I Decided to Surprise Remus

I Decided to Surprise Remus

It's unbearably hot in here. I can't stand staying locked inside. Especially not in this room with nothing to do. It's not exactly small, but it's practically empty. And no less miserable than in that winter night.

At least I must open one of these big windows. For me it's no problem to do it without a wand. Remus took his with him, of course. Better never go anywhere without a wand, even to the Muggle world. He may even have a chance to use it, when nobody notices, and finish the labour more easily. It must be too hard work for him anyway.

But I'm not allowed to go anywhere at all. Maybe when Dumbledore gets a new wand for me. No, I know it's not that. I was out there, wandless, for almost two years. We're just doing what he tells us to do. Now lie low and wait for the Order to get together.

Okay, I have to concentrate on this now. What a stupid idea to have the whole south wall all windows. This one will open now... Alohomora! Yes, I'm a genius. Learnt that on my own, too.

Now I can sit down here on the windowsill. What a breeze. We are really high up here. Nice view over this shabby stinking neighbourhood. Thank God, Grimmauld Place is to the north from here. It's not too far...

Yes, on my own. What have I not done on my own? It seems hard to do anything together with anyone now. Like sitting and eating and sleeping together. And listening to instructions and warnings. Don't show yourself at the window, in man form or dog form!

Should I learn to transform into something else, too? Who says you can become just the animal you are. I can learn it, on my own, and never let anyone know. They'd leave me alone finally, and I would be free. A bird perhaps. If I stayed this summer alone, I could practise.

Why does Dumbledore suddenly want to protect me? For the past year he knew that I was innocent. Maybe he had known it all the time. And after the rat had confessed and... Snape had screwed it up! Snivellus! I want to strangle him. Drown him. Or burn him to ashes. Poison him! Whatever.

Or at least Dumbledore could have done what he's planning to do now. To find a place to hide me with the Fidelius Charm. It could be the new headquarters for the Order at the same time. But he could have hidden me a year ago, or at least when I got back from the south. Just found any decent room and charmed it. I could have sneaked out at times but hidden in there to sleep at least in the winter. Instead he suggested that I hide in a cave. I guess he himself never spent a winter night in a cave, not to mention a whole winter. Luckily I never lost my charm. I managed to spend the coldest months at Kathy's. I was better off than Remus.

Myself I never thought how things were with Remus. He kept sending my birds back begging to get together with me. He seemed so desperate somehow, though I wrote that I forgave him. Or rather that there was nothing to forgive. Just that he should have forgiven me for having not trusted him. It's not his fault... When he had suddenly transformed, I should have left him alone and he wouldn't have harmed anybody, just caught the rat alive.

But what he kept writing to me made me feel he was after me. I told him to stay where he was. I would be spotted, if I moved around with my old friend. Why did Dumbledore also order him to stay in London but didn't take care of him?

He really should have gone to the south, where he'd spent so many years. Yes, he at least had been free. All those years when I was locked up in... in that... empty... desert of my mind... all those years he had been free. He'd lost everyone and owned nothing, but he'd still had himself. He had even made art... Can you imagine - art! Although he wrote that it had just been in order to sell a picture to get some money for a proper meal. That he'd never been able to paint a portrait after...

Why did he write all those long letters this past year? And I read them all and not just once. Although sometimes I stopped and threw the parchment away. I couldn't stand it. He'd done so many things, been to so many places. It's not his fault. He'd had a life, while I'd been almost dead for twelve years. There was no end to his memories. It seemed he kept writing while waiting for a note, and he sent a whole autobiography as a response every time. What could I have written to him? What could I have said to him, if we had met? So I just told him to stay where he was. I didn't tell him where I was. And he never really told me how he was doing.

Until finally, in February, he only wrote on the back side of my note that he had no parchment or ink left. Then it was time to leave Kathy. I couldn't stand her any longer either. And time to get closer to Harry, as the news from Hogwarts were alarming. I thought the weather would get warmer soon and I could stay in that cave.

That's when I decided to go through London and surprise Remus. I knew he was somewhere in this neighbourhood. I didn't mind spending a few days as a stray, although it was still really cold.

It was great to be free. I really needed it after Kathy and before meeting him. So even when I found him - saw him come out of this building - I didn't show myself. I wanted to wait until he'd be back. I had to get used to the idea of talking to him. From a distance I noticed he didn't look the same as in the Shrieking Shack.

But even my dog form was startled by his despair, when he finally returned and rushed to hug me. He looked terrible. He was trembling with cold. I'm afraid he was sobbing, too, and I leaped away from him when he tried to cling to me. I'd been waiting long enough on that icy pavement and I wanted to get in quickly. He was hardly able to open the door and climb up the stairs. I didn't dare to transform until in this room.

It was unbearably cold in here then. Otherwise the same as now. No furniture really. He conjured a couch and soon let me sit down. He's always been so fond of hugging.

He kept staring at me, even while charming an old tin jar to start emitting warm radiation. I didn't have to feel ashamed of my looks in front of him, although I had left the clothes Kathy had given to me and got dressed in my old rags again. His clothes were a bit better, but he looked terribly gaunt.

"Should I have warned you that I was coming?" My hoarse voice startled me, but I grinned and shook the hair from my face. I realized I knew that this sudden movement would enthral him.

"Maybe you should have. I'm afraid I have nothing to offer with tea. And no tea either."

Was there quiet bitterness in his voice? But he smiled almost dreamily when starting to prepare a meal. He poured some water from a container to a kettle and tapped at it twice with his wand. The water started steaming immediately with an enticing fragrance of chicken soup.

"I regret it's only an illusion of food," he said, "but the warmth is real."

After summoning another chipped bowl from somewhere in the corner and pouring the water into it and into the one on the desk, he handed one bowl to me and sat down at the other end of the couch. Holding a hot bowl in my front paws and stretching my back paws towards the radiating jar on the floor, I felt some warmth slowly returning to my body. Besides, the fake soup smelled and tasted better than anything I'd had for... well, fourteen years. Kathy never really learnt to cook.

My pleased barklike laughter was spontaneous, but something in his silence compelled me to talk more than I had ever talked to Kathy at a stretch during the whole winter. "What you can offer is exactly what I have missed. People leave their garbage on the streets here, so it's not difficult for a dog to find something to eat. But the taste of the food has not always been so great..."

Huddled in his corner of the couch he looked so miserable that I had to doubt he had eaten anything the whole day. I laughed again and hoped he could have joined in my joke. What had become of us, the top students, the Marauders! He burst into a sort of laughter, but I knew he was crying, and I couldn't stand watching it. He tried to hide it, but he didn't succeed very well. So I knew that his situation was really desperate.

He had always been good at hiding his suffering. It's a miracle we ever found out about his lycanthropy. And after his parents had died and he'd been deprived of his inheritance and denied any chance for decent income, he had usually succeeded in concealing the fact that he had very little money. I had often forgotten about it, but James... James had always remembered to take care of Remus and managed to do it without embarrassing him much.

He didn't want to show his misery even now, but he had no strength left, and I saw right through him. I started talking about Harry and the Triwizard Tournament. He had not heard all the news I had. I asked him why he had not kept in touch with Harry, in the way I had, though I had been far away. He had been Harry's teacher for almost a year before our encounter in the Shrieking Shack. In his letters he had asked me if I had heard from Harry, and he had written it was good I kept in touch. Now he explained that he wanted to leave my godson for me. And he started blaming himself again for my need to continue to hide. I said it was all Snape's fault, or even Dumbledore's. Or Voldemort's. Not his. I couldn't stand being forced to comfort him. And then he started begging me to stay or take him with me.

Soon I said I was tired, and we went to bed. But he insisted that we sleep together. I couldn't object, because it was really cold in here and he had only a mattress and one blanket. He had all his clothes on but he kept shivering terribly. I realized that he had fever and it was rising. He wanted to hold me tight in bed, and only then did he seem to notice how thin my rags were, and he offered to take off his cloak and give it to me. I could have taken it and slept alone, but I felt so bad for him that I refused and let him spread both the cloak and the blanket on the two of us, and I agreed to stay so close to him.

It felt actually nice that his feverish body was so hot against my back. But then he put his hand on my shoulder and started caressing me. I moved a bit and hoped he would stop. I didn't want to snap at him or to get up. Or I wanted to, but his hot trembling hand was so pathetic. Then I realized it was moving to touch my bare skin in the spots where I had holes in my rags. I felt I had to stop him. But he found the longest rip on my sleeve and he pulled it closed the best he could and left his hand there. So I didn't say anything or move any more. But I don't think I slept much.

After he had fallen asleep I turned into Padfoot the dog, and soon I broke free from his embrace. Having transformed back to a man so as to be able to think more clearly, I sat next to him, shivering myself, even after I had taken his wand and fixed that radiating jar, which gave some warmth.

I can remember how his face looked. And how angry I suddenly was at myself, because I had just felt irritated by him since the previous summer and until that night, up to that moment.

Only now did I realize that this was not the first day he had nothing at all to eat, and he had gone hungry for a long time. Even as a schoolboy he had never been in a really good health, because the painful transformations had consumed his strength. Before the rest of us had become Animagi to help him not to lose his human mind completely in his wolf form, he had even wounded himself every month. On the other hand, he had always had an enormous appetite as well as appreciated culinary pleasures. James had pointed out to me that it was especially hard for Remus to be so poor that he was forced to skip meals.

When I had seen him after twelve years in the Shrieking Shack, he had looked older than I could have expected, but healthy and well-nourished. But at that time he had been enjoying the comforts of Hogwarts. And because he had transformed outside after we had got the rat, he had decided to leave his position, before the governors of the school had got the chance to sack him. Still, it had been Snape's fault that the students and their parents had found out that he was a werewolf, so it would have been no use if Dumbledore had tried to persuade him to stay. And he had been too proud to ask Dumbledore to arrange another job for him.

In all those intimate letters he had never revealed to me that he was starving. But I could see it in his sleeping face, although I was spared from looking again into his eyes, which had been gleaming of tears and fever that evening. His warm amber tender eyes, which had always been so thoughtful and twinkling in half hidden amusement. Those eyes had looked too big that evening, with shadows underneath.

His sleeping face was utterly pale with some red of the fever burning on his sunken cheeks. Despite the lines drawn by years of grief and privation, he still looked vulnerable like a child. Maybe partly because he evidently still shaved carefully. He had never liked facial hair - for obvious reasons, as he had pointed out as a young man. He had laughed and said that he wanted to preserve the contrast between his two forms. His eyebrows were perhaps bushier than before, but that was not too striking, as they were not quite dark. He had allowed his hair to grow long in the style I used to have since my youth, but unlike mine his was soft. And his hair had partly greyed, losing the golden shine of its light brown colour, so it made him look ever gentler, like an angel. I was really getting sentimental at that moment.

I sat there freezing and staring at his face. I'm normally not perceptive and sensitive like that. That's what he has always been like, as far as I have ever known him. He can see the beauty in everything, and he's able to both analyse why it's beautiful and to show it in words and in pictures. It's thanks to him expressing his thoughts eagerly even to an impatient person and a lousy listener like me, if I'm ever able to formulate thoughts like these. But now his face, evoking all this heartrending emotion based on a true tragedy - and no foolish art, which I never learnt to appreciate - inspired me to ponder over all that before acting.

Still looking at his mouth, I surprised myself by my ability to realize why I felt like crying. The lines around his mouth seemed to convey bitterness. And yet, there was still something left of that enthralled look of wonder with which he had always faced the world. And of that wary concern with which he had treated all his fellow creatures, doing his best never to hurt anyone or to do injustice to anyone. No matter how much injustice he'd met himself, he still continued to blame himself for everything. There was something too good and too beautiful about that expression for a man, or even for a human.

I shook myself to get out of these thoughts and to warm up my body a bit.

He's certainly always a human for me, a full human and more, if possible, although I'm so foolish not to always remember to appreciate everything in him. And he is definitely a man for me, too. I could not sleep with him. And I know there will be enough of a man in him to help himself, if he can be made to understand that some laws must be broken, at least in some circumstances.

That night I could not force him to act. Instead, I had to do it alone in order to show him an example. And above all in order to get something for him to eat.

Using his wand I heated some water to drink. I checked that he was covered well with the cloak and the blanket. Then I Apparated to the street and transformed to Padfoot the dog.

I ran quite a long way to the other side of the neighbourhood - not towards Grimmauld Place. This area is one of the largest hidden regions in London, and still not so famous, because its inhabitants are regarded as mob. But that is exactly why it must be so large. The poor wizards, and persecuted minorities like different non-humans, half-breeds and squibs, who have for some reason decided to live or ended up living among wizards - the mob, they are always the majority. I don't think the area even has an official name. The squibs, half-breeds and non-humans have now been ordered to put up signs on their stores to show what they are. This is clearly unfair especially for squibs. Everybody can now recognize those stores which are the least likely to have any magical security system at all. The mob is too far from united for any magical creatures to help the squibs in this.

Having arrived in the less poor area, which was quite familiar to me, because Remus had rented a flat there before his parents had died, I tried to choose quickly the most suitable grocery store. Remus has this effect on me. I become too considerate. I didn't want to cause damage to somebody who already had financial problems, but a wealthier-looking store was more likely to have security.

I ended up being my reckless self - which was not too hard, as I was still in dog form when making up my mind. After transforming to a man, I Apparated into a grocery store which had attracted me by what it seemed to offer. It had a separate section with baking ovens and even a barbecue grill. I felt no magic affecting me, and I quickly found a sack emptied of flour. With no bad conscience I collected some bread and some barbecued chicken. Such stuff couldn't have been sold for the full price on another day. But I thought I might not succeed in persuading Remus to start stealing, so I needed to get something that would feed him for a longer time. I went to the actual grocery store and picked quite a lot of other stuff. Before leaving I couldn't resist writing a quick note: "Sorry, I should have robbed those who deserve it for sure. But I had no time to figure out how to do it. What I took is for a good person who's been starving for too long."

When I had Apparated straight back to the room, I saw at once that Remus was awake, although there was hardly any light of dawn yet. He looked more awful than before, if possible. He was lying in foetus position and staring at me without moving even his head, and his eyes were brimming with tears. I couldn't stand it. For a passing moment I wondered if he would have the strength to stand up, but I thought it was worthwhile giving it a try.

So I slammed the sack on the board which he had put up as a desk, almost making it collapse. Avoiding his eyes, I stepped to him and just pulled the covers from him. I wrapped them around myself and jumped in, pushing him out of the bed. To my relief he got up.

I was so happy to see his immediate reaction to the food that the words must have come out playful enough. "My turn to sleep. Make us some breakfast."

"What have you done," he managed to say.

"You sound like McGonagall. Just take the fresh food out and make some tea. There's a flask of pumpkin juice, too... Wake me up, if I fall asleep before the breakfast is ready.

I felt so good that this time I didn't have to force myself to talk. Honestly, I couldn't help grinning, although I closed my eyes. I heard him prepare some tea, heat the chicken and conjure chairs.

By the time I joined him at the table he had already taken a bite of something and didn't look too pathetic. He even joined in my play, and as far as I can remember he made a better joke than I did. Yes, we pretended to be back at school. I think I can remember exactly how we started it.

"What do we have today?" I asked when sitting down. "Transfiguration and Care of Magical Creatures? I'm afraid I've skipped a few classes... but I shouldn't have problems in Transfiguration. If only I got my wand back."

He actually grinned and replied at once: "Did they take it from you in detention? You can borrow mine. But you must help me with my Care of Magical Creatures essay. I thought I learnt enough about werewolves in Defence, but now we're supposed to write about how to feed them. What do they actually eat?"

"Let's make an experiment. Do they drink pumpkin juice?" I said, filling a glass for him.

He's so clever and honest. He wasn't ashamed to refer to the fact that he needed me to feed him. But he knew that I'd have felt more embarrassed than him, if he'd got sentimental about it. Having started to fill his stomach, he was able to control the expressions of his emotions again, and to my relief he didn't cry any more. But contrary to his usual habits, he didn't interrupt me with any thoughtful analysing, when I lectured to him about the need to defy the law. Just at first when I told him that I had robbed a store, he tried to scold at me.

"What is this interrogation?" I said. "Are you not going to say thank you! No, just kidding... You could have come to get it yourself with me, but you looked tired, and it was easier not to be spotted when I was alone."

"What do you mean? Did you...?" he gasped.

I felt like exaggerating my calmness and pride when replying: "Yes, I robbed a grocery store. And a bakery."

"You... you are not serious!"

"Yes, that's who I am! I thought you knew me."

I think I captured the playful tone this ancient joke deserves, but I tried my best to look into his eyes sagely for a moment. He seemed too upset to realize what I meant.

"But, ser... honestly, you can get caught, if you do something like that. You must not attract attention in any way. And you have enough trouble even without becoming a criminal."

"Don't worry so much, Moony! What difference does it make if someone stigmatized like me - or you - commits a minor crime like this one. Seriously, you must stop respecting the law so much."

I meant he should have known I was the person to seriously do something to help him. Although I felt guilty, as I had not been and probably would not be conscientious in taking care of him. Not like James. But I also meant he had to find new ways of doing it himself.

Did I have to remind him of how rotten this system is? I even talked about the rat deserving death but not something worse - not what I had been through... Nobody deserves that. I should know there's no justice. The two of us should know... He didn't interrupt me. Perhaps he was not in the state to listen, but I had to talk. Once it had been just for the fun of it... and I can hardly remember. At that moment, however, the indignation made me relive the spirit of the young boys. A spirit of rebellion in me and in him - something he had brought from his childhood home and retained, although he preached against violent revolts. A spirit now reinforced by the proof in these damaged bodies... in this damaged mind.

I had to trust he had not given up even when left alone. Otherwise how could he have coped all through those years? I told him he must oppose the injustice in this society. And I said he had to be ready to do it on his own. I would be on my way.

I left on the same day. And despite the food and the lecture I had given him, I felt it was horribly heartless to leave him. He was ill. He would never have left his friend like that. I should have dared to take care of him. And I could have tried to tell him... I could try to tell him now how I'm empty and aching and I don't know why. He might understand me better than Kathy did. Though to Kathy also I had tried to talk only when I knew she was sleeping. I just couldn't stand it.

I didn't even go straight to Hogsmeade. I thought it must still have been too cold up there, and I spent a few days as a stray around the area of London. Then I remembered Barbara. She was upset enough not to know how to throw me out for a whole week. I've never felt ashamed to ask for food and shelter, or rather just take it. Even in my first letter to Harry from the cave I simply asked him to bring food, and a lot.

To Remus I sent an owl before leaving Barbara's. But I think he replied only to the one I sent from the cave. He had gone to look for work in the Muggle London, when it had got warm enough to wear only a t-shirt with jeans, as he had no other Muggle clothes.

That's where he still works, whenever he finds something. He says it's easier where no one can imagine that he could be other than a human. Although without a legal residence in Muggle Britain he can't have any long-term contracts. And he's hardly good at what the Muggles expect from a worker. I reckon that during all those years, when I had no life, he learnt a lot about Muggle life, too. But he doesn't like it that much. And he admits he's never been good at any practical tasks. Even though I can't really see the value of art, I suggested he paint and sell his art. But he says he needs money for some paint and a canvas first, and he never has enough. He still hasn't paid all the debts of his rent. Life seems to be easier for a dog or a prisoner.

In the Wizarding world they've become stricter about checking everyone's identity and breed. It's crazy. Things have certainly changed since the first defeat of Voldemort. I've started to doubt it's all been to the better. And I'm tired of skulking in the shadows. We shall show them soon who we are.