The Way Back to Daylight

Author's Notes: See the Prologue for main notes. Thanks to my wonderful beta, cursedinsanity! Thanks also to Cormac McCarthy, whose latest novel provided the visuals and ideas for a couple of paragraphs towards the end of this chapter. To find out more, read The Road. It's brilliant in a life-changing, makes-you-sleepless kind of way.

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 Five

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As they walked further in the cavern, the choking smoke dissipated, and the daylight disappeared. Remus turned to see the last glint of sunlight, but there was nothing. It was as though he'd suddenly gone blind. He reached out for anything, stalagmites or damp-slick walls, but there was only stone beneath his feet, and stale, frozen air around him.

"Do you know what to expect?" Sybill whispered, close to him in the darkness.

"Not really. Isn't there another land before the Underworld? A kind of border town?"

"That's right. Ruled by the King of Dreams. He's not a pleasant fellow."

"But there's more, isn't there?" Remus asked. "In the Aeneid, I mean. Nightmare monsters? Anxiety? Something about diseases and guilty joys?"

"Something like that."

Remus took out his wand, holding it before him like a sword. "Lumos." The light came, but nothing was illuminated; it shone like a phosphorescent jellyfish in the ocean depths, a lonely yellow globe.

"Here," said Sybill, "you should take my ha -"

But Remus wasn't listening. "What's that?" he whispered, pointing with his wand.

A rectangular light had appeared in front of them. Remus couldn't tell if it was close or far away, but it was growing larger. It reminded him of a blank television screen.

"Take my hand," hissed Sybill. "Quickly."

Remus reached out, but he couldn't find her. The screen of light was getting larger, spreading out, like a strange electric dawn.

"Sybill!" he called, turning and trying to find her with grasping hands, his arms outstretched.

She didn't reply.

"Bugger," he muttered, as the light engulfed him.

---

He was standing in the changing room section of a Hogwarts bathroom, listening to the drip-drip-drop of a loose showerhead.

The room was empty, but recently-abandoned Quidditch gear was scattered over the benches: boys' tunics, bandages and a couple of discarded school brooms. There were towels, red-and-gold and crumpled, and a pair of grubby shoes. Under the smells of soap and shower-steam hung the sour, heady scent of adolescent sweat.

Remus couldn't remember why he was here. He had a feeling he'd been looking for Sirius, to ask him something important. Was Sirius still in the showers, maybe?

As Remus walked past a steamed mirror, he glanced at his blurry reflection. A pale fourteen-year-old, with large brown eyes in a freckled, narrow face. He scowled at his tufty hair, his too-big nose and too-small ears. Then he perked up, because someone had turned on one of the showers. It was definitely Sirius, whistling a flat version of Suffragette City and probably dancing as he washed.

"Sirius?" Remus called, but the shower-spray and the whistling must have been too loud, because Sirius didn't reply.

Remus knew he shouldn't go in, but he needed to talk to Sirius about something. What was it, though? Something about a prank gone wrong? The combined smells of boys' sweat and clean skin made his head feel heavy and his stomach ache. When he thought of Sirius in the shower, naked and wet, he swayed on his feet and licked his lips. He couldn't think clearly, and in the end, his reason didn't really matter. He walked into the showers, and as he walked, he felt as if he'd done it a hundred times before.

---

Inside the shower room was Remus' backyard.

It was a summer night, and he was climbing his favourite tree.

At the top of the tree, Remus looked for the Man in the Moon, but couldn't see him.

He started climbing back down and heard footsteps.

They were very quiet footsteps.

"Mummy?" he called, almost at the ground.

And then his leg, it hurt, it hurt it hurt it hurt, and he was screaming and scrabbling back up the tree.

More footsteps and shouting and a bang from daddy's wand.

There was a yelp and a rustle of the bushes.

Then cool grass on Remus' face and blood, trickling, on his leg.

---

Remus' legs hurt. He'd been running for miles and still the black dog wouldn't slow down. It leapt ahead of him, sometimes glancing back and barking, its tale waggling with excitement.

They were running through the Forbidden Forest at night, their feet crunching dry leaves and pine needles. Remus' face was scratched with branches, his hair tangled with twigs and spider webs. The moon was bright enough for him to see, but there were still enough shadows to hide creatures with gleaming eyes, crouched and curled beside gnarled trees and prickly shrubs.

Remus wasn't a man or a wolf in the moonlight; he was both, he was himself, and he followed the dog because he needed to, towards the heart of the forest. Soon, he knew, they would reach their destination. Maybe when the sun began to rise, their journey would end.

---

It was still night. Remus sat in his kitchen, staring at Tonks' second-favourite mug, occasionally sipping from a bottle of Firewhiskey.

Someone was pounding at the living room window; Remus thought it might be Sirius, but he was too tired to get up and see.

Some words were scratched into the table in front of him:

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.

Was it a prophecy? It looked like one.

"Remus," said a voice beside him.

He turned to find an elderly woman sitting at his table. He didn't recognise her, but she looked a bit like Sybill Trelawney.

"I'm sorry, but what are you doing in my kitchen?" he asked.

She grabbed his hand, and tugged.

---

They were walking up, up, up a hill. Beside them, the full moon was rising and setting, rising and setting, in a flashing rhythm. It was hard to walk through the rustling willow branches hanging across their path, with leaves grey-black in the moonlight. Remus remembered the Whomping Willow smelling of musky catkin flowers and fresh leaves, but this tree stank of wolf-blood and sweat.

"Almost there," Sybill panted.

"Almost where?"

"The river," she said. "The Styx. Just hold on a moment longer, and..."

They reached the top of the hill.

---

They were standing on a beach, their hands still clasped. It was a broad beach of grey sand, sheltered by cliffs and leading down to a wide river. The sky was mauve-twilight, but without the moon or any stars. At the horizon, where sky blended into water, Remus could make out a black line of land.

Far down the beach, in both directions, were crowds of hazy silhouettes. They could have been shadows cast by outcrops from the cliffs, but when Remus squinted they looked almost human, like grey cellophane cut-outs of the living. Their identity was confirmed by the hollow sighing swell of their voices: more mournful than the autumn wind that had moaned over the rooftops, when Remus had listened as a shivering, bedridden child.

"What...who are they?" he asked, struck with horror. "Are they the ones who can't make it across?"

"Actually, they can make it," Sybill replied, wry and cold. "But they're convinced they can't. Some weren't buried in proper religious ceremonies or what have you, and believe they're barred from heaven. Others refuse to die, stubbornly hoping to make it back to their lives. Honestly, I can't stand it. They should all be happily deceased, but they stay here instead, prowling and groaning, waiting for someone to tell them they're free to do as they please. It's not going to happen."

Remus swallowed. He didn't want to look, but couldn't take his eyes from the hoard of stranded souls. Surely Sirius wouldn't have been so stupid, he thought. Surely he knew he deserved paradise. He wouldn't have lingered here.

"What about my friend?" he asked, just in case. "Could he -?"

"No, of course not," Sybill told him, impatient as ever. "As I said, the veil leads straight into the afterlife. Your friend didn't even need to cross the river."

"Thank Merlin," said Remus, with a faint smile of relief. "And thank you, too," he added politely, turning to Sybill. "For finding me in my dreams, that is."

"I'm only doing my job," she replied. "Besides, it wasn't difficult. I haven't dreamed for thousands of years; well, not my own dreams, anyhow. I've had to put up with that dreadful woman's dreams for more years than I can count. Always some tawdry romantic fantasy. Usually about that sallow young man ... you know, the one with greasy hair ..."

Remus swallowed.

"Honestly," Sybill continued, "she's always dressing him up in breeches and lacy shirts, and making him spout ridiculous poetry. She wants to marry him. The woman has no class. Now, Cassandra Trelawney -- there was a great lady."

"I'm sure she was very nice," said Remus, smiling. "But do you mind if we continue? It's just that I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"Maybe I should pop into the Underworld, after all," Sybill mused, as they made their way across the beach. "I wouldn't mind a chat with Cassandra."

Remus thought it wise not to encourage her, or even to discourage her, so he held his tongue and studied the sand in great detail. It wasn't sand, really; it shifted, sometimes looking more like a film of oil, sometimes more like silk.

"Oh look," said Sybill, suddenly. "Here he is."

Remus glanced up. There was a small motorboat on the water, rapidly moving closer.

"Isn't it supposed to be a rowboat?"

"Oh, it is," Sybill assured him. "Sometimes."

They were almost at the water now, but it wasn't lapping at their feet. There were no waves; it was smooth and dark as bottle-glass, flowing slowly in one direction like a flood of molasses.

"This is exactly how I've always pictured it," said Remus, gazing at the rim of land on the horizon. "Apart from the motorboat, of course."

"Well, that's not surprising," said Sybill. "Everything you'll see from here to Elysia will be exactly how you've always pictured it. Even if you didn't realise, before, that you pictured it that way."

"What happens in Elysia?"

"Everything there is moulded by its inhabitants, so it's their reality, not yours."

"Ah. I thought it was all lush green fields, and shady woodlands, and streams."

"That's how Aeneas saw it, because that's how his father and others wanted it."

"I see."

Remus watched the boat, now only tens of yards away. He'd expected the roar of a motor, but it was silent. The driver was an old, plump man, wearing a yellow life-vest over black Muggle clothes. His long hair was wild and grey, swirling behind him, and he seemed to be smoking a pipe with one hand as he steered with the other.

"I was expecting a corpse-like man in a black cloak," said Remus, puzzled.

"Oh, don't mind Charon. He never does what you thought you were expecting." She raised her voice, "Hellooo! Charon!"

"Hello, Sybill," he called from the boat. "Who've you brought with you today?"

"This one's a werewolf," she replied, as Charon brought the boat to a stop in front of them. "Not terribly exciting company, though."

Charon was, indeed, smoking a pipe. He sized Remus up. "He does look a bit peaky," he muttered; then, in a heartier tone, asked, "Are you sure you're up for a trek through the sunless lands, m'boy?"

Remus was about to protest being treated like a child, but as he opened his mouth, he realised he was still an infant to Charon and Sybill, barely out of the womb.

"I'll be fine, thanks."

"That's the spirit!"

Remus turned to Sybill. "Well, it's been -"

"Please, don't thank me again," she sniffed. "And don't act as though this is the last time we'll meet. I'll come to visit when we're both dead. Perhaps I'll bring Cassandra -- she'll teach you a thing or two."

"That sounds ... lovely," said Remus, trying desperately not to grimace. "I suppose I'll see you -- see you when I'm dead, then."

After giving Sybill an awkward pat on the arm, he hoisted his robes to his knees, waded ankle-deep into the icy water, and steadied himself on the hull as he climbed in.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Charon exclaimed, when Remus was settled on the boat's green, chipped-plastic seat.

"Of course!" Sybill replied. "The bough."

She reached into the deep right pocket of her khaki pants and pulled out the golden twig, waving it around like a sparkler. Though it was small, it lit up an area of several feet, shining so brightly that Remus shielded his eyes.

"Ooh, ah," Charon said, with a chuckle. "Her Ladyship will be mighty pleased, as always. All right, hand it over to the young fellow, for he won't get far without it."

Remus passed over his handkerchief, and Sybill wrapped and tied it around the twig before handing it back. He tied another handkerchief (his spare) around it, and tucked it into the deepest pocket of his robes.

"We'll be off, then," said Charon. "See you later, Sybill." He winked at her.

"You old flirt," she laughed, shockingly girlish for a moment. "Next time you see me, you'll be rowing me over."

"A likely story," Charon laughed. "Still, hope it works out for you. And say hello to Apollo, the old rapscallion. Give him my best."

"Will do."

Charon pulled the motor cord, and they were off. Sybill stood on the shore, watching but not waving, as they zoomed across the River Styx.

Remus would have waved, but he was queasy, his knees hugged to his chest. He'd never been on a motorboat before, though he'd seen them all over the world, churning the water of normally pristine Muggle beaches.

Somehow, he realised, his distaste for motorboats had connected them with his ideas of death and hell. It was hard to believe, though, that the boat and its driver were projections of his imagination, or his "reality", as Sybill had called it. He wondered what the rest of the Underworld would look like, if she'd been telling the truth. What about the three-headed dog, Cerberus, at the gates? Would his mind turn it into the monstrous bulldog that had lived across the street from him, and chased him when he was nine years old?

"A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Wolf," said Charon, with a grizzled grin. "And believe me, I've got a lot of pennies. The dead have paid me their coins for centuries."

"I've always wondered what you do with those coins. I mean, do you ever take a break from ferrying? Why else would you need the money?"

"I'll show you what I do," Charon offered. Steering one-handed, he awkwardly pulled a coin from the pocket of his life-vest. He spat on it, rubbed both sides against his cheek, and then flicked it out across the black water. It skipped with barely a ripple, bouncing over and over until it was out of sight.

"Amazing," Remus breathed. "I suppose you've been practicing for millennia?"

"Oh, only a couple of hundred years. Before that, I enjoying hearing them plop down into the water. And before that, I taught myself magic tricks. I like to make the kiddies laugh, as they've usually had a rough time of it."

"I could never skip stones," Remus admitted. "But my friends -- well, Sirius and James -- they were brilliant at it."

He remembered the lake in late spring, with crushed-clover and buttercups on the banks, and the water reflecting nearby trees and the blue, cloud-streaked sky. Sometimes the giant squid would rise to the surface, or sometimes just one grey, suckered tentacle would whip around like a periscope.

In the heat of the day, James, Sirius and Peter would roll their trousers up to their thighs, or dispense with trousers entirely, and wade in. Remus' scar, low on his calf, had kept him from this when people could see, so he'd sat in the shade and read, sneaking glances at their legs (though he and Sirius had snuck out one night of a new moon and bathed naked in the starlight and brought each other off under one of the sheltering oak trees).

Remus hadn't realised he'd closed his eyes. He opened them to find that the motorboat was no longer crossing the Styx, but rather the Hogwarts lake. It was a bright spring day, but there was no one around. The castle, outlined against the blue sky, was silent and still as a Muggle postcard.

Frozen by awe and astonishment, Remus could only stare. Charon, too, kept silent.

Once, Remus thought he saw a black-haired boy dart behind a tree; another time, he heard, or thought he heard, someone hiss, "Moony!", from the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He wanted to call back, to leave the boat, but Charon leaned forward and placed a warm, calloused hand on his shoulder.

"What is this place?" Remus asked, finally.

"This is the beginning of your journey into death. This is what it means when people say they saw their life flash before their eyes. Not really their life, of course. Flashes of the clearest images in their brains, but other things, too. Things they can't remember when they come back from death, but will remember when they finally pass on."

The motorboat kept chugging, and Charon steered it around a bend.

"Wait a moment," said Remus. "There was never a bend in the Hogwarts lake."

But by then they were in a different place. It was hot and damp; immediately, Remus' face beaded with sweat. The river was gushing through a thick forest of trees he didn't recognise. They looked like palms and cycads, but they were sturdier and greener, with sharper leaves and huge brown cones. They smelt alien, too, and the sky above was too bright; it was a sickly, yellowish blue.

"This is before," said Charon.

In the distance something roared, louder than an elephant and fiercer than a lion. The forest shook with what at first seemed like an earthquake, but was too regular: a pattern of thumps that Remus realised were the footfalls of gigantic creatures.

"You can't possibly mean..." he trailed off. "I mean, when you say before, do you mean, before humanity?"

Charon didn't answer, but a jewelled dragonfly, larger than Remus' head, buzzed past.

Remus watched it, entranced, as they rounded another bend.

"This is after," said Charon.

At first, there was nothing but clouds of dark ash, sifted by a bitter wind. Then, in the shrouded sunlight, the skeletons of trees appeared, and the foundations of a burnt house, close to the riverbank. There was no sign of life: no birds or insects, or even dead things lying in the ash and snow. The only movement was the ash; then one of the trees as it swayed and came down, in the jarring crash of long-dead, splintering wood.

It was nuclear winter. The world would turn, empty and clouded, thousands of times before it could start again. Human beings were gone forever.

"There's no way to prevent this, is there?" Remus asked. He was shivering, rubbing his hands up and down his arms, but he only grew colder.

"None," said Charon. "Everything comes to an end, sooner or later. Humanity's no different from all the other thinking species in the universe. They believe they're immortal or chosen, but pretty soon this is what's left, and they end up on my boat."

Remus found he couldn't look anymore. "Please, take me out of this place," he begged, palms pressed to his eyes. "I can't stand it. Round another bend."

"Almost there," Charon grunted reassuringly. "You can open your eyes, now."

Remus did. They were drifting down the Thames, on a London day like any other. Grey skies and congested traffic had never looked so welcome. People bustled along the streets beside the river, many dressed in business suits, probably on their lunch hour. The river smelt of refuse and rubbish and rats, but at least it smelt alive.

"So this is during," said Remus, and Charon nodded.

Remus wondered if this would be his last glimpse of the living world. He tried to regret it, but instead felt the weight of the golden twig in his pocket. He thought of seeing Sirius again, of talking to Sirius. Even if he couldn't touch Sirius, it would be all right. Love was the only protection against the savage past and the vacant future; the only escape from grim reality; and the only way to conquer death.

London vanished, and the world around the motorboat pulsed with images. They were too rapid for Remus to distinguish, but he knew they were his life, speeding around like water circling a drain. They were turning the river into a whirlpool, and finally, finally pulling the motorboat under. Then they were gone, everything was gone, and it was dark.

---

"I jumped in the river and what did I see?

Black-eyed angels swam with me

A room full of stars and astral cars

All my lovers were there with me

All my pasts and futures

And we all went to heaven in a little row boat

There was nothing to fear and nothing to doubt"

- Radiohead, Pyramid Song