Cowboys and Angels

moment thirty-two: moonshine (21 August 1993.)

Remus rubbed his eyes. Almost eight years of hard work and effort and struggle, reduced to nothing, now. His little castle in the clouds, Avalon College, could offer him no refuge anymore. The past had shouldered its way back in, and there was no stopping it. Although he told himself, eyes creasing in a smile, that probably was a little fatalistic, Remus.

He would have to move of course; quit his position, and at such short notice. The Headmaster would be livid. He supposed he could get Dumbledore to intercede on his behalf, smooth the waters, but his independence, so bitterly won, would not be surrendered now. He could withstand whatever recriminations the Headmaster sent his way, the protestations about abandoning his classes, his students, the difficulty of finding a replacement so close to term.

If nothing else, he was certainly used to coping with guilt.

His eyes slid across the room to stop next to a bookcase, where three old cardboard boxes, closed by charms, lay covered in dust. Perhaps it was good he hadn't been able to get rid of them after all. Remus pulled a fresh parchment out from the pile, wetted a quill and started making a list of all the things he would have to do and arrange before he left. Not to mention thinking about what he was heading to, the ghosts he'd had to confront. McGonagall was still teaching, as was Dumbledore, and Trelawney, although he'd never taken a great interest in Divination.

And Severus. Severus would be there. Sirius had been sure that Severus had wanted Remus, even if the man had done nothing to demonstrate this. Perhaps that was why they hated each other so. Fighting over Remus' affections, and Remus fought the urge to laugh hysterically. He hadn't even known.

And of course, James, and Lily, and Peter, would be there all the more because of their absence. Sirius as well, and the only one who remained. Harry.

He would have to go see Harry. He could barely even picture what he would be like now; he'd seen a few photos in the Daily Prophet, but largely Dumbledore has stopped all publicity - wisely, in Remus' opinion. Even so, a few half-glimpsed pictures hardly gave him any indication of what the boy would be like, the boy becoming a man. Certainly no trace of the baby Remus remembered.

The Boy Who Lived. Remus idly wondered what they would call Harry when all of this was over. The Man Who Survived?

Because just surviving would be a blessing for many of them, the way things were going. He was no fool, and could read the signs and portents to come. Besides, that ever keen wolf sense told him something very bad was coming, and would not pass over for a long while.

Finishing his list, he raised himself wearily from his chair, and went to speak to the Headmaster. He was getting too old for this.

On his desk, a letter sat uncurled. A few words were visible in a spidery, intricate script: Remus. He's escaped.