Tell Me On A Sunday

Remus Lupin's life ended on Sunday November 1st, 1981.

The month previous had been hectic. Ostensibly, Remus knew of James and Lily's plans to take Harry into hiding using the Fidelius Charm, but reality was much different. He felt the distance between his friends keenly, and couldn't help but be aware that the four of them suspected him as the traitor in the Order.

After all, he was a Dark Creature.

And that's without even considering the numerous visits he'd been receiving from Death Eater "recruiters."

One even had the audacity to promise to spare the Potters if he turned.

Remus spat in the man's face.

The tension between the small group, even in Dumbledore's presence, was manifest in the way no one met his eyes, the way Lily hugged Harry tight to her chest while he visited, the way James always seemed so reluctant to let him baby-sit even though he was far more available than Sirius or Peter.

It hurt.

But if the silence James and Lily harbored was like a stab from a knife, then Sirius' silence was like being disemboweled with a very dull spoon.

They had all graduated from Hogwarts, one big happy family. James and Lily were already arguing on how to arrange the wedding around James' Auror training and Lily's work at the Ministry. Peter left the celebrations a bit early, he had to be at work quite early; Ollivander had hired him as an assistant. While Peter wasn't the most adept of magic users, he was wonderful with his hands. Almost all of the Christmas and birthday presents Peter gave he made himself. Remus suspected that his skill with crafts was a talent acquired in self-defense; the Pettigrews were rather poor. Sirius was going in for training as a Hit Wizard, a rare honor for someone just graduating.

But if there was one thing Remus could say about Sirius, it was his obsessive nature: the very thing that made accomplished Hit Wizards.

Not to mention keeping them alive.

Everyone had left, leaving simply Remus and Sirius in the bar alone together. Sirius was totally pissed. Remus had declined to drink, knowing full well that he would probably be the one harangued into taking Sirius home. After all, he had no job to go to in the morning, nor any family to return with that evening, not after the death of his parents two years prior.

"Remush," Sirius had asked, slurring, "what'se ye gonna do?" Remus found himself faintly surprised that Sirius was the one who was asking the one question none of his friends seemed to be able to: what was he going to do now? By Ministry regulations, he had to report his condition to every potential employer. Thereby assuring that he'd never get a job in the Wizarding World; there was too much prejudice. Remus had briefly thought about going freelance; traveling around the world looking for problems to solve, but after talking a bit to Headmaster Dumbledore had decided against that solution.

Not when he was needed.

"I'm going to try and find a job in Muggle London," Remus replied, sipping his water.

"That'sh terrible, Remush! Where'se ye gonna live?"

"Well, I was going to rent a flat..."

"You kin live witsh me, Remush!" Sirius had slammed his hand on the table, and leaned over to kiss Remus for the first time. He was so drunk that he missed, and ended up kissing Remus on the nose and knocking his forehead into Remus' eye. Remus decided that it was quite past time to take his friend home, so he dragged him out of the bar and into an Alley where he could Apparate them both to the Black home.

In the morning, despite the sheer mind-numbing amount of alcohol, Sirius remembered what he said, and told Remus that the offer still stood.

Remus, to his great surprise, found himself accepting.

The kissing got much better with more practice.

That May, six months before Remus Lupin's life ended, Sirius had unexpectedly asked him to move out. "I'm sorry, Remus, but with James and Lily, and my job, we're targets. I don't want you getting hurt." Sirius had kissed him as he asked, but refused to meet Remus' eyes. He'd been disgusted enough with Sirius' lies that Remus had left two days later, finding a place that he could afford with his small salary and that was still close to the bookstore he was working at.

Everything came to a peak in October. And Halloween brought the last of a line of betrayals.

He heard a knock on the door of his flat, and groaned. It was his day off, and all he wanted to do was sleep in, but crawled out of bed to answer the door anyway.

Remus checked the peephole, Bartemius Crouch and a team of people he recognized by their stances and the wands in their wands. He quickly opened the door and blinked at them.

"Remus J. Lupin?" Crouch asked. Remus nodded, still blocking the entrance with his body. "We're here to question you in relation to the deaths of Lily and James Potter. We understand that you were the lover of a Sirius Black?"

Numbly Remus nodded, still hung up on the second question. "James and Lily are dead?"

"Yes. Let us in, boy," a voice growled from the back of the pack. Remus did as he was told, dropping down on his sofa and setting his head in his hands.

"Last night," Crouch continued once everyone was inside the flat and settled, "the Dark Lord attacked Godric's Hollow, where James and Lily were hidden. He killed them both."

"Harry?" Remus looked up.

"Young Harry Potter is fine. In fact, he proved to be the defeat of the Dark Lord."

"He's alive?"

One of the Aurors snorted. "For someone who was top of his class at Hogwarts, he's awfully slow," she muttered to the man next to her. The second Auror gave her a dirty look.

"We understand that Sirius Black was to be their Secret Keeper. Is that correct to the best of your knowledge?"

"Yes..." Remus stopped. "Do you know where Sirius is? He must be hurt somewhere if Voldemort got James and Lily out of him?" he asked wildly.

Crouch exchanged a dark look with the other Aurors. "Sirius Black is currently residing in Azkaban for the deaths of James and Lily Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and thirteen Muggles."

Remus dropped his head back into his hands. Everything he knew and loved was gone.

He quite suspected that it was only a matter of time that he was gone too.