The Way Back to Daylight

Author's Notes: See the Prologue.

Night and day lie open the gates of death's dark kingdom:

But to retrace your steps, to find the way back to daylight--

That is the task, the hard thing.

- Virgil, Aeneid, VI. 128-130 (Oxford World Classics Ed.)

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Chapter Two

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It was the worst time of year to be shopping for an engagement gift. The back-to-school sales were in full swing, and every corner of Diagon Alley was choked with bargain-hunting families. Remus couldn't get any peace; not even in Flourish & Blotts, far to the back behind the Gardening section. A group of second years in Headless Hats were chasing each other with trick wands, laughing and yelling. Remus smiled at their invisible faces, trying to seem harmless and inconspicuous as he edged past.

As he made his way further and further into the shop, through ceiling-high shelves of thick, rarely-browsed volumes, the children's voices grew muffled. Gradually, they faded altogether, and Remus could hear two new voices, unmistakably female, whispering not far ahead of him.

"Mmm, that's nice...mmm..."

"Shhh...someone will hear us...mmm...yeah...just like that..."

There was a series of muffled moans, before the first voice said, "There must be hundreds of Spine-dwelling Slitherings listening to us, you know. I hope that doesn't bother you."

"Spine-dwelling what?"

"Well, Muggles call them 'book worms', but really they're more like snakes, except with invisible legs. To help them climb the shelves, you see."

The other voice giggled.

"They are funny creatures, aren't they?" the first voice continued. "Quite shy, but that's to be expected. Booksellers have been working in secret to wipe them out, even though they don't harm the...mmm ...oh...Don't you want to hear about the Slitherings?"

"Can't help it. Whenever you talk about magical creatures, your mouth does that thing...you know, it gets very serious, and your eyes crinkle up at the corners, and your nose twitches. You look all earnest and sweet."

"I like your mouth, too. Are we going to kiss more now, or would you rather buy your book and kiss at home?"

"Let's get home; the dust is making my nose itch."

By then, Remus had stopped listening. He was leaning against a bookshelf, thinking about the glorious hours he'd spent with Sirius in the Restricted Section. He was pulled from these memories when he heard footsteps approaching. Frowning at his carelessness, he straightened and started combing through the shelves. A moment later, the two women appeared around a corner.

Remus had already recognised their voices: Parvati Patil and Luna Lovegood, both former soldiers (and students) of his. Before the war, he'd often mistaken Parvati for her twin, Padma, but not any longer; Fenrir Greyback had given Parvati a jagged scar across her nose, and another, deeper one along her throat. The fight had occurred in a room filled with carnage, but it stood out particularly in Remus's mind. As he'd knocked Fenrir aside with a hex, Luna had knelt in the gushing blood and pressed her wand to the wound, sealing it in time to save Parvati's life.

Since the war, Remus had seen the two women quite often, but only because they were friends of Ginny's. He'd sensed they were lovers for a long time, although he'd never been sure whether their relationship was covert. Now, as he looked at Parvati's uncomfortable face, he knew that she, at least, didn't want him to find out.

"Professor Lupin," said Luna, who refused to call him anything else, "what a nice surprise. Have you noticed any Slitherings in the shelves?"

Remus raised his eyebrows and smiled. "I'm afraid I haven't, Luna, but I'll be sure to keep a lookout."

Parvati gave him a polite smile, though she was still avoiding his eyes. "So, what brings you to Flourish & Blotts?" she asked.

"I've been shopping all day for Harry's engagement gift. I'm afraid I left it to the last minute, and I'm completely at a loss. The crowds aren't helping, of course. How about the two of you? What have you been up to?"

"Oh, Parvati likes to do this sometimes," said Luna, with a smile. "She thinks it makes us more exciting."

Parvati glared at her girlfriend. "Ha ha, very funny, Luna. Actually, we're shopping for a book of spells to fix musical instruments, because someone's dog chewed my violin to shreds."

"He didn't mean to," said Luna, serene as always. "You left it lying on the couch. He probably thought it was a shoe."

"Mistook a violin for a shoe? Your dog is daft, Luna, but I suppose all dogs are. Don't you think so, Remus? Have you ever owned a dog?"

Remus wouldn't have sworn his life on it, but he thought Luna winked at him.

"Yes, dogs can be a handful," he said, hoping to avoid the question. "I didn't know you played the violin, Parvati."

She shrugged. "I only just started, really."

"Do you charm the strings, or do you play by hand?"

"Both, but mostly by hand. I like the way the instrument feels. There's something nice about doing things the Muggle way sometimes, especially with music."

"Yes, I know what you mean," said Remus, "I've never played an instrument, but I'm fond of cooking by hand. Whenever Harry comes by, we cook together."

"Well," said Parvati, "why don't you make a meal for the engagement party?"

"I thought of that, but they've already booked Dobby's catering company."

"What about flowers? Or a photo album?" asked Luna. "Isn't that what people usually buy?"

"That's true," said Parvati. "It's only an engagement gift, after all. The wedding present is the important thing."

"Well, I'd like to get something more permanent than flowers," Remus replied, "and something more original than an album."

The truth was, he and Sirius had bought a bouquet of pinkish-white roses and a large, gold-embossed photo album for James and Lily, along with a bottle of champagne, but Remus thought it wise not to bring up the past.

"Have you been to Cardigan Alley yet?" Luna asked, suddenly.

Parvati snorted. "What, with all the junk shops and old biddies drinking tea?" she scoffed. "I don't think Remus will find what he's looking for there."

"Actually," said Luna, dreamy-eyed with a vague smile, "actually, Professor Lupin, I think you'll find exactly what you're looking for in Cardigan Alley."

Parvati rolled her eyes, but Remus was entranced by Luna's words. He'd never intended to look in Cardigan Alley, but as he said goodbye to the two women and headed out of Flourish & Blotts, he decided to follow Luna's advice.

---

Remus had never been to Cardigan Alley, though he'd walked past it several times. It was at the far end of Diagon Alley, beginning in the thin gap between a shoe shop and a pub. Remus had always assumed the alley was a tiny area with a few run-down shops, but the further he walked inside, the wider it opened up, until it was more of a square than an alley. With its pastel-coloured shopfronts and gleaming cobblestones, it was like Knockturn Alley's better-half. Sunlight flooded in, allowing crowds of elderly ladies to sit outdoors under umbrellas, drinking tea and eating honey-dribbling scones.

As Remus made his way past the tables of chattering women, he started feeling out of place, and that made him uncomfortable. Remus worked hard to blend in, and he usually succeeded, but in this environment he couldn't help being conspicuous. He was a tall, slightly-stooped man, with shaggy hair and battle-scars. His robes weren't tattered and frayed as they'd once been, but they were well-worn and black, and slightly too big for his thin frame.

He wasn't the only man in the alley, but he was certainly the youngest and wildest-looking. Glancing around, he realised he hadn't received so many disapproving stares since he was an eyeliner-wearing teenager, holding Sirius's hand at the back of a London bus. He was starting to wish he hadn't listened to Luna.

As he walked, his strides grew faster, and he looked around for a shop to duck into. They all seemed to be filled with antiques, floral-patterned robes, medicinal potions and elderly ladies. Finally, Remus's eyes caught on a large, turquoise-coloured sign, The Inner Eye, above a dusty window lined with crystal balls. The shop seemed to be empty, so he hurried inside, the door creaking as he opened it.

He noticed the smell first, of acrid smoke and dying flowers, as his eyes adjusted from the sunlight. It was a gloomy, musty shop, crammed with overflowing shelves and benches. There were stacks of leather-bound journals and tarot cards; rows of teapots, tea cups and candles; and piles of rusty tea-canisters. The cracked walls were papered with palmistry and astrology charts, and the only light came from a pair of lamps that had been covered with red shawls.

As he walked further inside, the uneven floor groaned under his boots, and someone stood up from a chair at the back of the shop. It was clearly a woman, but only her silhouette was visible. She was tall and bent, with a mass of wispy hair, and thin as a praying mantis. Draped in scarves and wearing a shoe-length robe, she appeared to glide, rather than walk, towards him. There was something very familiar about her.

"Hello," Remus called, with a polite smile. "I'm just browsing. Won't be a minute."

As the woman drew closer, Remus detected the stench of cooking sherry, cheap and sickly, in the air around her. Finally, he recognised her. He glanced at the door, wanting to bolt outside, but good manners held him back.

"Professor Lupin," she said, in her whisper of a voice, as her face became visible in the dim light. "How delightful. It's so nice to be paid a visit by one of my former colleagues."

"It's delightful to see you too, Sybill," said Remus, with a forced smile. "Although I must admit, I've been looking for Harry's engagement gift. I'm here quite by accident."

"I doubt that very much, my dear," she replied. "Fate moves every aspect of our lives. There are no coincidences. In fact, I've been expecting your visit for some time. Follow me to my little room at the back, and we shall share a pot of tea."

"That sounds lovely, Sybill, but I couldn't possibly -"

"The fates have informed me that you will discover a suitable gift by the end of the day, so there's no need to rush. Come now," she said, turning and beckoning him with one jewel-encrusted hand. "I shall read your leaves, and perhaps discover what fortune has in store for you."

---

The shop's backroom was stuffy, windowless, and cramped with two over-stuffed magenta armchairs. There was a small wooden table between them, spindly and round, cluttered with perfume bottles, balls of wool and some half-finished needlework.

"Sit down, dear," said Sybill, gesturing to one of the chairs.

Remus sat, watching as she cleared the table and summoned a fragile pink tea-set. In a moment she was pouring the tea, humming quietly to herself.

"So, you've left Hogwarts, I take it," said Remus, when she handed him his cup.

"Indeed," she sniffed. "Minerva and I had some...professional differences, when it came to running the school. She insisted that...that the pompous horse should continue teaching the fine art of Divination. Honestly, a beast like that meddling in the affairs of fate." She leaned over to pat Remus's hand, "No offence intended, dear; I'm aware of your...condition...but I don't believe it's quite the same as being half-man, half-nag."

Remus swallowed, struggled to relax, and finally nodded. He started gulping down his tea; it burned his tongue, but he hoped to leave as soon as possible.

"Then Minerva tried to change my lesson plans," Sybill continued, oblivious. "Imagine, trying to teach me how to teach. Me. Well, I still have my pride. Last year the tarot notified me that I would leave Hogwarts and open a little shop, and here I am."

Remus swallowed the last of his tea and set the cup back on the table.

"It's been wonderful catching up with you, Sybill," he said, "but I really must keep searching for Harry's engagement gift. The party is in a week, and -"

"I shall give you a brief reading, before you depart," Sybill cut in. "Free of charge, of course."

Before he could protest, she'd reached down and picked up his cup. She was holding it close to her face, scrutinising it, when she suddenly dropped it.

"Sybill?"

She didn't respond. The cup bounced on the thick blue carpet, then settled with its contents spilled like a line of black ants.

"Sybill?" Remus asked again, staring at her.

She looked as though she was having an epileptic seizure. He got to his feet and reached out to her, but he wasn't sure how to help. Was she in danger of swallowing her tongue? Should he turn her to the side and put a pillow beneath her head? Years ago, he'd taken a Muggle First Aid course, but now it was all a blur. He pulled out his wand, intending to signal St. Mungo's, when a deep, rasping voice filled the room: "Listen well."

It took a few seconds for him to realise that the words had come from Sybill, who was still sitting stiff and upright as a marionette puppet, a line of drool dribbling from her slackened mouth. Her eyes were rolling in their sockets, and her hair had frizzed even higher than usual, as though tweaked by static electricity.

Her mouth opened and the voice burst forth once more, like a growl of thunder: "Two valued brothers have been lost; one roams the darkest region under daylight, while the other dwells in sunless lands. Only the wolf desires to follow the path of ancient heroes into darkness. He must seek the wizard who surpassed all others but could not fulfil his greatest wish. Together, they can petition the King to restore order. In three days...the wolf...will make...his choice..."

Then, without warning, Sybill slumped forward and landed in a heap of limbs and scarves on the carpet. Remus, who'd been watching in astonishment, his wand dangling loose from his fingers, rushed forward and levitated her back onto the chair. He checked her for bruises and broken bones, but she was, evidently, a resilient old bird. She must be stronger than she looks, he thought, to support the weight of all that jewellery.

He was about to revive her when her eyes flickered open. At first he was relieved, but then he realised she was staring as though she didn't know him.

"Sybill? Professor Trelawney?" he asked. "How are you feeling? Are you all right?"

"Ah," she said, "the wolf." Her voice sounded different yet again; it was measured and clipped, and much louder than her usual tone.

"Sybill, lie still and rest," he said, urgently. "I'll signal St. Mungo's, and -"

"There's no need for that, wolf. I'm perfectly all right." She glanced down at herself and scowled. "That ridiculous woman..." she muttered. "What a disaster..."

"Sybill?"

"That's right," she said, giving him a piercing look. "I'm Sybill, but I'm not Sybill Trelawney."

"I'm sorry...what?"

"Look, wolf, I think you'd better sit down. Pour yourself another cup of tea."

Remus frowned, but sank back into his armchair. He decided not to touch the tea; he was beginning to think Sybill had laced it with a confusion concoction of some kind. She didn't reach for the tea, either; instead, she pulled a small flask from the folds of her robes, undoubtedly filled with cooking sherry, and took a hearty swig.

"Pfft," she spat, wiping her mouth. "Disgusting. She's got no taste, none at all. Not like her great-grandmother, Cassandra; now that was a high class lady."

"Excuse me?"

"Listen, wolf -"

"I'm only a wolf one night out of every month," he said. "The rest of the time, call me Remus."

"Remus, then," she said, with an impatient wave. "Listen, Remus, how do you think a twit like Sybill Trelawney produced the most important prophecy of your time?"

Remus had once asked Dumbledore a similar question, and he now delivered the late Headmaster's response: "She has a rare Gift."

"Poppycock," said Sybill, her eyes narrowing behind her bottle-thick glasses. "I'll tell you why: it's all because of me. That pitiful fool couldn't prophesise to save her life. You'll probably have trouble believing this...the last one did, at any rate -"

"The last who?"

"The last one like you, of course. But that's not important. Oh, I'd die for a cigarette. Do you smoke, Remus?"

"I quit, years ago."

She sighed and took another swig from the flask. "What a pity."

"Sybill, you've had a nasty shock," Remus began, tentatively, "but I think if you just lie down and rest, you'll start to feel better, and -"

"Enough nonsense, wolf."

"It's Remus."

"Have you ever read any classical works, Remus? Any Ovid? Any Virgil? What about Petronius?"

"Yes," he said, surprised. "I'm familiar with their works. In fact, I've re-read the Aeneid several times."

"Excellent. Then I suppose you know the story of the Sibyl of Cumae?"

"Of course," he said. "She bewitched the god Apollo, and he promised to grant her countless years of youth and beauty, in exchange for her virginity. When she turned him down, he decided to give her those extra years of life, but with a terrible price; he didn't stop her body from aging. While she was young she accomplished some great deeds; for instance, she led Aeneas into the Underworld in search of his father. But after hundreds of years she was reduced to almost nothing, and only wanted to die." Suddenly, it all clicked into place. "Wait a moment...are you saying that you are...? No, that's not possible."

Sybill shrugged, "Isn't it? Apollo wouldn't let me die; not even when the years he'd promised had run out. Oh, he let some of me die, but he decided my punishment wasn't quite over. The vain, spiteful fool. He's a poor excuse for a god, let me tell you. A poor excuse for man, too...if you know what I mean."

Remus cleared his throat. "What did he do to you, Sybill?"

"He imprisoned me in the mind of a peasant woman, and I've been moving down the family line ever since, from girl to girl. Women are more receptive, you see. Every so often, Apollo has used me as a vessel to deliver his messages, as he did when I was alive. Very occasionally, he allows me to speak, to act, as I'm doing now, because I'm required to fulfil one of his ludicrous tasks."

"Really?" asked Remus, but he was only humouring her. Should he knock her out with a stunning spell, he wondered, or talk her into accompanying him to St. Mungo's? He'd dealt with many mentally-addled individuals in his time, but never someone who hadn't first suffered spell damage or a night of binge-drinking.

"Clearly, you don't believe me," she said thoughtfully, tapping her fingertips against her chin. "I suppose there's nothing for it, then."

Her arm darted out across the table; her bony fingers wrapping around Remus's wrist.

"Sybill, I don't think -"

He couldn't finish. The room went suddenly, startlingly dark, as he felt the familiar tug and pressure of Apparation.

---

Notes: By the way, in case it disturbs you, I decided to use the British spelling of 'Sybill'. I'm aware that in the American books, it's 'Sibyll'.