Ashes to Ashes

Ashes to Ashes

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Prologue: The Old Crowd

* * *

June 27, 1995

The night was cold. And dark.

The little houses were lined up silently. No lights were on; there was no movement save for the small, whispery wave of smoke from several chimneys. The large black dog shook his fur out for the hundredth time and stretched, sitting beneath the last lamppost on the street; his shadow, stretched in front of him, became blue and grotesquely distorted.

The wrinkled envelope in his mouth read:

Remus Lupin
Number 17, Kite Park
Horsham Saint Faith
Norwich

The wax seal that closed the letter was not green, but a violent scarlet, and the insignia was a tiny signature.

Albus Dumbledore

*

In a dark house, on the end of a small cobblestone lane, only one of twenty-six windows had a light burning behind it. From far away, the house was really quite unremarkable, if not a little unnerving in its Gothic splendor; from closer, however, the house became slightly more inviting. Very slightly. A few unkempt topiary gardens caused a few ominous shadows, but there was a pleasant white rock sitting in a patch of dirt, and 'Number 14' was painted delicately on one face.

The window with the faint glow was small and oval-shaped. The curtains were not closed.

Inside, one could just make out a small room apparently walled with bookshelves. In the center was a cluttered writing table and ancient-looking armchair. Sitting in the armchair, engrossed in a dusty novel, was Remus Lupin. His lips moved silently.

"...I was heartbroken, but that feeling was not unusual to me. Every relationship I had with a human outside of my immediate family suffered the same fate. I just became used to myself, my loneliness. Until it wasn't loneliness anymore. Just my own company."

Ahh, the immortal words of one of my own, thought Remus to himself, bemusedly. I feel for you, brother. He licked his thumb, flipped to the next page, and avidly continued re-reading what had become his favorite book. Aside from Shakespeare, of course. What a Muggle.

"No one questioned my monthly absences after a while. My manager was a good man, he recognized my work ethic, and as I only took one day off per month, he was eager - more so than myself perhaps - to ignore them. But there were those -"

Remus looked up sharply. His muddy hazel eyes scanned the entry hall outside his study. They fixed upon the front door.

And yet the noise had ceased. He lowered his eyes reluctantly toward the page again.

"But there were those who were all too ready to find anything wrong with me, those who recognized the signs, and did everything in their power to expose me. If a chicken was killed, it was never a fox, but a werewolf, due to the method of killing, or another excuse. If -"

He was out of his seat and in front of the door quickly and quietly, his wand in his hand. Remus' eyes narrowed as the sound echoed throughout the entryway.

Scratch...scratch...scratch...

There was someone at the door, and, for some odd reason (well, the reason wasn't odd in the least) Remus J. Lupin never received any midnight greetings. No one in their right mind wandered from the paved street to his house, shrouded by thick trees and overgrown shrubbery. The house the older neighborhood children told monster-stories of.

But the scratching sounded once more, and was now accompanied by a low growl.

Well, what are you going to do? Wait for them to break the door down?

Remus' hand tightened on the knob and flung the door open. For a minute, he saw
nothing, surveying the dark trees around his home, and farther down, the dimly-lit grey stone of the street.

But when he looked down, and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest in surprise.

*

Sirius sat patiently on the welcome mat, and scratched the door with his front paw.

No answer.

If his lips could move, he would have scowled. Sirius had been carrying the parchment envelope in his mouth for the last fifteen minutes, after leaving Buckbeak in the hills beyond the tiny, dark village. And it was becoming increasingly soggy with slobber. Not pleasant.

He scratched again. Sirius growled in frustration. His bright eyes darted behind him, and thought briefly of turning human and opening the damn door himself. But there was no way to tell he hadn't been followed, or that a curious neighbor might not be watching. As much as Sirius hated feeling paranoid, he hated being caught off guard even more.

He growled again and resumed his scratching. You never go to bed before one in the morning, Remus...if I know you, you're awake. Reading.

The door opened, and Sirius looked up expectantly. Remus scanned the air above him for a minute, and when he cast his eyes downward, his tired-looking face broke into a smile; the sparkle so often missing from Remus' eyes came back in a torrent of life. The effect made Sirius feel like smiling, and, slightly against his will, he felt his tail wag. The man motioned Sirius inside, shutting the door behind them and leading the dog into the study.

Sirius shook out his fur wildly and spat the letter onto the hardwood. In a moment, the great, shaggy black dog had disappeared, and in his place was a man with crazily matted hair, in coarse robes of the plainest grey. His thin, haggard face was spread in a grin that rivaled his friend's in brotherly love.

Remus seized Sirius' hand and pulled him into an embrace.

He whispered hoarsely, "Hello, old friend."

Please don't cry, you fool, thought Sirius lamely, although from the tight feeling in his throat, he would've sworn he himself was about to burst into tears.

"Good to see you, too, Remus."

Remus pushed Sirius away and looked at his face.

"You're not as thin," he said happily.

"I've been eating more."

There was an awkward silence, and for a moment the two wizards just looked at each other. Sirius felt his palms moisten, and his sinuses were tight again. Sirius wanted desperately to deliver Dumbledore's news to Remus, but once the letter was in his hand, there would be nothing more to do.

*

Sirius ran his fingers along the worn pages of Remus' book, for lack of conversation, and to search for something to say. Sirius grinned and shook his head.

"'Hairy Snout, Human Heart' by Anonymous. Lord, Remus, you had this book when it was first published."

Remus smirked. "1975."

Sirius paused for a moment, savouring the lightness in the air, before he had to bring up the burdensome topic at hand.

He swallowed, and said, in a voice so heavy he could hear it drag on the floor, "Did you hear about...?" He trailed off, but said roughly, "Harry?"

Remus' face remained impassive for a minute; then, slowly, the colour that had illuminated his features a second before began to drain from his face. Remus suddenly looked a great deal older, more worn-around-the-edges. It was bewildering.

*

Remus balled a fist in a pocket of his robe.

"No," he said, almost inaudibly, and the look in Sirius' eyes was a very sad one.

Sirius nodded grimly, walked over to where he had dropped the (still slightly moist)
envelope, and held it out to Remus.

"Dumbledore," was all he could manage to say.

Remus crossed the floor hurriedly and snatched the letter. Sirius searched Remus' face as his friend's hands shook, reading the parchment.

Mad. Bloody mad. After a few tense minutes of hanging, dripping silence, Remus looked up and whispered, "The Order, Sirius?" He hoped to God it wasn't necessary.

Sirius nodded.

Remus strode over to the fire and tossed the letter in, as Dumbledore had written. He had dreaded this day, from Dumbledore's letter during Harry's first year telling of the encounter with Voldemort and Quirrell, to Peter Pettigrew's discovery, to the article in the Prophet listing The Boy Who Lived as a Triwizard Champion. There had even been a blurb in the paper, just a week before, announcing Harry had won the Tournament.

I was going to write to him, Remus thought dazedly. I was going to congratulate him.

Watching the parchment burn, Remus ran his hands through his greying hair, shaking his head, and asked, in a low voice, "How?" The Order of the Phoenix...the Order of the Phoenix! And Remus' mind strayed very briefly, painfully, to when he, James, and Sirius had attended those awful meetings together. Together, for Merlin's sake!

"How," he repeated desperately.

And Sirius told him.

Barty Crouch...Mad-Eye Moody...the Goblet of Fire...Wormtail! Remus shook his head again. Harry...Cedric Diggory...the Death Eaters...Voldemort...Priori Incantatem.

He felt Sirius' hands on his shoulders, and saw his face in front of him. "We're needed, Moony."

Remus smiled weakly, his heart beating feebly, and Sirius' eyes full of something
unidentifiable. "We leave before September first, then, Padfoot."