All the Young Dudes ( Sirius' Perspective )

Summer 1976, Part Two ( London )

Wednesday 11th August 1976

“What?”

Sirius blinked. He felt like someone had just shoved his head underwater.

“His Matron contacted the muggle authorities at approximately 9:43 a.m. this morning to report that he had disappeared. It would appear that he has run away; however, he has left his wand and various other possessions at St. Edmund’s, which warrants some concern.”

Remus was gone. Remus was missing. Remus had disappeared and left his wand—why would he leave his wand??

“I had hoped to find him here,” Dumbledore sighed, “Fleamont, you will let me know if he stops by?”

“Of course,” Mr. Potter said, nodding, “You’ll be the first to know.”

“Thank you.” Dumbledore paused, briefly; then, “If we are unable to locate him within twenty-four hours, I am afraid that I will have to report this to the Ministry.”

Sirius’s head snapped up. “What—why? What do you mean, report it?”

Dumbledore turned to gaze at him. “I will have to tell the Ministry that I have knowledge of an unaccounted-for underage wizard, with a potentially dangerous medical condition.” He said it calmly, eyes tepid.

None of them had to ask exactly what the headmaster meant. Rage cut like a blade through the fog that had enveloped Sirius’s mind.

“No!” He cried out, before he could think about it, “You can’t do that!”

Dumbledore continued to stare at him, calmly. “I’m afraid I will have no choice. You will learn about it shortly in the paper, I am sure, but I must inform you all that there was an attack last night. It would appear that Voldemort is now in league with dark creatures—there were several deaths.”

Mrs. Potter gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. Sirius felt sick.

“Albus, surely you don’t believe that Remus—”

“No,” Dumbledore held up a hand, cutting Mr. Potter off, “Remus was not involved in any way. Poppy confirmed this morning that he remained at St. Edmund’s for the duration of the night.”

Sirius felt a wave of short-lived relief. “But—then why—”

“I am sorry, Sirius, but I’m afraid that it is out of my hands.”

Dumbledore spoke as if it were final, as if the matter were already settled. He continued to stare placidly, calm and sympathetic and infuriating. It was Christmas all over again.

“Then you have to find him,” Sirius insisted, hands curling into fists, “He could—he could be in danger. Those disappearances, in the papers—what if they targeted him? What if he’s been kidnapped? If Voldemort’s using—”

“I’m sorry, Sirius,” Dumbledore spoke gently, “But there is nothing more I can do. For right now, it must remain in the hands of the muggle authorities.”

His brother’s voice rang in his head. Do you honestly think Dumbledore gives a shit about any of us?

“That’s bullshit!” Sirius really was shouting, now, “You’re supposed to be the most powerful wizard in the world! There must be something you can do!”