Disclaimer: With humble gratitude to J.K. Rowling for allowing me to build castles in her sandbox once more.
Three
Remus: Soul-Searching
Click, click, click. The dog’s nails rang sharply against the pavement of the deserted street. The asphalt shone with the tears of a late summer downpour, reflecting the streetlamps in an irregular pattern of diamonds.
He could almost smell it “ or rather imagine how it would’ve smelled if he were still alive. The gusts of steam rising periodically from the Underground line had a peculiar scent he associated with Muggle petrol and speed. It saddened him that he could no longer feel the rumble of the passing trains through the pavement at his feet. But then, he wasn’t really present in that derelict street somewhere in the heart of London; he only had a small window into it. He could be eons or light years or heartbeats away; his existence was no longer dominated by manmade measurements.
What could have possibly drawn him so persistently to this scene? Dumbledore wondered, determined to patiently wait until the answer arrived. It always did, sooner or later, he chuckled to himself as an idle breeze rearranged the rumpled wrappings along the gutter. The plaintive bark of the stray dog echoed from two streets away where it had wandered in search of discarded food.
Time dragged by as the errant raindrops from a nearby roof kept up a regular rhythm. No longer needing the assistance of his half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes slowly grew accustomed to the dim light. Who knew a shadow could contain so many different hues and nuances of black, he mused as the outlines rose from the depths of the still night.
The discarded crates beneath the torn awning resolved themselves into sleeping figures, but it was impossible to tell how many. A bunch of tumbled dominos, he couldn’t help but think. By the number of crumpled bags still clutched tightly in slack fingers, it might be hours before they awoke from their stupor.
Sudden movement caught him unawares as one shadow detached itself from the others. As it stumbled hesitantly to its feet, Dumbledore strained to catch the details illuminated in the feeble streetlamp. The coat was soiled and splattered in places; yet in others, it seemed to have been patched with great care. The hollow cheekbones showed a week’s worth of beard as hair that had once been sandy brown fell over the man’s eyes. There was something familiar in his rangy grace, the way in which his long limbs moved with an almost lupine fluidity despite the man’s unsteadiness.
With dawning recognition, Dumbledore hailed him in a loud whisper, “Remus! Remus, is that really you?”
Remus Lupin swung his head around in confusion, the sharp movements threatening to unbalance him completely. At the last moment, he caught his arm around the nearest streetlamp to ease himself down to the ground.
“Remus!” Dumbledore tried more softly now that much of the distance between them had been breeched.
“I know that voice!” Remus muttered under his breath, more to himself than anything. Narrow slits for eyes darted in all directions, shining with suspicious intensity.
“Surely, you’re not so inebriated that you don’t recognize an old friend,” Dumbledore attempted once more in a kindly manner.
“I’m not drunk at all,” Remus admitted as his eyes attempted to penetrate every errant shadow. “Exhausted the few coins I had days ago.” He held up the bottle of ginger beer so the last inch of liquid shone amber in the streetlamp before downing it in one long pull. “I just seem to be talking to myself,” he choked with an erratic sob. Impatiently, he wiped the wetness from his eyes and mouth in one movement of his sleeve.
The despondency rising from the younger man must be what had exerted such a pull on his heart, Dumbledore decided. Luckily, discarded chocolate frog cards seemed to turn up all over the place.
“You haven’t lost your mind or your bearings,” Dumbledore began in as gentle a tone as he could muster.
“Albus, I know it’s you. But I can’t place the sound. Are you a ghost?” Remus sighed as he gazed unseeingly at the night sky, waiting stoically for the answer to come to him much as Dumbledore had done earlier.
“Just beyond your feet,” Dumbledore coaxed softly, his eyes drawn to the holes wearing themselves through the cobbled soles of Remus’ shoes. “Just a little further.”
Remus’ eyes went wide with recognition as his hand reached out to gingerly clasp the corner of the chocolate frog card. “You’re a visitor to my dreams, then,” he remarked in an awed whisper.
Dumbleldore’s eyes twinkled like the very stars which hid behind the city grime. “If that will help you come to terms with the reality…”
Remus’ next words caught Dumbledore short. “Have you come to take me with you? To escort me to whatever comes next?” It was the plea of a lost child.
He swallowed the urge to retort that no one could possibly look less like the Angel of Death. This broken man before him needed his compassion; only in better days would Remus have laughed heartily at Dumbledore’s irreverence. “Are you ready to die so easily?”
Remus hung his head wearily, his overgrown fringe hiding his eyes. He took a deep breath before answering, “Honestly, no. Why do I feel a lecture about the ideals of Gryffindor is waiting in the wings?”
Dumbledore couldn’t help chuckling at the tight smile that Remus tried to dredge up. His eyes were still flat, but it was a move in the right direction. “Why are you not at home tonight?” He had intended it to sound like a concerned inquiry, but Remus took it as an affront.
“Not you as well!” he spat. “But what else should I expect from my effing conscience? First Harry, now you!”
“Remus, what happened…” He was about to say ‘tonight’; but by the man’s appearance, it was clear that it had been days since Remus had last seen a warm bed and a decent meal. “What brought you to this place?” he amended. “And if you answer by telling me the names of the streets you traveled, I’ll find a way to hex you despite everything!”
Remus’ laugh was hollow as he remarked, “I assume you meant metaphorically. Your preference for riddles precedes you, old man.”
“Then you should accept that I’ll keep at you until I get to the heart of the matter. As a portrait, Legilimency is not an option.”
With a weary sigh, Remus acknowledged, “I find myself at a crossroads. Metaphorically speaking.”
“Between what and what?”
Remus considered this as his eyes swam with unshed tears. “In the middle of nowhere, if you must know,” he sputtered, squeezing his eyes shut to dam the tide.
“That’s not so, you’re--”
“In the middle of ruddy London, I know!” Remus shot back.
“I was going to say ‘among friends’,” Dumbledore corrected lowly. “But if we’re switching to geographical terms, we’re not too far from Grimmauld Place.” With sudden clarity, he added, “Have you been to see Harry?”
Remus nodded wordlessly into his lap.
So it had been over a week ago, Dumbledore guessed as the jumble of images rose to the forefront of his mind. Just snatches of conversation really, as the townhouse’s overlapping protections greatly hampered his ability to see through the wadded card Ron Weasley had tossed carelessly into the kitchen dustbin.
Sharp words, sharper emotions barely held in check. Harry ranting in an icy voice that Remus belonged at home with his wife. Wait, there was more… Something about not leaving his child to go wandering about like an unwed renegade. Hermione scolding Harry that he had gone too far; he dismissing her like a bothersome insect.
.
“It seems I’m not wanted anywhere, Albus,” Remus elaborated in a wet voice. “Harry practically hexed my carcass into the street.”
Perhaps he felt you deserved it. Aloud, Dumbledore was more diplomatic. “Hermione and Ron would’ve stopped him before he got that far.”
“You didn’t see the look in his eye. I’d forgotten how hot Lily’s temper could flair when she was really angry.”
“You forget that he practically leveled my desk when we returned from the Department of Mysteries.” He didn’t have to remind Remus that it had been Sirius’ fall through the Veil of Death that had sent Harry to deal with despair in the only way he knew how: anger. “I’m sure both of you said things you’d like to take back.”
Remus nodded dumbly once again, the trail of tears shining starkly as his head fell back against the lamppost. “The worst part of it is that he’s right, you know. Only he doesn’t know how I’ve burned my bridges.”
“Isn’t the flat you were sharing with Nymphadora close by?” Dumbledore ventured.
“Not anymore. We turned in the keys to the landlord. It was really too small for two people; but it had been her home for so many years, it made more sense for me just to fit myself into her life.”
“Larger flats can be very dear these days.”
“That too,” Remus confided grimly. “I helped her move her belongings to her parents’ house before I set off on my fool’s errand.” With infinite patience, Dumbledore waited until Remus added, “He told me flat out that he had no use for me on his quest.”
“Unfortunately, Harry’s on a secret mission of his own. He’s only allowed to --”
“Include Ron and Hermione,” Remus finished. “It’s also common knowledge that you assigned him this task. That much he admitted to Minerva the very night….the night that Snape showed his true colors.”
Dumbledore chose to not correct him. Instead, he offered, “And you’ve been trying to dissuade him all summer, haven’t you?”
“Believe it or not, Albus, but having just gotten married, I had other priorities in my life. This was the first instance when I was able to talk to him alone.”
“You must’ve considered this was a distinct possibility when you arrived on his doorstep. Why does it bother you so?”
“Like I said before: I have nowhere else to go.”
“I’m sure Ted and Andromeda would’ve welcomed you both.”
With haunted eyes, Remus pleaded his case, “I just couldn’t pretend any longer. I went through the motions of transporting my steamer trunk there, knowing in my gut that I couldn’t stay.”
“Are you so afraid of imposing on someone else’s generosity?” Remembering how tetchy Remus could be about financial matters, Dumbledore thought it best to add, “Until you got back on your feet, that is.”
“I should never have given into her,” Remus asserted like a mantra. “I managed to hold out for so long; I don’t know what made me abandon my principles like that. Everything in my head gets muddled whenever she enters into the picture.”
“Remus, it’s not unusual to have second thoughts about taking such a big step. But it’s no crime to fall in love. Why deny yourself this?”
Clenching his fists in frustration, Remus looked down at the small band of gold on his finger. “Because I can never be like other men. Even if Tonks refuses to see the reality of it, society will still condemn her for her choices. Haven’t you been listening, I’m a werewolf.”
“Remus, I’ve known that since before you were eleven years old. But it would only be relevant to the situation at hand if she hadn’t known that before the marriage “ and that was not the case.” With utmost delicacy, Dumbledore continued, “Tonks doesn’t care what the world thinks, she never has. She only cares for you. Surely, you’ve worked that out for yourself by now?”
Remus shook his head stubbornly, stray bits of moisture illuminated like glass before falling to the sidewalk. “We argued.”
“All couples argue. Then they find the commonalities that brought them together in the first place.”
“Such a reconciliation may not be possible in this instance.”
“I doubt that. As long and hard as Tonks fought to have you by her side, I hardly think--”
“I have nothing to offer her, Albus. No job, no prospects, nothing but another yoke for her to bear.”
“Did she say these things to you?”
Remus shook his head. “I said them to her. But I owed it to her to be perfectly frank about the situation as I saw it.”
“See that’s just it: she doesn’t see things in the same stark relief as you do.”
“Just because she can empathize, doesn’t mean she can truly appreciate how society views werewolves.”
“So, in other words, you think she was a fool for marrying you,” Dumbledore dared.
“I should’ve stopped her from making such a mistake. I should’ve known better.”
“I doubt she would let anyone, including you, keep her from her chance at happiness.”
“She won’t find that with me.”
“Why not? Don’t you love her? Doesn’t she love you? I fail to see the problem.”
Remus cast his eyes down in misery.
“Remus, why do you feel you’re not entitled to be happy?”
A shuddering sob was the only response.
Sensing that such introspection was more than Remus could bear at the moment, Dumbledore tried a different tack. “What makes you so certain Tonks doesn’t want you back?”
With a wet sigh, Remus muttered, “We said so many things….”
“There isn’t a couple anywhere that doesn’t argue. It’s how compromises are hammered out.”
“Is that why I feel like a sword in a blacksmith’s forge?”
“Fatigue alone with do that,” Dumbledore sympathized. “But you’re not going to dodge this issue with a well-placed analogy, Remus. Did she specifically say she didn’t want you back? Or that she wanted you to leave in the first place?”
“Not exactly… But how could she not feel that way?”
“Just because you’ve convinced yourself that’s the way she should feel, doesn’t mean she does. What were her exact words? If you’re determined to ignore your heart’s wisdom, her words are all you have.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Remus volunteered, “I believe the term ‘tosspot’ was bandied about quite a bit --”
“Vintage Nymphadora,” Dumbledore chuckled lowly.
“”and perhaps a few stronger modifiers I’d rather not repeat.”
“We’ll consider those the curlicues of anger.”
Remus snorted a derisive laugh. “I might actually share that with her “ if she ever gives me the time of day, that is.”
“Let’s assume for the sake of argument that she does. What other accusations did she throw in your face?”
After a long pause, Remus surrendered, “That my altruism marked a singular brand of selfishness.”
That was it: the heart of the matter, Dumbledore concluded inwardly. Aloud he tendered, “And this wounds you deeply because, perhaps, it’s true?”
“She just doesn’t understand. Doesn’t even try. I’m doing this for her own good!”
“And for the good of your unborn child?”
Remus winced, then through gritted teeth maintained, “That too.”
“Yet it brings you pain. How can a decision that brings both of you to the brink of despair be the right choice?”
“Damn it, Albus! Because there is no other. I’m a ruddy, stinking werewolf.”
“A fact she knew before she agreed to marry you. Nor were your feelings about the inherent unfairness of your condition a surprise to her. You’re remarkably outspoken about those things among those you trust.”
Clearly caught short, Remus sputtered, “Shouldn’t I be?”
“You miss my point. If you involve others in the process, then they can’t help but be irked when you ignore them in the decision.”
“So you’re saying I should never’ve married her in the first place?”
With a level look, Dumbledore counseled, “No, Remus. I would never deny you this chance at happiness. Your love burns too brightly for that. But you should understand that marriage is a partnership. You have to arrive at your decisions together. Neither of you can override the other.”
“I just wanted to protect her “ and my family.”
Dumbledore arched a silver brow knowingly. “And give her an opportunity to accuse you of patronizing her?”
“Merlin’s fur-lined knickers! If she sees it as sexism, I’ll never hear the end of it!”
“Perhaps the punishment will be less severe if you own up to your deficiencies up front. No, not about being a werewolf. Your deficiencies as she sees them; it’s the basis of any heartfelt apology.”
“I can never forget that I’m a werewolf,” Remus argued.
“So remember it as the full moon draws near, but it doesn’t belong in this negotiation.”
“Did all the prejudice in the wizarding world evaporate while my back was turned?” Remus noted with sharpened sarcasm. “Handy spell, that! You’ll have to tell me how you managed it.”
“The new Minister is zeroing in on a different underdog. Has even managed to redirect Dolores Umbridge’s hatred towards a new objective.”
“That single-minded toad…”
“Is now in charge of harassing Muggleborns,” Dumbledore clarified. “They’re the new cancer in the midst of wizarding society. And those in power are committed to whatever drastic measures are needed to persecute Muggleborns to the extent of their drummed up laws.”
Obviously shocked, Remus uttered, “Having Umbridge in charge puts a new complexion on everything. You have a source at the Ministry?”
With a sad shake of his patrician head, Dumbledore confided, “I read it in the Daily Prophet. People seem to leave those laying about just as much as candy wrappings.”
“So what conclusions have you reached?”
“I’ve studied the Death Eaters’ approach: the manner in which enemies are insidiously undermined by sowing the seeds of doubt and despair. In this instance, they’re seeking to consolidate their supremacy by making outcasts of those most likely to oppose them.”
Catching on, Remus ventured, “Prejudice against Muggleborns is as pervasive as that against werewolves.”
“If anything, the new government has allowed people to openly voice their narrow-minded views. Popularized actions that once were considered shameful.”
“That’s all fine and good, Albus. But werewolves are the true lepers in the equation. We have no advocates.”
“Not so, Remus,” Dumbledore persisted. “Werewolves are studied by many scholars -- but the Department of Mysteries doesn’t market its findings.”
“So we’re a curiosity of sorts,” Remus dismissed.
“If you’ll forgive my appropriation of Muggle terminology, werewolves present a unique ecological niche among wizardingkind.”
“So do hippogriffs and thestrals. But very few wizards are willing to stand up for werewolves’ rights to be treated as humans. Past legislation is proof enough of that!”
“Yet there’s no one denying that werewolves began life as magical beings,” Dumbledore enunciated. “Need I remind you of what happens when a Muggle is bitten?”
As if by rote, Remus replied, “Muggles never become werewolves. Their bodies are unable to metabolize the pathogen, or whatever, which causes the mutation. They always die before the next full moon.”
“As for Muggleborns….Well, I don’t have to tell you that we have yet to determine what causes magic to be born in a seemingly unprecedented manner.”
“But it happens! Surely they can’t deny what their very eyes are telling them.”
In a voice tinged with sadness, the great wizard pronounced, “They pass laws to do that instead.”
“So according to your calculations, Muggleborns pose a greater threat to the new administration than a handful of destitute werewolves.”
“You can’t deny that Muggleborns are clearly the more abundant of those two groups.”
“If they succeed in painting all Muggleborns as criminals, then Tonks’ father…”
“Yes, that makes Ted Tonks a bigger target than you. At the moment.”
“Why just now? What else do you know?”
“Nothing is certain. The full truth is never what the Prophet declares it to be. I connect the dots, one would say. It’s a by-product of having too much time on my hands these days.”
“There are those who would accuse you of weaving conspiracies out of straw.”
“The Death Eaters are one big conspiracy to eradicate life as we know it. Surely, this doesn’t strike you as a paranoid concept,” Dumbledore emphasized.
“There’s more, isn’t there?”
“They may actually go so far as to offer an olive branch to werewolves --”
“”and lay waste to Umbridge’s previous career of persecution?” Remus scoffed.
“Even so. But they need to be on better terms if they wish to recruit the werewolf population to join their ranks.”
The last dregs of color drained from Remus’ face. “Greyback’s deliberate attempts to infect children…”
“The easier to mold their outlook on the world.” With a bitter smile, Dumbledore placated, “But I tell you this not to alarm you, but to make the point that the Tonks family will soon feel the squeeze from that side as well. Don’t make it any harder for them by causing needless worry. I think you’ll be surprised how easily they accept your contrite words.”
With the card nestled inside Remus’ breast pocket, Dumbledore’s view of the outside world shifted as the dejected man rose slowly to his feet.
Resigning himself to the august wizard’s advice, Remus acknowledged, “I don’t trust myself to Apparate, but it’s a remarkably long walk from here.”
Dumbledore issued a dismal cough. “Just promise me you won’t be foolhardy enough to call for the Knight Bus.”
“You mean the Death Eater Express?” Remus retorted. “Stan Shunpike’s arrest made that abundantly clear.”
“Your powers of analysis were always first rate. I suggest you blend in with the Muggle workers who will soon be returning home from the midnight shift.”
“Do the buses run at this hour?”
“The Underground does,” Dumbledore pronounced with certainty. “Do you know which stop to take?”
“I had occasion to travel that way once,” Remus allowed through tight lips as he recalled yet another fiasco. “Before I knew enough of the neighborhood to simply Apparate.”