranging his expression as innocently as he could manage, Remus turned to face the steely-eyed glare of Professor McGonagall. The bangs and lightning flashes of colour cast shadows and light across the etched outlines of her features. A piece of silly string dangled unceremoniously from her hat.
“In your expert opinion, Lupin,” she intoned precisely in her Scottish lilt. “How many fireworks do you believe this prank involves?”
“At a guess?” Remus rolled his eyes in apparent thought, as he picked a piece of violet streamer out of his hair and handed it to Flitwick who was cheerfully decorating his hat with them; beyond him a sour faced Snape was unsticking silly string from his hair. “I’d say somewhere in the region of… two hundred and sixty-three.”
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “That’s very precise.”
Remus smiled modestly. “Well, as you said, I’m the expert.”
The Deputy Head’s lips pursed but Remus had the sudden impression that she was fighting not to smile. “Don’t play the innocent with me, Mr Lupin. Don’t you think I know “The Marauder Swansong” when I see it? I still haven’t recovered from the last time.” She shook her head. “Honestly. I thought you were the sensible one.”
An excitable yellow rocket zoomed the length of the staff table, depositing golden sparks along the tablecloth with uninhibited exuberance. Many of the students had come to their feet, laughing and clapping as they stared up at the display, wading through the ever-growing debris as they pelted each other with silly string and streamers.
This time McGonagall did smile in spite of herself. “Remus, where on earth did you get them all? Have you spent your entire wage before you’ve earned it?”
Remus casually lifted his goblet out of the path of a careening Catherine wheel. “All supplies are courtesy of Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes. They were most supportive when I told them of my plans. They provided the entire display free of charge.”
Minerva chuckled dryly. “I should have known. But honestly Remus, whatever I am going to do with you? I thought you’d grown out of this long ago, if it was ever your style at all.”
The werewolf gave a cheeky grin. “Are you going to give me a detention?”
She regarded him with mock solemnity. “I think you’re a little old for that, Professor Lupin. And well beyond the point of it having any impact. Just answer me one thing. Why?”
Remus sobered up sharply. He regarded Minerva with a sudden seriousness. “As I’m sure you remember, this prank was played for the first time at the Farewell Feast at the end of my seventh year. It was conceived, ruthlessly planned out and executed with almost military precision by two very devious minds. It was their farewell to Hogwarts. Their swansong. A last moment of levity before the heavy reality of Voldemort and the real world set in. It’s also how I think they’d want to be remembered, as they were before harsh life got in their way; as two boys who liked to have fun.” He smiled softly. “Call it a tribute.”
Minerva stared at him solemnly for a moment. Then she smiled too.
“It’s very fitting,” she said gently. “Very fitting indeed.”
Remus smiled at her a final time and then turned to stare out over the mass of splashed colours and rampant sound of fireworks that vibrated through the Great Hall one final time. So much vibrancy. So much life. Only to be cut short and fade away all too soon as the fire within them died.
A fitting tribute indeed.
“Goodnight Padfoot,” he whispered softly. “Goodnight Prongs. Rest in peace, my friends.”
A/N: I’d be lying if I said I was completely satisfied with the prank I created for this chapter. Its inclusion was my nod to the events at the end of OotP; whilst I did not want this to turn into a Sirius-is-dead angst fic (simply because it is not very relevant to my plot), in setting this fic so soon after OotP, it would have been unrealistic to leave the matter unaddressed. I had a good long think about how I felt Remus might react “ he’s never struck me as a wallower, more as the kind to either stoically bottle it up or find an outlet and deal. Since, as hinted as his backstory for this fic, his 1981 outlet did not prove very healthy *veg* I felt he would want to find another, more appropriate and less disturbing way to bring closure on his grief. I settled upon this tribute as a form of outlet/closure in the end, not because it is something I think he would have done himself (indeed, my beta suggested it was not subtle enough for Remus which is entirely true) but because I think it is the kind of tribute his friends would have wanted and it would be their wishes and not his own that he would consider. In my world of backstory, it was after all James’ and Sirius’ big farewell to Hogwarts once upon a time and in repeating it, Remus is allowing them to say goodbye to the world for good as he says goodbye to them. I hope that makes sense. :)