Fic: Cold mirror, Release me, for dear_tiger
Title:Cold mirror, Release me
Author: taigne
Written for: dear_tiger
Rating: PG-13
Prompts:“Remus and silver” and “Lost years: Remus traveling”
Summary: Remus is stuck; but if he can move away from his past, perhaps he can also move on.
Any other notes, warnings, etc.: Many thanks to such_heights for fixing my comma issues and many helpful comments, especially as it became rather longer than planned! The title is from the poem “Silver” by Wendy Battin.
***
Christmas, 1981, had been kind enough to fall near the new moon. Five days before the 25th Remus should have felt good, he should have been on an upswing of energy and the seasonal spirit. He felt numb. Numb and guilty, and the usual werewolf-given vigour was making his skin crawl. He needed to get out, away from the remains of the celebrations of the boy saviour and the end of the war exultations that still graced the newspapers.
He glared at the ring on its chain as it lay on the floor where he had thrown it. The silver circle glinted at him, caught in the light of early dusk. Remus turned his back on it, looked down at his thin fingers where they rested on the peeling Formica of his shabby kitchen table-top. He looked once more at the creased photo of James bouncing Harry on his knee, Peter entertaining the little boy by levitating Harry’s rag-doll rat just out of reach of his chubby fingers.
Remus couldn’t go back to his own home, not with the memories of his parents still haunting him. But this flat, with the too-big bed and the pile of not-yet-burned photographs and Muggle records on the shelves, was worse. It sapped his spirit and his funds, meagre as they were with no job and no rich partner bringing in a Newly Qualified Auror’s salary.
The chill running through the room from the kitchen where the draft excluder was wearing out made Remus shiver. He needed to get out. How far, he wasn’t sure, but he’d always wanted to travel. And there was a lot of potential for making money by helping rid villages of dark creatures. In Europe, most countries had a large enough wizarding population to contain the dark creatures which bothered Muggles. Other continents however, offered many pest control opportunities. So why was it so hard to leave these memories behind?
*
“The giant squid is from Chile, you know, Muggles call it a Cuero, meaning ‘hide’. They thinks it’s donkey skin, fallen into a lake and brought to life,” Remus mused, glancing up from his Charms essay as Sirius bemoaned his Care of Magical Creatures homework. Sirius blinked, Remus’ non sequitur having achieved its purpose.
“You’ve actually memorised the entire Dark Creatures textbook, haven’t you, Moony.”
Remus shrugged. “Lots of freelance work in dealing with pests. Superstitious but generally ignorant Muggles are the most likely to employ a werewolf to get rid of their weird problems.”
“Agh, it’s just not on, Moony. You’d be a fantastic Auror, we’d be a brilliant team!”
Giving Sirius that tight little smile which meant Remus was far from happy and would not tell you in a million years what he was thinking, he turned back to his essay.
He watched out of the corner of his eye though, as Sirius chewed his lip and got that thoughtful look. Remus hoped he was thinking of another way to persuade Remus to move in with him that summer, once school was over and done with. Not that Remus would say yes. Not considering the way his pulse quickened around Sirius lately. No, the close quarters of the dormitory were bad enough, and here they had James and Peter to distract them.
*
Silver, even weeks from the full moon, was painful to hold, and on the days immediately surrounding it, burned Remus’ skin at the slightest brush. He usually tried to avoid handling money without gloves, as sickles were pure enough to sting, which wasn’t easy in summer. Luckily Remus had never had a lot of money to spend anyway, so it had rarely come up on Hogsmeade weekends.
The pale metal made his curse react, a feeling not unlike the magical pain from jinxes that mimicked allergies, a prickly, fiery sensation, highly uncomfortable. It was nothing like the agony the change elicited, but it hurt nonetheless.
So Remus was annoyed as he sucked his burnt fingers, glaring daggers at the badly behaved post-owl. The bird’s leg tag had caught them as the stupid bird refused to stay still while Remus untied its message. There was no way Remus was giving it a treat for its trouble now. Not that he had any treats anyway, his cupboards were depressingly bare.
The message from Dumbledore soon made him forget the burn. Order business, the clean up still went on behind the scenes, and apparently they would pay for a Dark Creatures expert. ‘They’ being a mixed Muggle-Wizarding community in Chile.
“I could practise my Spanish,” he thought absently, setting the letter down on the arm of the settee and scowling at it. It was what he had been thinking of anyway, travelling. It was an ideal opportunity. So why did he still feel so dismal? Why didn’t the constant pressure on his heart lift at the thought of escape?
The silver ring still lay on the floor, as it had for the past two days, dull in the sullen, midmorning winter light.
*
“Doomed! We’re all doomed!” declared James melodramatically. “The Hobgoblins are breaking up, Stubby Boardman’s quit after he got hit in the ear by a turnip at his last concert!”
Sirius nodded sympathetically, but he was obviously distracted. Remus wondered how James could possibly care about a crappy pop-group on this, their last Hogsmeade weekend. He almost wished that Lily would arrive early so that he could get back to his agonising in peace. Luckily Peter was enraptured by James’ every word and filled in the gaps where Sirius defaulted, engaged as he was in not staring at Remus. Because ever since the shower that morning last week, Remus was constantly not staring at Sirius. And not finishing sentences. And not staring.
Remus thought that maybe Sirius wanted to discuss why this not staring should continue, but as he hadn’t managed to speak to Remus since the shower that morning last week, it seemed rather hopeless. Getting a flat together after school was over was definitely going to be a bad idea. Remus was hovering on a precipice between ‘terrified’ and ‘can’t wait’.
*
Remus had put the radio on, when mindlessly chain-smoking Sirius’ brand of cigarettes had not been enough to block out the stifling silence. He’d switched from WWN to Radio 2 because Muggles didn’t want to re-hash Voldemort's final days, preoccupied as they were with the Christmas number one. It played to itself in the background as he listened to his former Headmaster.
“It activates in three days' time, Christmas Day.” Dumbledore referred to the lapis-lazuli necklace on the table in front of Remus, a portkey to Chile. It was one of the last places that needed ‘cleaning up’ following Voldemort’s defeat. It was disconcerting, the number of bases worldwide which the Dark Lord had been in the process of setting up. If he had not been stopped… Remus shuddered at the thought.
Dumbledore gave Remus a small smile that did not reach his eyes. “I understand some of what you must be going through.” Remus’ former headmaster placed a hand on his forearm and sighed. Did he really have any idea what it was like for all you friends to be dead to you and have nowhere to go on Christmas Day? Remus doubted that that was quite what Dumbledore referred to.
“I can’t tell you how to move on, only that if you stop trying to live your life, you will get stuck in the last place you want to be.”
“I really don’t know what I can do, sir,” Remus breathed. “It just hurts.”
“That’s why I suggest you take this journey. It might help you to put some distance between yourself and Sirius.” Dumbledore’s normally twinkling eyes were filled with an old pain which Remus had seen in the mirror every morning since That Night.
“I…sir, I…” Remus stuttered. He swallowed painfully before focussing on the portkey on the table.
“It will get better, with time,” Dumbledore told him. Remus nodded, disbelieving, and picked up the portkey, turning it over in long-fingered hands. Dumbledore gave a small but real smile and rose to depart. Remus didn’t notice him stoop but he looked up from the blue-stone necklace as Dumbledore held out his hand, palm cupped.
“You seem to have dropped this, Remus.”
Taking the ring automatically, Remus mumbled brief thanks. Once the headmaster had gone, Remus opened the fist he had clenched unconsciously. The pure silver signet shone against his pale skin, cold to the touch.
*
Sirius and Peter clashed on many things. Sirius, whose upbringing, as far as Remus could tell, had been a constant battle of tongues, was usually the victor. But music debates were when Peter could hold his own. Sirius insisted on liking Muggle music because it pissed off his family and Peter had a natural advantage in that area having grown up listening to it. Remus knew a reasonable amount about the subject, and James desperately wanted to learn so that he could impress Lily with his cosmopolitan interests, and so many a holiday hour was spent sitting around in Remus’ bedroom listening to their rapidly growing collection of EPs and LPs on his record player.
The summer before 7th year Peter was all about ‘The Jam’. Remus admitted their lyrics were pretty good, even if he wasn’t a huge fan. Sirius claimed they were boring and nowhere near as good as the “Sex Pistols”, who had released God Save the Queen, which was promptly banned by the BBC and thus loved by Muggle teenagers and Sirius alike.
“But they’re just insulting everything, where’s the message?” Peter asked as he lounged against the end of Remus’ bed. Sirius, who was lying next to Remus on the bed itself, snorted. “ ‘Time for Truth’” Peter continued, “ is something that those in power might actually listen to, it’s eloquent, and articulate.”
“Oh, and you’d know all about that wouldn’t you, Wormy!” Sirius rolled his eyes and Remus elbowed him in annoyance. They were saved from further argument as James, ever on the search for songs Lily might like, put on yet another Beatles track about love and peace and Sirius had to jump up to strangle him.
Remus wished Sirius would be so tactile with him. Sirius was reverent about Remus’ body after the full moon, his touch warm and soothing and everything Remus wanted and it only made things worse. In between moons Remus ached for more than the careful shoulder-hugs and comradely pats on the back Sirius unconsciously gifted him with.
*
The whole area was thick with dark magic, it reverberated in the air and depressed the local people. Voldemort had certainly been here, there would not be even a semi-Muggle settlement so close to such negative energy had it been a natural source of evil. The sudden contrast to Britain was strong, the air more humid than the biting cold he had come from. Remus drew his cloak about his thin shoulders and began the walk down the slope to the small collection of houses in the bottom for the shallow valley. It took only a few paces to make him adjust his speed, as he struggled not to gasp in thin air of the high Altiplano.
Dumbledore had meant it when he said the village was remote. The tiny plots outside the low stone wall perimeter suggested subsistence farming, and the homes were hand made and mended, tarpaulin sheeting nailed in place over holes in roofs. The rubble path that ran between them was lined with thin, straggling trees and must have been barely passable by Muggle vehicles.
There was a single concrete building in the centre of the settlement, a grey box, which Remus assumed served as a meeting place. The clouds gathering overhead were ominous and he quickened his pace. The entrance Once he reached the shelter, Remus shrugged off his back-pack and retrieved his thermos, not sure if a cigarette was a good idea until his lungs adapted to the high altitude. He settled to wait for Dumbledore’s contact to approach him as night approached.
The chain around his neck was cold in the moist air. He hoped he had made the right decision.
*
“Here, Remus, this is for you.” Remus looked up sharply, Sirius rarely used his real name nor spoke with such gravity. On Sirius’ palm sat his signet ring, the personalised version of the Black family crest that Sirius had received for his 16th birthday, shortly before he left his family. Remus had thought he had thrown it away when he noticed it missing from Sirius’ finger one morning, but had not wanted to bring it up by asking about it. They had too many problems at the moment with their secretive Order work, he didn’t want to create another reason to fight.
Remus frowned in confusion. “Sirius…I can’t wear it, even on a chain it’ll…”
“Trust me, Remus.” Sirius smiled an honest smile, the smile he only let Remus, and sometimes James, see.
Tentatively, Remus reached out a hand towards the ring. Rather than the buzz of danger and repulsion he usually felt in the presence of silver this close to the full moon, Remus could only detect a magical barrier, almost like the protective charms he had been putting up around Order member’s houses last week.
“Universa tutela argentum.” Sirius displayed no invitation for praise in the announcement, as he usually did when he’d come up with something clever. Remus wanted to give him the praise, but more, he wanted to give him love. Sirius spoke again, which was good because Remus wasn’t sure he could.
“I wanted it to be something more than just their symbol, I wanted to attach it to something I care about, y’know, give it a new meaning. So it stands for something good.”
Remus dragged his eyes from the silver ring that was not burning his palm.
“What does it stand for now?” he did not dare speak above a whisper.
Sirius took Remus’ hands in his own, folding their fingers over the signet and pulling them in close to his chest.
“You and I,” Sirius’ voice was as hushed as Remus’ own.
Remus’ heart gave an odd jump in his chest. He reached out, searching Sirius’ face, hopeful.
“We…?”
Sirius nodded. “Aren’t we?”
Remus exhaled in amazement and gasped in new air. It tasted sweet. He nodded.
*
Caesar, Dumbledore’s contact, greeted him in a friendly manner and thankfully in English. Lighting the way with a ball of flame in the palm of his hand, he showed Remus to the little house where he would stay with him. He was middle-aged for a wizard, Remus guessed around 65, and had shoulder-length grey hair with kind grey eyes. Remus felt at ease as the quiet man got on with some household tasks having shown the Englishman where he could keep his things. Perhaps this trip would be a good idea after all.
The older wizard introduced Remus to the gathered villagers that evening. They gave him ‘pan de pascua’ a fruity Christmas bread, and warm ‘cola de mono’ to drink, which seemed to be sweet kind of alcoholic coffee. It was more of a Christmas meal than Remus had let himself want this year. The Muggles of the village seemed to accept the magic around them, letting the wizards do as they would, and Remus didn’t question it. The nonchalance was a nice check against the tension inside him. But being surrounded by so many people after his last months of solitude left Remus rather overwhelmed. He was struck by a disembodied feeling, his responses becoming automatic and remote as they asked him about his country and his magic, particularly his wand.
It seemed that the Northern Chilean people practiced a predominantly natural spell-casting.
Most of the magic Remus saw performed that evening was non-verbal, Caesar was not alone in his ability to conjure fire in his palm. How useful that would have been all of those times Sirius forgot a lighter in Muggle London and they’d had to surreptitiously use a wand when he needed his nicotine fix. Memories flooded Remus’ consciousness at the thought.
*
“Really, Sirius!” Remus chastised, but he knew he sounded more amused than cross. Sirius sucked at the white stick, an expression of dreamy contentment on his face.
Remus couldn’t help but cast an appreciative glance at Sirius’ long legs and firm backside as his …flatmate lent casually against the wall. The jeans of his Muggle undercover outfit were definitely Remus’ favourite part of Sirius’ Auror work. The rest he couldn’t help but worry about, since Sirius had passed his final exams and was assigned street duties. It was a dangerous time, both as an Auror and an Order member.
Remus knew he shouldn’t worry, knew he technically wasn’t allowed to worry, not over Sirius, not like Lily did for James. He did anyway. He could keep that secret, just as well as he had kept his Lycanthropy all his life. Better. James and Peter didn’t know, he was fairly certain.
But Sirius would insist on meeting him here in Muggle Soho, when they could both get away from their responsibilities for half an hour or so. Even here they didn’t dare touch, but they could look. And they could pretend the rest of the world didn’t matter. Right then, it really didn’t to Remus.
Checking they were totally alone here, Remus flung up a Muggle-repellent charm about them and, before he lost his nerve altogether, kissed Sirius, hard and intense. Sirius’ eyes widened and his hand caught Remus’ elbow before he could pull away completely. The charm began to crumble, but Sirius didn’t release his grip, thanks in his grey eyes.
*
Life slipped seamlessly into a pattern in the village. Remus adjusted his formal use of the Spanish language to better fit the Northern Chilean dialect the locals used and they continued to tease him for it. Caesar kept him fed and watered, providing shelter when he needed it, but for the most part Remus was left alone. It was a different kind of solitude than the crushing oppression of the London flat. He didn’t like to call it his home any more.
Remus steadily investigated the dark magic surrounding the area, often camping out when working outside the settlement, dousing dark-spots that peppered the land around the settlement and the roads in and out.
The curse-traps set among the foothills on the way to what Remus presumed must have been Voldemort’s base nearby afforded him, with minor modifications, a safe place to transform for the January Full. The wolf had even been subdued by the altitude that his human body had become accustomed to. A day of lying about in the damp rocky outcrops had not been ideal for recovery, but Remus has been through worse.
Three weeks later, an abandoned barn drenched in a particularly dark magical aura had revealed a small nest of Basilico, the creatures plaguing the village. Remus was highly cautious in his approach, carefully setting hexes before him. Having prepared himself to rush the cornered cockerel-headed snake-creatures, he managed to stun the two that he backed into the corner and finished them easily. But his caution had given the remaining Basilico a chance to escape and Remus ground his teeth in annoyance when he realised his mistake.
Upon checking his perimeter protection spells, however, he found that he had managed to tag the creature with a ‘simulatio vereor’ hex which contained a nestled identification charm. As night fell, Remus set about working out how to modify the charm to reveal the creature’s whereabouts.
Remus was in no doubt that the Basilico in the area were under some kind of Imperious - they would not naturally attack such large prey as humans. There were various spells for animals which were easier to cast than the human version. The Imperious variant could be having long-lasting effects, even after the death of the spell-caster. Despite the mixed-up Muggle legends about Basilico turning people to stone if you stepped inside their cave, or paralysing different bits of you, these cockerel-headed creatures had none of the medusa-like powers that the giant Basilisks wielded. They did however siphon off the spirit to feed on, leaving victims weak and lethargic. No doubt Voldemort had found that interesting in his quest for immortality.
There had been two more Basilico attacks on the villagers by the time Remus managed to track them back to their nest. Though the security charms Remus had set around the village meant that neither had been successful, the creatures seemed to realise when the protection spells alerted the wizards and both escaped capture. He taught the magical villagers how to reset the charms. Now they had seen their use, they quickly picked up the ideas, and adapted their wandless magic to effect similar barriers. They taught Remus some of their healing tricks and other useful non-verbal spells in return.
The tracker spell Remus had finally attuned to the Basilico’s identification charm led him to a large cave. There were a few struts around the area but whatever the reason for human presence, it had been gone a long time. Standing in the entrance Remus paused, finishing the cigarette he was smoking, ostensibly to mask his scent from the Basilicos’ sensitive tongues.
*
“Sirius! Come in, you’re soaked! You’re persisting in using the dread machine, I suppose.” Sirius smirked at Lily’s usual jibe about his flying motorbike. “I’m so glad you made it,” Lily continued, “ James was worried you’d not escape the overtime.” Lily ushered her fiancé’s best friend into their tiny yellow kitchen. She took his rain-damp cloak and scarf, and gave them a quick “siccus amiculum” before hanging them on the back of the last spare chair in the busy little room.
“Nah, I made a point of singing all the alternative versions of those Muggle Christmas songs we invented last year, they practically pushed me out of the door.” Sirius remarked as he leaned back against the counter and surveyed the cluttered table, swimming in bottles of all shapes and sizes.
“James has gone to get food, we’re just getting a bunch of the set menus from Hassan’s. The prospect of cooking for so many was too much after a ten hour day!” Lily gave him a little shrug and smile.
Sirius could hear the New Year’s party in full swing in the main room of the Potter/Evan’s abode. He paused as if reluctant to brave the crowd. Remus had noticed his entrance but was relieved that he didn’t have to fight the urge to hug Sirius yet.
“Should teach Jamie to cook,” he grinned. Lily looked appropriately scandalised at the prospect. “Where’s my liquid refreshment then?”
Auld Lang Syne was sung and the party wandered into the early hours, when most of the guests had gone home, and only the Marauders and Miss Evans remained. They lounged on the couches, a little worse for drink.
“You only like Celestina Warbeck for her tits and tight robes, James!” Sirius accused his friend as they listened to the WWN. James chuckled, then sobered as Lily glared at him.
“Just because tits are the only things that register in your brain, Sirius!” James retorted. Sirius growled and Remus snorted. Sirius shot him a covert warning look which Remus pretended not to see.
“I still prefer Muggle music, wizarding pop’s got nothing going for it since the Hobgoblins broke up. Queen are great!” Peter enthused, neatly providing a distraction.
“Queen? They’re alright, Bohemian Rhapsody was ace!” Sirius agreed, with none of the usual scathing tone he used to address Peter. Remus relaxed, letting his head loll onto Sirius’ shoulder, and lay a hand over the ring under his shirt.
*
The hairs stood up on the back of Remus’ neck. There was not an excess of dark magic here as there had been in the abandoned barn; it was as if the cave itself was setting him on edge. A “hostilis ostendo” check revealed no human enemies so Remus continued deeper into the cavern. Soon his hackles were fully raised and he was sweating. Remus’ thoughts swam, his chest feeling tight. He wondered if he should wait - though for what? The creatures had been crafty, escaping while he waited. Surely it was better to get this over with? Trying to steady his breath, Remus continued into the darkening cave.
He turned a corner into obscurity, heard a slippery rustle across the floor and flung out his hand. The ball of light he threw illuminated the dozens of cockerel-headed Basilico, suddenly alerted to his presence.
There was no time for caution as several Basilico lunged for him at once, and Remus flung hexes indiscriminately, desperate to avoid their draining effect. He felt one of the creature’s sharp beaks tugging at his cloak and stamped down viciously on the creature, reeling back when he felt its bones crack under his worn boot heel. Remus retreated backwards, trying to put the wall behind him to stop himself becoming surrounded. His back flared in pain as it met the rocks and he jerked quickly forward. Batting at his cloak to get whatever had bitten him off, he cast several offensive spells as quickly as his shortening breath allowed.
A wave of heat and nausea threatened to hobble him but Remus shook his head and focused desperately on the task at hand. He concentrated on making each hex count, in between counter spells to stop the creatures siphoning off his strength, while fending off their weaker but distracting physical attacks. The number of unmoving creatures finally overtook those still writhing around him and his movements and casting became automatic, survival instincts taking the place of conscious thought.
Finally it was over. Remus staggered, now that the adrenaline rush was wearing off, and crashed heavily and unceremoniously into the sharp cave wall. The outcrop tore his sleeve and bit into his skin. With a cry he pulled his bleeding arm to him, realising with horror that it was blistering badly. Stumbling for the exit, cursing in relief and at his own stupidity, Remus fled the silver mine, Patronus rushing ahead of him.
*
Remembrance day was a full moon in 1981. Remus didn’t want to remember, the poppies bedecking Muggle London were too close to the blood of his friends just then. The Muggle top 10 was playing on the café’s radio. Remus was barely listening, staring listlessly out of the window at the bitter autumn rain that sluiced down in sheets. Then he heard it, the DJ announced the new number 1 and John Deacon’s bass rhythm cut through his stupor. “Peter loves Queen,” sprang painfully into his mind and Remus bit his lip as his breath caught. Then confusion set in, as Bowie’s baritone joined Mercury’s more expansive vocal range.
The Spiders from Mars and Major Tom flashed through Remus’ mind, and Sirius singing Ashes to Ashes at the top of his lungs and demanding to know why Muggles were so tone deaf as to not make it their number 1 record.
But the overwhelming pain and anger did not come. They hid, under the surface of Remus’ awareness, remote. ‘I’m dreaming,’ Remus realised, and that was alright, it made sense. Because his memories of he and Sirius at school, and in their flat were mostly good. And that was all in the past. He needed to leave them there, and let them be just as they were; good or bad...
*
Remus surfaced from the dream in Caesar’s hut. The enigmatic Chilean’s eyes twinkled and Remus wondered how close he and Dumbledore were, and what communication had passed between them concerning Remus himself. Certainly the man had left Remus, a stranger in his home, to his own devices. He had given Remus the space he needed to lose himself in his work, to simply be, without question or pain for a while.
That Remus had woken from that particular memory without salt tracks lining his face showed him how far he had come in these few weeks. The distance he had gained from home and That Night had not just been physical. He felt for the chain around his neck. The ring was still heavy against his chest, and Remus found he welcomed its presence.
“I thought the mines were all copper around here?” Remus hissed through gritted teeth, flexing his shoulder muscles to ease the irritation of his burned back, now fading to a mere throb under Caesar’s ministrations. Caesar smiled a knowing smile and Remus bit back an irritated comment.
“There are various nitrates to be found too. The first mine in the hills contained a vein of silver nitrate, along with copper and silver deposits.”
Caesar had wrapped Remus’ salve-coated arm in cloth bandages. Remus risked a glance at his face, worrying his lower lip as he waited for the Chilean to speak.
“You have more than a little animal in you,” Caesar said pointedly and Remus looked down. “And I am willing to help you when you need it, five days, yes?”
Remus nodded stiffly. “Thank you for your offer. I hope I won’t cause you trouble.”
Caesar shook his head. “Your job is done, I thank you on behalf of the village, though they will all thank you themselves later. And invite you to stay, for a while at least. You have begun to heal.”
Remus knew he didn’t mean physically. “That is true. I seem to have found some of the peace I was looking for, even though I didn’t realise I was looking for it. It might have been the brush with death that did it, but probably it’s just being here with no ties to bind me. No memories.” He nodded to himself subconsciously. “I think… I think I need to allow myself my emotions because I felt them truly at the time. But perhaps I shouldn’t let them rule me any longer.” He took out the last of his cigarettes from his battered pack and lit it with a flick of his uninjured wrist. Caesar smiled.
“You learn well, Englishman.” Remus was grateful for the change of subject, he needed time himself to work through this new outlook, to become properly accustomed to it.
“I love to learn. You know, I thought I might like to capture one of your moon-calves, a Camahueto. I hear the horn’s healing properties are highly sought after,” Remus let himself ramble.
Caesar frowned, puzzled. “The horn can only be cut off on a full moon night,” he pointed out.
Remus nodded, eyes alight. “I know, but I wasn’t a Marauder for nothing. If I can devise tricks to fool 7th Year Slytherin, I can outfox a relatively unintelligent magical creature. We once inverted the Hogwart’s Great Hall ceiling charm, you know. I have a plan to use that damn mine to my advantage,” he grinned, determined.
Caesar raised his grey eyebrows. “That I would like to see. But first, the village wants to have their hero at the celebration feast. Walk with me.”
They made their way from Caesar’s home towards the central hall, under a cold, clear sky.
Remus looked up and smiled a real smile. “Is it true that you can see the Dog Star in the mornings here? I haven’t taken the time to look.”
***
1994 - Hogwarts
Canis Major, along with all other celestial bodies, would be hidden from view by the unseasonably thick clouds that night. Professor Lupin rubbed the back of his neck in a wan effort to refocus on the pile of essays he had been marking since his last class had left for the day. He looked up when the door opened without a precursory knock. The Potions Master strode in, deposited Wolfsbane and left Remus to say ‘thank you’ to his back. But Snape did not turn towards the dungeons as he left the DADA classroom.
Curiosity, and a lack of ability to concentrate further on the question “Should Porgrebin be classified as Dark Creatures?” persuaded Remus to take the Marauder’s Map from the hidden drawer in his desk. It looked as though Severus was making his way upstairs somewhere. Odd for such a creature of habit.
Then the movement of a name, two names, and footprints in the corner of the grounds caught his eye, obliterating all thought of Severus. Remus stared at the Map as if it had spontaneously given him the secret of eternal life.
Sirius was innocent.
Not even the moon’s pull could distract him as he raced through the corridors, clutching the silver ring on the chain about his neck.
Author: taigne
Written for: dear_tiger
Rating: PG-13
Prompts:“Remus and silver” and “Lost years: Remus traveling”
Summary: Remus is stuck; but if he can move away from his past, perhaps he can also move on.
Any other notes, warnings, etc.: Many thanks to such_heights for fixing my comma issues and many helpful comments, especially as it became rather longer than planned! The title is from the poem “Silver” by Wendy Battin.
***
Christmas, 1981, had been kind enough to fall near the new moon. Five days before the 25th Remus should have felt good, he should have been on an upswing of energy and the seasonal spirit. He felt numb. Numb and guilty, and the usual werewolf-given vigour was making his skin crawl. He needed to get out, away from the remains of the celebrations of the boy saviour and the end of the war exultations that still graced the newspapers.
He glared at the ring on its chain as it lay on the floor where he had thrown it. The silver circle glinted at him, caught in the light of early dusk. Remus turned his back on it, looked down at his thin fingers where they rested on the peeling Formica of his shabby kitchen table-top. He looked once more at the creased photo of James bouncing Harry on his knee, Peter entertaining the little boy by levitating Harry’s rag-doll rat just out of reach of his chubby fingers.
Remus couldn’t go back to his own home, not with the memories of his parents still haunting him. But this flat, with the too-big bed and the pile of not-yet-burned photographs and Muggle records on the shelves, was worse. It sapped his spirit and his funds, meagre as they were with no job and no rich partner bringing in a Newly Qualified Auror’s salary.
The chill running through the room from the kitchen where the draft excluder was wearing out made Remus shiver. He needed to get out. How far, he wasn’t sure, but he’d always wanted to travel. And there was a lot of potential for making money by helping rid villages of dark creatures. In Europe, most countries had a large enough wizarding population to contain the dark creatures which bothered Muggles. Other continents however, offered many pest control opportunities. So why was it so hard to leave these memories behind?
*
“The giant squid is from Chile, you know, Muggles call it a Cuero, meaning ‘hide’. They thinks it’s donkey skin, fallen into a lake and brought to life,” Remus mused, glancing up from his Charms essay as Sirius bemoaned his Care of Magical Creatures homework. Sirius blinked, Remus’ non sequitur having achieved its purpose.
“You’ve actually memorised the entire Dark Creatures textbook, haven’t you, Moony.”
Remus shrugged. “Lots of freelance work in dealing with pests. Superstitious but generally ignorant Muggles are the most likely to employ a werewolf to get rid of their weird problems.”
“Agh, it’s just not on, Moony. You’d be a fantastic Auror, we’d be a brilliant team!”
Giving Sirius that tight little smile which meant Remus was far from happy and would not tell you in a million years what he was thinking, he turned back to his essay.
He watched out of the corner of his eye though, as Sirius chewed his lip and got that thoughtful look. Remus hoped he was thinking of another way to persuade Remus to move in with him that summer, once school was over and done with. Not that Remus would say yes. Not considering the way his pulse quickened around Sirius lately. No, the close quarters of the dormitory were bad enough, and here they had James and Peter to distract them.
*
Silver, even weeks from the full moon, was painful to hold, and on the days immediately surrounding it, burned Remus’ skin at the slightest brush. He usually tried to avoid handling money without gloves, as sickles were pure enough to sting, which wasn’t easy in summer. Luckily Remus had never had a lot of money to spend anyway, so it had rarely come up on Hogsmeade weekends.
The pale metal made his curse react, a feeling not unlike the magical pain from jinxes that mimicked allergies, a prickly, fiery sensation, highly uncomfortable. It was nothing like the agony the change elicited, but it hurt nonetheless.
So Remus was annoyed as he sucked his burnt fingers, glaring daggers at the badly behaved post-owl. The bird’s leg tag had caught them as the stupid bird refused to stay still while Remus untied its message. There was no way Remus was giving it a treat for its trouble now. Not that he had any treats anyway, his cupboards were depressingly bare.
The message from Dumbledore soon made him forget the burn. Order business, the clean up still went on behind the scenes, and apparently they would pay for a Dark Creatures expert. ‘They’ being a mixed Muggle-Wizarding community in Chile.
“I could practise my Spanish,” he thought absently, setting the letter down on the arm of the settee and scowling at it. It was what he had been thinking of anyway, travelling. It was an ideal opportunity. So why did he still feel so dismal? Why didn’t the constant pressure on his heart lift at the thought of escape?
The silver ring still lay on the floor, as it had for the past two days, dull in the sullen, midmorning winter light.
*
“Doomed! We’re all doomed!” declared James melodramatically. “The Hobgoblins are breaking up, Stubby Boardman’s quit after he got hit in the ear by a turnip at his last concert!”
Sirius nodded sympathetically, but he was obviously distracted. Remus wondered how James could possibly care about a crappy pop-group on this, their last Hogsmeade weekend. He almost wished that Lily would arrive early so that he could get back to his agonising in peace. Luckily Peter was enraptured by James’ every word and filled in the gaps where Sirius defaulted, engaged as he was in not staring at Remus. Because ever since the shower that morning last week, Remus was constantly not staring at Sirius. And not finishing sentences. And not staring.
Remus thought that maybe Sirius wanted to discuss why this not staring should continue, but as he hadn’t managed to speak to Remus since the shower that morning last week, it seemed rather hopeless. Getting a flat together after school was over was definitely going to be a bad idea. Remus was hovering on a precipice between ‘terrified’ and ‘can’t wait’.
*
Remus had put the radio on, when mindlessly chain-smoking Sirius’ brand of cigarettes had not been enough to block out the stifling silence. He’d switched from WWN to Radio 2 because Muggles didn’t want to re-hash Voldemort's final days, preoccupied as they were with the Christmas number one. It played to itself in the background as he listened to his former Headmaster.
“It activates in three days' time, Christmas Day.” Dumbledore referred to the lapis-lazuli necklace on the table in front of Remus, a portkey to Chile. It was one of the last places that needed ‘cleaning up’ following Voldemort’s defeat. It was disconcerting, the number of bases worldwide which the Dark Lord had been in the process of setting up. If he had not been stopped… Remus shuddered at the thought.
Dumbledore gave Remus a small smile that did not reach his eyes. “I understand some of what you must be going through.” Remus’ former headmaster placed a hand on his forearm and sighed. Did he really have any idea what it was like for all you friends to be dead to you and have nowhere to go on Christmas Day? Remus doubted that that was quite what Dumbledore referred to.
“I can’t tell you how to move on, only that if you stop trying to live your life, you will get stuck in the last place you want to be.”
“I really don’t know what I can do, sir,” Remus breathed. “It just hurts.”
“That’s why I suggest you take this journey. It might help you to put some distance between yourself and Sirius.” Dumbledore’s normally twinkling eyes were filled with an old pain which Remus had seen in the mirror every morning since That Night.
“I…sir, I…” Remus stuttered. He swallowed painfully before focussing on the portkey on the table.
“It will get better, with time,” Dumbledore told him. Remus nodded, disbelieving, and picked up the portkey, turning it over in long-fingered hands. Dumbledore gave a small but real smile and rose to depart. Remus didn’t notice him stoop but he looked up from the blue-stone necklace as Dumbledore held out his hand, palm cupped.
“You seem to have dropped this, Remus.”
Taking the ring automatically, Remus mumbled brief thanks. Once the headmaster had gone, Remus opened the fist he had clenched unconsciously. The pure silver signet shone against his pale skin, cold to the touch.
*
Sirius and Peter clashed on many things. Sirius, whose upbringing, as far as Remus could tell, had been a constant battle of tongues, was usually the victor. But music debates were when Peter could hold his own. Sirius insisted on liking Muggle music because it pissed off his family and Peter had a natural advantage in that area having grown up listening to it. Remus knew a reasonable amount about the subject, and James desperately wanted to learn so that he could impress Lily with his cosmopolitan interests, and so many a holiday hour was spent sitting around in Remus’ bedroom listening to their rapidly growing collection of EPs and LPs on his record player.
The summer before 7th year Peter was all about ‘The Jam’. Remus admitted their lyrics were pretty good, even if he wasn’t a huge fan. Sirius claimed they were boring and nowhere near as good as the “Sex Pistols”, who had released God Save the Queen, which was promptly banned by the BBC and thus loved by Muggle teenagers and Sirius alike.
“But they’re just insulting everything, where’s the message?” Peter asked as he lounged against the end of Remus’ bed. Sirius, who was lying next to Remus on the bed itself, snorted. “ ‘Time for Truth’” Peter continued, “ is something that those in power might actually listen to, it’s eloquent, and articulate.”
“Oh, and you’d know all about that wouldn’t you, Wormy!” Sirius rolled his eyes and Remus elbowed him in annoyance. They were saved from further argument as James, ever on the search for songs Lily might like, put on yet another Beatles track about love and peace and Sirius had to jump up to strangle him.
Remus wished Sirius would be so tactile with him. Sirius was reverent about Remus’ body after the full moon, his touch warm and soothing and everything Remus wanted and it only made things worse. In between moons Remus ached for more than the careful shoulder-hugs and comradely pats on the back Sirius unconsciously gifted him with.
*
The whole area was thick with dark magic, it reverberated in the air and depressed the local people. Voldemort had certainly been here, there would not be even a semi-Muggle settlement so close to such negative energy had it been a natural source of evil. The sudden contrast to Britain was strong, the air more humid than the biting cold he had come from. Remus drew his cloak about his thin shoulders and began the walk down the slope to the small collection of houses in the bottom for the shallow valley. It took only a few paces to make him adjust his speed, as he struggled not to gasp in thin air of the high Altiplano.
Dumbledore had meant it when he said the village was remote. The tiny plots outside the low stone wall perimeter suggested subsistence farming, and the homes were hand made and mended, tarpaulin sheeting nailed in place over holes in roofs. The rubble path that ran between them was lined with thin, straggling trees and must have been barely passable by Muggle vehicles.
There was a single concrete building in the centre of the settlement, a grey box, which Remus assumed served as a meeting place. The clouds gathering overhead were ominous and he quickened his pace. The entrance Once he reached the shelter, Remus shrugged off his back-pack and retrieved his thermos, not sure if a cigarette was a good idea until his lungs adapted to the high altitude. He settled to wait for Dumbledore’s contact to approach him as night approached.
The chain around his neck was cold in the moist air. He hoped he had made the right decision.
*
“Here, Remus, this is for you.” Remus looked up sharply, Sirius rarely used his real name nor spoke with such gravity. On Sirius’ palm sat his signet ring, the personalised version of the Black family crest that Sirius had received for his 16th birthday, shortly before he left his family. Remus had thought he had thrown it away when he noticed it missing from Sirius’ finger one morning, but had not wanted to bring it up by asking about it. They had too many problems at the moment with their secretive Order work, he didn’t want to create another reason to fight.
Remus frowned in confusion. “Sirius…I can’t wear it, even on a chain it’ll…”
“Trust me, Remus.” Sirius smiled an honest smile, the smile he only let Remus, and sometimes James, see.
Tentatively, Remus reached out a hand towards the ring. Rather than the buzz of danger and repulsion he usually felt in the presence of silver this close to the full moon, Remus could only detect a magical barrier, almost like the protective charms he had been putting up around Order member’s houses last week.
“Universa tutela argentum.” Sirius displayed no invitation for praise in the announcement, as he usually did when he’d come up with something clever. Remus wanted to give him the praise, but more, he wanted to give him love. Sirius spoke again, which was good because Remus wasn’t sure he could.
“I wanted it to be something more than just their symbol, I wanted to attach it to something I care about, y’know, give it a new meaning. So it stands for something good.”
Remus dragged his eyes from the silver ring that was not burning his palm.
“What does it stand for now?” he did not dare speak above a whisper.
Sirius took Remus’ hands in his own, folding their fingers over the signet and pulling them in close to his chest.
“You and I,” Sirius’ voice was as hushed as Remus’ own.
Remus’ heart gave an odd jump in his chest. He reached out, searching Sirius’ face, hopeful.
“We…?”
Sirius nodded. “Aren’t we?”
Remus exhaled in amazement and gasped in new air. It tasted sweet. He nodded.
*
Caesar, Dumbledore’s contact, greeted him in a friendly manner and thankfully in English. Lighting the way with a ball of flame in the palm of his hand, he showed Remus to the little house where he would stay with him. He was middle-aged for a wizard, Remus guessed around 65, and had shoulder-length grey hair with kind grey eyes. Remus felt at ease as the quiet man got on with some household tasks having shown the Englishman where he could keep his things. Perhaps this trip would be a good idea after all.
The older wizard introduced Remus to the gathered villagers that evening. They gave him ‘pan de pascua’ a fruity Christmas bread, and warm ‘cola de mono’ to drink, which seemed to be sweet kind of alcoholic coffee. It was more of a Christmas meal than Remus had let himself want this year. The Muggles of the village seemed to accept the magic around them, letting the wizards do as they would, and Remus didn’t question it. The nonchalance was a nice check against the tension inside him. But being surrounded by so many people after his last months of solitude left Remus rather overwhelmed. He was struck by a disembodied feeling, his responses becoming automatic and remote as they asked him about his country and his magic, particularly his wand.
It seemed that the Northern Chilean people practiced a predominantly natural spell-casting.
Most of the magic Remus saw performed that evening was non-verbal, Caesar was not alone in his ability to conjure fire in his palm. How useful that would have been all of those times Sirius forgot a lighter in Muggle London and they’d had to surreptitiously use a wand when he needed his nicotine fix. Memories flooded Remus’ consciousness at the thought.
*
“Really, Sirius!” Remus chastised, but he knew he sounded more amused than cross. Sirius sucked at the white stick, an expression of dreamy contentment on his face.
Remus couldn’t help but cast an appreciative glance at Sirius’ long legs and firm backside as his …flatmate lent casually against the wall. The jeans of his Muggle undercover outfit were definitely Remus’ favourite part of Sirius’ Auror work. The rest he couldn’t help but worry about, since Sirius had passed his final exams and was assigned street duties. It was a dangerous time, both as an Auror and an Order member.
Remus knew he shouldn’t worry, knew he technically wasn’t allowed to worry, not over Sirius, not like Lily did for James. He did anyway. He could keep that secret, just as well as he had kept his Lycanthropy all his life. Better. James and Peter didn’t know, he was fairly certain.
But Sirius would insist on meeting him here in Muggle Soho, when they could both get away from their responsibilities for half an hour or so. Even here they didn’t dare touch, but they could look. And they could pretend the rest of the world didn’t matter. Right then, it really didn’t to Remus.
Checking they were totally alone here, Remus flung up a Muggle-repellent charm about them and, before he lost his nerve altogether, kissed Sirius, hard and intense. Sirius’ eyes widened and his hand caught Remus’ elbow before he could pull away completely. The charm began to crumble, but Sirius didn’t release his grip, thanks in his grey eyes.
*
Life slipped seamlessly into a pattern in the village. Remus adjusted his formal use of the Spanish language to better fit the Northern Chilean dialect the locals used and they continued to tease him for it. Caesar kept him fed and watered, providing shelter when he needed it, but for the most part Remus was left alone. It was a different kind of solitude than the crushing oppression of the London flat. He didn’t like to call it his home any more.
Remus steadily investigated the dark magic surrounding the area, often camping out when working outside the settlement, dousing dark-spots that peppered the land around the settlement and the roads in and out.
The curse-traps set among the foothills on the way to what Remus presumed must have been Voldemort’s base nearby afforded him, with minor modifications, a safe place to transform for the January Full. The wolf had even been subdued by the altitude that his human body had become accustomed to. A day of lying about in the damp rocky outcrops had not been ideal for recovery, but Remus has been through worse.
Three weeks later, an abandoned barn drenched in a particularly dark magical aura had revealed a small nest of Basilico, the creatures plaguing the village. Remus was highly cautious in his approach, carefully setting hexes before him. Having prepared himself to rush the cornered cockerel-headed snake-creatures, he managed to stun the two that he backed into the corner and finished them easily. But his caution had given the remaining Basilico a chance to escape and Remus ground his teeth in annoyance when he realised his mistake.
Upon checking his perimeter protection spells, however, he found that he had managed to tag the creature with a ‘simulatio vereor’ hex which contained a nestled identification charm. As night fell, Remus set about working out how to modify the charm to reveal the creature’s whereabouts.
Remus was in no doubt that the Basilico in the area were under some kind of Imperious - they would not naturally attack such large prey as humans. There were various spells for animals which were easier to cast than the human version. The Imperious variant could be having long-lasting effects, even after the death of the spell-caster. Despite the mixed-up Muggle legends about Basilico turning people to stone if you stepped inside their cave, or paralysing different bits of you, these cockerel-headed creatures had none of the medusa-like powers that the giant Basilisks wielded. They did however siphon off the spirit to feed on, leaving victims weak and lethargic. No doubt Voldemort had found that interesting in his quest for immortality.
There had been two more Basilico attacks on the villagers by the time Remus managed to track them back to their nest. Though the security charms Remus had set around the village meant that neither had been successful, the creatures seemed to realise when the protection spells alerted the wizards and both escaped capture. He taught the magical villagers how to reset the charms. Now they had seen their use, they quickly picked up the ideas, and adapted their wandless magic to effect similar barriers. They taught Remus some of their healing tricks and other useful non-verbal spells in return.
The tracker spell Remus had finally attuned to the Basilico’s identification charm led him to a large cave. There were a few struts around the area but whatever the reason for human presence, it had been gone a long time. Standing in the entrance Remus paused, finishing the cigarette he was smoking, ostensibly to mask his scent from the Basilicos’ sensitive tongues.
*
“Sirius! Come in, you’re soaked! You’re persisting in using the dread machine, I suppose.” Sirius smirked at Lily’s usual jibe about his flying motorbike. “I’m so glad you made it,” Lily continued, “ James was worried you’d not escape the overtime.” Lily ushered her fiancé’s best friend into their tiny yellow kitchen. She took his rain-damp cloak and scarf, and gave them a quick “siccus amiculum” before hanging them on the back of the last spare chair in the busy little room.
“Nah, I made a point of singing all the alternative versions of those Muggle Christmas songs we invented last year, they practically pushed me out of the door.” Sirius remarked as he leaned back against the counter and surveyed the cluttered table, swimming in bottles of all shapes and sizes.
“James has gone to get food, we’re just getting a bunch of the set menus from Hassan’s. The prospect of cooking for so many was too much after a ten hour day!” Lily gave him a little shrug and smile.
Sirius could hear the New Year’s party in full swing in the main room of the Potter/Evan’s abode. He paused as if reluctant to brave the crowd. Remus had noticed his entrance but was relieved that he didn’t have to fight the urge to hug Sirius yet.
“Should teach Jamie to cook,” he grinned. Lily looked appropriately scandalised at the prospect. “Where’s my liquid refreshment then?”
Auld Lang Syne was sung and the party wandered into the early hours, when most of the guests had gone home, and only the Marauders and Miss Evans remained. They lounged on the couches, a little worse for drink.
“You only like Celestina Warbeck for her tits and tight robes, James!” Sirius accused his friend as they listened to the WWN. James chuckled, then sobered as Lily glared at him.
“Just because tits are the only things that register in your brain, Sirius!” James retorted. Sirius growled and Remus snorted. Sirius shot him a covert warning look which Remus pretended not to see.
“I still prefer Muggle music, wizarding pop’s got nothing going for it since the Hobgoblins broke up. Queen are great!” Peter enthused, neatly providing a distraction.
“Queen? They’re alright, Bohemian Rhapsody was ace!” Sirius agreed, with none of the usual scathing tone he used to address Peter. Remus relaxed, letting his head loll onto Sirius’ shoulder, and lay a hand over the ring under his shirt.
*
The hairs stood up on the back of Remus’ neck. There was not an excess of dark magic here as there had been in the abandoned barn; it was as if the cave itself was setting him on edge. A “hostilis ostendo” check revealed no human enemies so Remus continued deeper into the cavern. Soon his hackles were fully raised and he was sweating. Remus’ thoughts swam, his chest feeling tight. He wondered if he should wait - though for what? The creatures had been crafty, escaping while he waited. Surely it was better to get this over with? Trying to steady his breath, Remus continued into the darkening cave.
He turned a corner into obscurity, heard a slippery rustle across the floor and flung out his hand. The ball of light he threw illuminated the dozens of cockerel-headed Basilico, suddenly alerted to his presence.
There was no time for caution as several Basilico lunged for him at once, and Remus flung hexes indiscriminately, desperate to avoid their draining effect. He felt one of the creature’s sharp beaks tugging at his cloak and stamped down viciously on the creature, reeling back when he felt its bones crack under his worn boot heel. Remus retreated backwards, trying to put the wall behind him to stop himself becoming surrounded. His back flared in pain as it met the rocks and he jerked quickly forward. Batting at his cloak to get whatever had bitten him off, he cast several offensive spells as quickly as his shortening breath allowed.
A wave of heat and nausea threatened to hobble him but Remus shook his head and focused desperately on the task at hand. He concentrated on making each hex count, in between counter spells to stop the creatures siphoning off his strength, while fending off their weaker but distracting physical attacks. The number of unmoving creatures finally overtook those still writhing around him and his movements and casting became automatic, survival instincts taking the place of conscious thought.
Finally it was over. Remus staggered, now that the adrenaline rush was wearing off, and crashed heavily and unceremoniously into the sharp cave wall. The outcrop tore his sleeve and bit into his skin. With a cry he pulled his bleeding arm to him, realising with horror that it was blistering badly. Stumbling for the exit, cursing in relief and at his own stupidity, Remus fled the silver mine, Patronus rushing ahead of him.
*
Remembrance day was a full moon in 1981. Remus didn’t want to remember, the poppies bedecking Muggle London were too close to the blood of his friends just then. The Muggle top 10 was playing on the café’s radio. Remus was barely listening, staring listlessly out of the window at the bitter autumn rain that sluiced down in sheets. Then he heard it, the DJ announced the new number 1 and John Deacon’s bass rhythm cut through his stupor. “Peter loves Queen,” sprang painfully into his mind and Remus bit his lip as his breath caught. Then confusion set in, as Bowie’s baritone joined Mercury’s more expansive vocal range.
The Spiders from Mars and Major Tom flashed through Remus’ mind, and Sirius singing Ashes to Ashes at the top of his lungs and demanding to know why Muggles were so tone deaf as to not make it their number 1 record.
But the overwhelming pain and anger did not come. They hid, under the surface of Remus’ awareness, remote. ‘I’m dreaming,’ Remus realised, and that was alright, it made sense. Because his memories of he and Sirius at school, and in their flat were mostly good. And that was all in the past. He needed to leave them there, and let them be just as they were; good or bad...
*
Remus surfaced from the dream in Caesar’s hut. The enigmatic Chilean’s eyes twinkled and Remus wondered how close he and Dumbledore were, and what communication had passed between them concerning Remus himself. Certainly the man had left Remus, a stranger in his home, to his own devices. He had given Remus the space he needed to lose himself in his work, to simply be, without question or pain for a while.
That Remus had woken from that particular memory without salt tracks lining his face showed him how far he had come in these few weeks. The distance he had gained from home and That Night had not just been physical. He felt for the chain around his neck. The ring was still heavy against his chest, and Remus found he welcomed its presence.
“I thought the mines were all copper around here?” Remus hissed through gritted teeth, flexing his shoulder muscles to ease the irritation of his burned back, now fading to a mere throb under Caesar’s ministrations. Caesar smiled a knowing smile and Remus bit back an irritated comment.
“There are various nitrates to be found too. The first mine in the hills contained a vein of silver nitrate, along with copper and silver deposits.”
Caesar had wrapped Remus’ salve-coated arm in cloth bandages. Remus risked a glance at his face, worrying his lower lip as he waited for the Chilean to speak.
“You have more than a little animal in you,” Caesar said pointedly and Remus looked down. “And I am willing to help you when you need it, five days, yes?”
Remus nodded stiffly. “Thank you for your offer. I hope I won’t cause you trouble.”
Caesar shook his head. “Your job is done, I thank you on behalf of the village, though they will all thank you themselves later. And invite you to stay, for a while at least. You have begun to heal.”
Remus knew he didn’t mean physically. “That is true. I seem to have found some of the peace I was looking for, even though I didn’t realise I was looking for it. It might have been the brush with death that did it, but probably it’s just being here with no ties to bind me. No memories.” He nodded to himself subconsciously. “I think… I think I need to allow myself my emotions because I felt them truly at the time. But perhaps I shouldn’t let them rule me any longer.” He took out the last of his cigarettes from his battered pack and lit it with a flick of his uninjured wrist. Caesar smiled.
“You learn well, Englishman.” Remus was grateful for the change of subject, he needed time himself to work through this new outlook, to become properly accustomed to it.
“I love to learn. You know, I thought I might like to capture one of your moon-calves, a Camahueto. I hear the horn’s healing properties are highly sought after,” Remus let himself ramble.
Caesar frowned, puzzled. “The horn can only be cut off on a full moon night,” he pointed out.
Remus nodded, eyes alight. “I know, but I wasn’t a Marauder for nothing. If I can devise tricks to fool 7th Year Slytherin, I can outfox a relatively unintelligent magical creature. We once inverted the Hogwart’s Great Hall ceiling charm, you know. I have a plan to use that damn mine to my advantage,” he grinned, determined.
Caesar raised his grey eyebrows. “That I would like to see. But first, the village wants to have their hero at the celebration feast. Walk with me.”
They made their way from Caesar’s home towards the central hall, under a cold, clear sky.
Remus looked up and smiled a real smile. “Is it true that you can see the Dog Star in the mornings here? I haven’t taken the time to look.”
***
1994 - Hogwarts
Canis Major, along with all other celestial bodies, would be hidden from view by the unseasonably thick clouds that night. Professor Lupin rubbed the back of his neck in a wan effort to refocus on the pile of essays he had been marking since his last class had left for the day. He looked up when the door opened without a precursory knock. The Potions Master strode in, deposited Wolfsbane and left Remus to say ‘thank you’ to his back. But Snape did not turn towards the dungeons as he left the DADA classroom.
Curiosity, and a lack of ability to concentrate further on the question “Should Porgrebin be classified as Dark Creatures?” persuaded Remus to take the Marauder’s Map from the hidden drawer in his desk. It looked as though Severus was making his way upstairs somewhere. Odd for such a creature of habit.
Then the movement of a name, two names, and footprints in the corner of the grounds caught his eye, obliterating all thought of Severus. Remus stared at the Map as if it had spontaneously given him the secret of eternal life.
Sirius was innocent.
Not even the moon’s pull could distract him as he raced through the corridors, clutching the silver ring on the chain about his neck.