fatal love

chapter 181

When Remus first heard the news, he hadn't believed it. Moody had knocked on his door at five in the morning, and said to him,

"Well, I've got good news and bad news."

Moody had always been a prick. Remus had invited him in, made them a cup of tea, asked what it was about. Then Moody had ruined everything Remus held dear in just a few short, clipped sentences. The war was over, Remus was free to get on with his life again.

Remus had gotten angry, shaken his head and yelled that Moody was wrong, James and Lily couldn't be dead. Sirius couldn't be why. Moody couldn't be bothered to argue, had left Remus there and only came back a week later with some of James and Lily's possessions.

James' mirror. A couple of photographs. Some letters. Ten years of memories, all packed up in a little box and delivered by an Auror. Remus snatched it out of Moody's hands and made to slam the door.

"Wait!" Moody said suddenly, jamming his foot in the gap, "there's something not right..."

Remus watched him tinker with the door for a while, not really understanding, but nothing left in him to argue. He still thought something was wrong. Not James and Lily. Not Peter.

Not because of Sirius. Sirius would never-

"...Blood curse," Moody said eventually. "Illegal. No one should even know this exists. Did you know about this, Lupin?"

Remus shook his head, and Moody sighed.

"Suppose it's not that surprising, given everything else," he muttered.

"...Guess not," Remus said hollowly. Who had Sirius been?

"I'll see you around, Lupin. Good luck."

Remus finally got to shut the door, and then he collapsed. He sank down to the floor, weeping, the tears like acid against his skin.

Sirius. How could he? How could he do that to Remus? All those promises...

Remus had trusted him. He'd been so foolish, blinded by love, unwilling to see anything but a man struggling. And all the while, it had been fake.

By nineteen eighty-two, Remus had completely cut himself off. If he had it left in him to care, he would have found it depressing how easy it was. He had always kept his circle of friends small, reluctant to let anyone get too close. Now all the people he had let in were dead.

Except Sirius. He was alive, but Remus wished he was dead. If things were fair, Sirius should have paid with his life for what he did. But he got to keep living, taunting Remus all the way from Azkaban with his success. Remus still thought he saw Sirius sometimes. In the corner of his eye, he'd imagine Sirius was still wandering in the cottage, then he'd look properly, and realise it was empty.

The emptiness was sort of addicting, though. It was better than being around other people, especially now, when everyone was so joyous and celebratory, happy that Voldemort had been defeated by the Boy Who Lived. Not Harry, no one cared about the baby Remus had known, loved, just the Boy Who Lived. No one wanted to put a damper on things and take the time to mourn James, or Lily, or especially Pete.

Stupid, loyal Peter. What had he been thinking? If Pete hadn't been so reckless, hadn't gone and confronted Sirius like an idiot, then Remus might still have one friend left. Who in their right mind would confront a crazed Sirius Black? Remus had caught glimpses of that person, he knew that no one stood a chance, let alone young, mild Peter Pettigrew.

So Remus shut himself off from the world, and it wasn't like there was anyone left to check on him anyway. He buried himself away in the cottage, safe from people and questions and talking, and he still had his thoughts to torture him, but at least he didn't have to listen to other people's opinions as well.