I hope this reaches you before you find out by some other means. Tonight finally saw the end of Voldemort’s power within Britain, but at great cost. It pains me to have to tell you that the final lives he took before his defeat were those of Lily and James Potter, who were in hiding at the time. However, their position was betrayed by their secret-keeper, Sirius Black. He has since been arrested, but not before he was able to murder some victims of his own“including one Peter Pettigrew.
I am truly sorry to be the one to relate this to you, and I understand that no words will be of comfort. However, know that their son, Harry, is safe in the care of Lily’s sister, and that Remus, while understandably distressed, is unharmed, as are your family.
I am infinitely grateful for the work you have undergone abroad, and I am only glad that any promises you received will not have to be fulfilled. We must now concentrate on rebuilding our society in the hope that it will learn from its recent troubles, and I am sure that your family and loved ones will be very happy to see you once more, as will I, should you wish to return.
Once again, my sincere gratitude for all you have achieved, and condolences for your loss.
Albus Dumbledore
She had been travelling for over a year, and although she was constantly moving, she had some semblance of routine. Although officially she was based in France, she had been all over the world. Anywhere that the magical community was organised and prospering, she was willing to bet she had spent some time there, however brief. Most people love travelling, and for the most part, so did she. But it had been over a year, and with no news from those she cared about, she was just ready to go home.
Officially, when she arrived in a new country, she would make contact with their Ministry. Go to some meetings, shake some hands. The Department of International Magical Cooperation wanted her to be “establishing links” and every now and then she was sent some paperwork or a specific task. What they really wanted, she suspected, was to put on a front to the outside world, as if to reassure them that everything was fine. However, Marty was unofficially pursuing her own agenda. Or rather, Dumbledore’s.
It was simple. She just had to keep her ears open. Find out who had the most influence, whether it was officially or not, and who was the most respected and revered“and more importantly, why. And if it sounded as if they had that respect for good reason, she would seek them out.
Sometimes she arranged a meeting, other times she “accidentally” bumped into them. And then she tested the water. She would, at first, smile and laugh and be charming. Then she would slowly drop hints at the troubles in Britain. If they already knew, or if they seemed interested, she went on. Told a specific anecdote to illustrate the horror. Dropped the name of Albus Dumbledore. If they continued to show interest, she would push it even further, and, insisting that it remained “off the record”, voiced her own opinions on the matter. That it was worse than most realised; certainly worse than her Ministry pretended. That she feared it could not be stopped and it would not simply just “go away”. That it could spread.
And then came the tricky part. She would lean in closer, lower her voice, and say, “The thing is...” And then she expressed her worry that if Voldemort took over the Ministry, that would be it.
“There are people fighting him... separate from our Ministry. But if things get really bad... and I’m talking really bad...” And then she would stop, and sit back and shake her head. “No. I can’t. If anyone found out I had mentioned this... This isn’t why I’m here. This isn’t why my Ministry sent me.”
And she would wait for them to make the next move. Almost invariably, they would. And she would lean forward again. “It’s Dumbledore. He’s an amazing wizard. But he can’t do it alone. We need the support of outsiders. It will most likely come to nothing. But I know you have influence here. And if things get really bad... I’d like to think that we could count on you for support.”
And then there was always a moment, when everything hung in the balance. All her nerves would be on fire, her heart racing. If she had done this wrong... chosen the wrong person, approached it in the wrong way, given the impression that this is what the Ministry had asked her to do“she couldn’t let that happen. It had to be secret. It all had to be secret. Just in case.
But she had been chosen for this mission for a reason, and she was good at it. Her charm, her urgency, her obvious passion and distress somehow convinced almost all of them. Some more than others, admittedly, and she didn’t know how many would be able to stay true to their word. But enough. Enough.
She just hoped she’d never have to find out.
After she had their promise, usually she would talk to them for longer, discuss communication, how far the “support” may go, and what would count as Voldemort going “too far.”
Sometimes she would meet them for a second time, even a third.
But she never stayed in one place longer than a couple of weeks. She didn’t want to become too settled, or form too strong a bond with anybody she encountered, because she knew that she would be forced to leave again. She had to keep moving. So much depended on her.
And she had learnt her lesson with Julian.
And then, one day, as she was packing away her things in preparation to leave a hot tropical country far from home, an owl flew though the window towards her.
Terror immediately gripped her heart. She had received only one piece of post since she had left England, and that had been the photo of a tiny baby boy with jet black hair and big green eyes, reaching his hands towards the lens of the camera and giggling. On the back of the photo, in Lily’s handwriting and green ink, was the name “Harry”.
No address, no signature, just the name. Of course, she had been furious. How could James have agreed to it? Any contact had been forbidden by Dumbledore unless one of two things happened. Voldemort was defeated, or it was time to see how many of the people she had obtained a promise from would stick to their word. But that didn’t mean she didn’t treasure the photograph more then anything, tucked away in the sleeve of the book Sirius had given at her leaving party.
As she saw the owl approaching, she didn’t dare to allow herself to hope for the former reason for writing. And if it was the latter, it might just make her“her, Marty Price, peace lover and activist for that all-elusive Cause“responsible for the first ever worldwide war of magic. She didn’t want that kind of power or responsibility. She just wanted to see her family.
Her windows were wide open, and the bird flew straight in.
Aunt Tabby,
I’m coming home.
Marty x
She had been through grief before. She had thought that nothing could be worse than a daughter losing her mother. She had been wrong. It wasn’t that she cared more about losing a best friend. It was that she’d lost four of her best friends all in one go. They had been a six, a strong and close band of six best friends who would always look out for each other. And suddenly, there were only two. And what was worse, it could all have been avoided, but it was the betrayal of one within their group“of Sirius“that had made it happen. She couldn’t understand it.
What had happened in that year she had been away? How had Sirius, the wonderful man who had presented her with the book and hugged her goodbye so tightly that she could barely breathe... how had he become a Death Eater and killed three of his best friends in the space of a year? He couldn’t have been a spy when she left. That was absurd. He knew where she was going. She had only told him, Remus, Lily and James, because the less people who knew the better. Why hadn’t she been killed too? Why hadn’t he passed that little nugget on? None of it made any sense, and she couldn’t think straight because it was just crazy. They couldn’t be gone. She was numb all over. One part of her brain was telling her one thing, but another part refused to accept it. They’re gone didn’t have any kind of meaning because it was impossible. Lily and James existed. They were. She couldn’t imagine a time when they hadn’t simply been, and she couldn’t understand how anything could go on without them. They were two of the most purely present people she had ever known. Their love, their passion, their goodness, it tied them to life and reality in this world, and the idea that they were no more than spirits or souls in a whole other dimension... it made her head hurt. Lily and James couldn’t not be, just like Sirius, who so strongly rejected everything his family tried to turn him into, couldn’t have finally accepted it, only to turn on the ones who had loved and supported him for so long, far longer than those he was joining ever had.
And what about Peter? Why would Sirius murder him too? What did it achieve? He wasn’t a threat to anybody.
Maybe it was a trick. Maybe Dumbledore hadn’t sent the letter at all. Maybe it had been Voldemort, luring her back home so that he could murder her and undo all the work she had been doing.
But why? He might as well just send someone to kill her while she was abroad, and that way she would never be found, and nobody would ever know. The links she had established would just fizzle out and he could continue his domination in peace.
It couldn’t be a trick. Why go into so much detail? So it had to be true, Voldemort was gone, and her friends were dead. There was nothing more she could do but go back to the French Ministry, and organise a Portkey home.
She hated this house. She’d always hated it. Of course, it was a lovely house. It was old, and big, with large windows and a huge garden. She hadn’t been there for years, because she’d always made excuses. After all, her Aunt had stayed at the café when she’d married Garfield, even after Marty had moved out to live with Remus. Tabby had made her family at the café, although Marty knew they hadn’t ever sold this place. But when Marty had gone to Taffy’s, it was all shut up, and the sight had almost clawed out her heart. The café was her home, her childhood, the connection with her mother. It was there that her mother had been murdered, but it was here that reminded her of it. This was a place of grief, of loss, of loneliness, and when she was sixteen she had stayed in a house of near-strangers rather than staying here.
The light of the full moon illuminated the garden, and Marty’s heart wrenched, wondering where he was, knowing he was in pain. But somehow glad she didn’t have to seem him straight away. She was afraid of how different things would be. She had been away for so long, always thinking of him, but the longer she spent alone, the more she’d began to fear that things could never go back to the way they were. So much had changed, they had both been through so much since they had last seen each other... How could they just go back?
Besides, she needed to adjust to seeing her family first. She would stay here for the night.
As she stared at the house, she wondered why it was that she always end up here when she lost people she loved. Although she had to admit, there were signs of change. The once unkempt garden was now neat and pretty, with a swing and a toy broomstick propped up against the wall. She smiled to think of her cousin playing here. Maybe, if the garden had changed, so had the house. Maybe the permanent residence of a wife and child had brought life to the lonely bachelor’s prison.
She took a deep breath, and then walked up the path and was about to knock on the door, when it opened for her.
“Marty!” her aunt exclaimed, throwing her arms around her and pulling her in. “I thought you’d stay out there forever! I wanted to open the door and tell you to come inside, but Garfield seemed to think you needed to come on your own. Oh, I’ve missed you!”
“You too,” Marty managed to get out, smiling at Garfield over Tabby’s shoulder, with a sleepy Linden in his arms. When her aunt finally let go, Marty was able to go over and pick the boy up, who she had always seen as her baby brother, and hug and kiss him on the forehead. Sitting him on her hip with his arms around her neck, she was able to kiss Garfield on the cheek, and ask Linden if he had been good. He nodded, and his eyes began to droop.
“I think someone needs to go to bed,” Garfield said, reaching out to take him, but he shook his head firmly and held on to her tighter.
Tabby smiled. “He’s missed you a lot. He insisted on staying awake to see you, although he should have been in bed hours ago!”
“Why don’t I take him up?” Marty suggested. It would give her some time to see the rest of the house“and process her thoughts. She had missed them so much, so constantly, that to be suddenly surrounded by them again was a little overwhelming. She needed to catch her breath.
“First room on the left,” Garfield said. “Your old bedroom.” Marty only nodded. It was strange that he should have called it that“she’d only spent one night there, the night after her mum was killed. But she realised, rather guiltily, that during that summer, while Tabby stayed here, and Marty with Remus, they must have continued to think of it as hers, waiting for her to return, although she had never been able to.
Still. That was past, and it was Linden’s now, and she put him into bed and gave him another hug, a kiss, and stayed and watched him fall asleep. She had missed him so much, and hated missing an entire year of his life. She didn’t want to leave him, she wanted to stay here forever, happily trapped in the world of an innocent four-year-old boy, who had barely even heard of Voldemort. But time had an annoying habit of moving on, and so she stood up and made her way downstairs and into the sitting room, where Tabby had laid out a tray of tea and biscuits. There was no mistaking that she was back in England.
“How are you, my love? You look thin. And tanned!”
“Well, some of the places I’ve been have been pretty warm. And some freezing. But cold doesn’t tend to leave a reminder, does it?”
“I suppose not. Oh, I can hardly believe you’re here, I’m so happy! Oh, but sweetie... Lily and James. Peter... Sirius. I’m so sorry.”
Marty swallowed. She couldn’t think of a response, so she just ploughed on. “What happened to the café?”
Tabby looked uncomfortable, and glanced at Garfield. “You have to understand, things only got worse after you left. More people died, more became death eaters, no one knew who to trust. Barty Crouch’s own son... it was terrible. All businesses struggled, but people still needed some things“ you can’t do without potion ingredients or wands. But people didn’t want to sit around in tea shops, gossiping and eating cake. No one was interested in minor causes when their own families could be murdered at any time. And besides... Garfield earns more than enough as a Healer. And I wanted to spend more time with Linden. And we would have gone bankrupt if we hadn’t decided to close up... I’m sorry, Marty. Maybe we’ll open again now that Linden has started school, and things start to get back to normal.”
Normal, Marty thought, almost bitterly. As if none of it had ever happened.
She smiled. “It’s okay. I understand. I think I’m going to go to bed now, if that’s okay. I’m tired, and let’s face it... we have all the time in the world to catch up now.”
Tabby hugged her again, not seeming to want to let go, but Marty gently pulled her away.
“Good night, Aunt Tabby. I’ll probably have to visit Remus first thing if that’s okay. I love you.”
Tabby nodded, trying to fight back tears as she watched her beloved niece give a sad little wave, and leave the room to ascend the stairs. Something in Marty had changed in the last year, she was sure of it. There was a sadness behind her eyes, even when they were smiling. It was as if she’d seen one horror too many, or lost one more friend than she could cope with, wilst still retaining some of her old, characteristic optimism. She was truly an adult now, and maybe that was what had changed her. Maybe she’d lost that last little bit of naive innocence.
More than anything, Tabby wanted her to have it back.
She stood outside the door to their flat, her old key still in her hand, taking deep breaths. The moment had finally come, and she knew there was no reason to put it off any longer. But she had been apart from Remus for so long, a part of her had gotten used to it, and she was almost afraid of being thrown back into their relationship as if nothing had happened. It would be strange even if they hadn’t both just lost four of their best friends “ not to mention that he had surely just had one of the worst werewolf transformations of his life.
Suddenly, without even fully realising what she was doing, she put the key into the lock and opened the door.
The place was an absolute mess. Remus had always been quite a neat person, but she could feel his despair emanating from every corner of the room. It was as if he’d completely given up. There were books everywhere, thrown on the floor as if he no longer cared whether or not they were alphabetically organised to the point of obsession. The floor was littered with rubbish, it was freezing cold, and the plants she had cared for a year ago were all shrivelled and dead in their pots.
But, she began to realise, something was wrong. She was expecting it to look untidy. No one but Aunt Tabby would clean while they were in the first days of grief. But plants don’t die if they’re ignored for forty-eight hours. And this wasn’t the mess of a day or two. It looked as if the place had been neglected for months.
What the hell had happened after she’d left? She had known it would be hard for him, but why hadn’t anyone intervened? Lily, James, Peter? Sirius? She knew they’d been preoccupied (maybe, she thought sadly, Sirius hadn’t even cared at all). But how could they have left him like this for so long?
She looked in the kitchen, but immediately left. She would deal with that later. Then, hardly daring to breath and almost wanting to run away and never return, she went into their bedroom.
She swore, which wasn’t like her. But it seemed an appropriate reaction. The sheets, which were already dirty (she tried not to think about how dirty) were covered in blood“recent blood. Remus was slumped, pale and shivering and unconscious, across them.
“Remus!” she yelled, and kneeled down next to the bed, resting a hand on his cheek with tears brimming over her eyes. “Remus, wake up! What happened? Remus! It’s me, come on, wake up!”
His eyes flickered open. They were bloodshot and unfocussed.
“Marty,” he breathed. She smiled weakly. “You came back.” And then he coughed violently, his body curling up on itself, and he passed out. She swore“again“and rushed into the living room to the fireplace. The pot of floo on the mantelpiece had been knocked over, but she managed to collect enough of the powder to throw it into the grate and stick her head in.
Looking out into Garfield’s living room, she saw Tabby putting on Linden’s coat for school with relief.
“Tabby!” she yelled, desperately. “You have to help me. Is Garfield at work?”
“Of course he is, love. What’s the matter?”
“He has to come to the flat. Now. Please, Aunt Tabby, it’s Remus.”
Tabby glanced at the clock“she was undoubtedly already late getting Linden to school. But only for a moment.
“All right, I’ll let him know. You just wait there.”
“Thank you.”
Remus was alone. For a while he visited the others“baby Harry kept him distracted, his friends’ faces and laughter were a source of comfort. But he knew being without Marty had made him subdued and miserable. His friends began to grow wary around him, less animated, and they only ever spoke about unimportant things, the frivolous and superficial.
Of course, James was different. He would never think badly of his friends, never suspect them of anything. But sometimes he would catch Sirius and Peter talking in hushed whispers. Or Lily would shoot him a queer look, one he couldn’t place, or raise her eyebrows at James who would only glare back and shake his head. And no one helped him during the full moon anymore.
James couldn’t, which he understood, but Sirius and Peter simply didn’t. He didn’t think James knew. Once, he had apologised for not being there in front of Sirius, but said at least he still had the others. Sirius and Remus had stared at each other, as if both daring the other to be the one to tell him that Remus’s last three transformations had been made alone.
Neither did.
It all happened around the same time Dumbledore had announced, quite simply, that there was a spy amongst their ranks. Remus knew that they thought it was him. But he didn’t confront them. Let them confront him if they believed it that much. Why should he defend himself when they didn’t even dare to accuse him? And if he was wrong it would make him look paranoid, and if they hadn’t thought he was guilty before they certainly would then.
Besides, what was the point? They were losing. No one had heard from Marty, although Dumbledore insisted that it was a good thing. But it could just as easily mean she had been killed and her body well hidden.
He was unemployed but the Order rarely sent him on missions any more. He was left to stew in his own misery and loneliness, the flat degenerating into a dump now that he had no real reason for carrying on any longer. He had gone to Harry’s first birthday party, but after that he had barely seen his friends for three months.
And then, the night before the full moon“Hallowe’en“it had happened.
And any reason he’d had for living before just completely disappeared. He couldn’t quite remember everything clearly. He remembered Dumbledore standing amongst the mess of the flat, looking ridiculously clean and neat whilst telling him that his friends were dead. He remembered shouting at the old man, saying things he regretted and wanting it all to end. He remembered, just before he left, Dumbledore turning to him sadly and saying, “I hope you will not allow Marty to come home to this, Remus. She will need your support as much you need hers.”
He remembered the transformation, the most painful and bloody in years. And he remembered, though he did not know if it was a dream or his imagination (but it certainly couldn’t have been reality), Marty’s face swimming in front of him, blurry and impossible. A hand on his cheek. Tears in her eyes. And then more blackness.
He awoke in a double bed in an unfamiliar house. The room had the neutral airiness of a generic guest room, although there was a trunk in the corner. It wasn’t his. He recognised it, but didn’t dare to believe it until he heard her gasp somewhere to his right. He turned his head slowly and groggily.
“Remus,” she exhaled, and left her chair to kneel beside him and throw her arms around him, burying her head in his chest and breaking into more tears.
He couldn’t lift his arms“and she had pinned them down even if he could have done“but he closed his eyes and let his own tears escape, inhaling her scent desperately.
He had been so sure that he would never see her again.
“What happened?” she asked eventually, lifting her head and staring at him, her eyes full of every kind of emotion. He couldn’t look into them for longer than a couple of seconds, they burned so much.
He turned his head away, and said nothing.