Marauders Time Travel : you have so many years of screw ups ahead

doing nothing while the world goes to shit

Remus is a day out from the full moon. His senses are heightened and muscles weak. This is how he justifies eavesdropping on Harry's extremely private conversations with Hermione.

After all, he can't help it if he can hear conversations all the way to the dungeons, much less a few book stacks over. Nor can he just leave the library and return at a later time, as that would be too strenuous on his aching form. Really, he's being forced to listen. And, oh boy, what a terrible burden.

"It's dangerous Harry!"

"Relax, Hermione. It's a book. Aren't you always preaching to us about the joys of reading?"

"It could be cursed!"

"Right. Like my Firebolt was cursed in third year."

"I was right about your broom!"

"Sirius gave it to me!"

"We couldn't know that." Why would Sirius give his own godson a present anonymously? Had it been a prank? Hermione was as cautious as a Gryffindor could be, and more clever than anyone in this castle. Remus thinks Harry should just listen to her about this book until she says, "We had no reason to trust him back then."

"It's a potions textbook, not a trap. It was in the cupboard. Anyone could've gotten it."

"But you did, Harry! It found you like bad omens and tragedy and death eaters always do!" she chokes. Harry must hug her close then because her voice is muffled when she asks, "Do you even care anymore? I feel like we're doing nothing while the world goes to shit and they find new ways to get at you everyday."

Harry snorts, presumably at her uncommonly, foul language. Even from here, Remus can tell it was a small, forced thing. He says, "We've been putting off Dumbledore's task, haven't we? I promise you, Hermione. I'm taking this seriously. Once The Marauders go back, it's full speed ahead on bringing down Lord Voldemort, alright?"

Remus wants to stomp around the corner and demand answers for the obviously dire secrets that are being kept from them, but something cold and heavy keeps him tied to his seat.

"You'll be alright? I mean, with saying goodbye again..."

"Yes, but I'm glad to get to know them like this, before, well, before everything."

"Even your dad?" Hermione teases. They've all been mocking the father-son duo about how easily they would get into it.

Harry laughs, loud enough that Madam Pince glares in their direction, "Yes, even my dad. Especially him."

It's good to hear Harry say that so warmly. James has begun to think his son really does hate him despite his mates' assurances that this was nothing more than teenage angst. Still, the confession does little to seal the hole growing in Remus' heart.

In a few short minutes, Remus has learned so much about their futures and not nearly enough to make sense of it. Why hadn't Harry been able to trust Sirius? Were Padfoot and Prongs estranged up until a few short years ago? What horrors could Harry have gone through that a simple book could set Hermione on edge? What could Dumbledore ask a bunch of teenagers to do that involved the Dark Lord?

Remus has more questions than answers. He is tired and could have misheard. This is how he justifies waiting until after the full moon to tell the other marauders about the conversation in the library.

They are just as at a lost as Remus after he retells the story. They are in the Room of Requirement, which thankfully conjured essentials for Remus' post moon recovery.

"What do Death Eaters want with my son?"

"I don't know James, but he's obviously mixed up in some pretty dark stuff."

"We need to extend our trip. We'll find out more and-"

"No, James. I think we should go back. It's the best hope we have for getting rid of the shit bits of this future."

"How can we change the future if we don't know more? Padfoot, talk some sense into him."

"I agree with Moony. No wait, just listen. Malfoy junior gave me a letter the other day. I think," he bites his lip. "I think it might have information about our future."

Remus stares at him like he's lost his mind. James tells him so, "Are you daft? Why haven't you opened it?"

"I promised I wouldn't until we leave this time. He was really freaked out. I think it's important."

"We're putting all our faith in a Malfoy?"

Sirius shrugs, "I trust the little prick."

"Who's got a little prick?" Harry asks, walking into the room with a basket of food.

James, always the example of subtlety and wit, asks, "What's all this about a cursed book and the dark lord?"

"Who-"

"Moony heard you in the library." James approaches the boy, almost menacingly. "Listen to me, no son of mine is getting done in by some dark curse. You're going to throw away that book and you're going to tell us how to fix this!"

"I," Harry gulps, eyes flickering around the room. "I can't have this conversation with you."

Remus notes how the boys says 'can't' and not 'won't'. What did Malfoy tell us that first morning? Harry never learned how to talk to us?

"Well that's too sodding bad!"

"Why does it matter? In a few days you'll all be gone and, ugh. Why does it matter?"

"Because we care about you, arsehole!"

Harry turns his head away in defiance. "You barely know me."

"I know you're a pair of saggy, troll tits."

"Oh, nice," Harry guffaws. "Real mature."

"I also know that you're not particularly good at, well, anything." Harry's face drops in hurt for barely a second, before he scrunches it up in fury. James smiles, cruelly. "Except DADA or Quidditch, and I could still fly circles around you."

"You want to test that theory?"

"You're too sensitive," James continues. Remus thinks this might be the first time he's ever ignored such a blatant challenge. "And you trudge about this castle like you've got the whole bloody world on your shoulders. I know that you're distant. And harsh."

"You're one to ta-"

"And I love you."

Harry's head snaps up so quickly, Remus thinks it might break. He's looking at his father like it's the first time he's ever heard those words. Remus wants to believe it's impossible, but 1996 has presented them with one shit stain after the other. So, in his heart, he knows the undeniable truth.

Prongs tries to take Harry's hands into his own, but the boy flinches away. James huffs and storms out of the room as if he had just been brutally insulted by a loved one. Sirius grips Harry's shoulder before following his best mate. Harry is left looking much too small in the middle of the floor.

"Merlin, he must have been a nightmare to raise," Harry tries for a joke to break their choking silence. He rests the basket on his cot. Remus grabs his wrists.

"He hates feeling helpless," Remus explains. "It's not an excuse. It's just the truth. Especially when I'm like this," – he waves a hand over his scars and bruises – "all the resentment at everything he can't do, or doesn't know, comes rushing up in a big, nasty way."

Remus thinks there has never been a worst time to defend James Potter, but he loved that arsehole even when he was being arsehole. Surprisingly, Harry does not hex him.

"I know."

"You know?" Remus pulls his brows together.

"Yeah. You told me." Harry sends him a watery grin. "Or, you will."