Survivor's Guilt: Moony's Tale

The light was a painful shade of red but he knew that if he opened his eyes the dull throbbing in his temples would change very quickly to needles of agony. He moaned and turned over, burying his face in the pillow. Flashes of the previous night came swimming to the surface of his brain. Erised, he remembered. And whiskey. Far too much whiskey.

And he had dreamed Sirius had been there. But such a strange dream it had been. Not at all the sort he was used to; neither the burning passion of days long gone nor the dark nightmarish scenarios in which Sirius betrayed and killed them all over and over again, each time leaving Remus a little less alive, a little more alone.

He turned his head away from the window and risked opening a single eye. It hurt and the room took a while to come into focus. His brows drew together in puzzlement at what he saw. There was a gently steaming goblet on the night-stand beside his bed. Potion, his brain told him. That was it. Severus must have brought in his potion while he was asleep. Dammit. The thought of that man seeing him in this state irked him. He was sure to hear about it later. Well, there was nothing to be done about it now.

Very slowly, he sat up. The room would not hold still. He closed his eyes again and put both hands on his head, as if to keep it in place. God, I hope I can keep this down, he thought, making a face and reaching for the goblet. But when he brought it to his mouth, the smell of the potion was not right. Remus's eyes popped open and he peered suspiciously into the cup. Breathing in deeply through his nose, he recognised the scent. It took him a moment to place it, though.

It smelled of rich chocolate, fresh ginger, honey, a mixture of spices and some other things including what Remus thought might be powdered dragonbone, but had never been able to identify for certain.

"It's a secret," Sirius had said to him once long ago. "Drink up, Moony; it will make you feel better." Dr Padfoot's Patent Hangover Cure, they were going to call it. Yet another in the line of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers that the Marauders has planned to sell and get rich once the war was over. But the chocolate -- Sirius had made it chocolate flavoured just for him.

It had not been a dream, then. Sirius had been here. Remus glanced across the room to the cabinet where he kept a small supply of herbs, spices and various other ingredients. The cabinet doors stood open and the countertop was littered with bits and pieces, powders and leaves.

He knew from personal experience that this was a quality product which always brought good results. But how far could he trust the man who had made it? A madman and convicted mass-murderer? A betrayer of friends and lovers? And yet, if Sirius had wanted to kill him, he could easily have done so last night without Remus making much of a fuss. He sniffed the potion again. No, it smelled just the same as he remembered it. His head was aching fiercely; he would have to take something for it.

Only one way to find out, he thought. And with that, he lifted the goblet to his lips and drained it. The cool, rich potion flowed through him, sending soothing tendrils through his body from the moment it touched his tongue. Within seconds his head had begun to clear, and in under a minute he felt as good as he had all week.

As he set the empty goblet down, he noticed that it was not the only unexpected object on the night-stand. There was a small wooden box tied with a black silk ribbon. Tucked into the ribbon was a scrap of paper with his name on it. Remus pulled it out and unfolded it. It bore only the words,

With trembling fingers, he untied the ribbon and fumbled the top off the box. Inside lay a tiny dog, roughly carved out of wood. Remus gently picked the carving up and cradled it in the palm of his hand. He noticed that the dog had something in its mouth. Remus took it over to the window to have a better look at it in the winter sunlight. What he saw caused him to make a tiny, involuntary noise in the back of his throat.

Between its jaws the dog carried a lock of black hair.

Remus looked at the dark curl blankly. Why --? There were so many spells that could be done to a person with this key ingredient. Spells of revenge, of location, of love. One of the first things young wizards were taught at this very school was that they should never entrust anyone with such a token because it could so easily fall into the wrong hands with disastrous results. To break that stricture was an act of madness -- or an act of absolute trust. And if what he remembered of last night was anything close to what had actually happened, Sirius had seemed as sane and rational as he ever had.

Remus's train of thought was interrupted by a knock on the door. Guiltily, he dropped the little dog into his pocket before saying, "who is it?"

"I've brought you your potion," said the grudging voice through the door.

He sighed and crossed the room to open the door only just far enough to allow Severus to pass him the smoking goblet. "Thank you, Severus," he said. "You may tell Professor Dumbledore I shall not be at supper tonight." And he closed the door on the Potions master without waiting for a reply.

After he drank his potion Remus spent the rest of Christmas afternoon pacing his rooms trying to make sense of it all for thousandth time in twelve years. He had to admit to himself that it just did not add up. If Sirius really was a crazed murderer, then his behaviour of the previous night made no sense, anymore than his behaviour right up to that dreadful night more than a decade ago.

Remus would swear on anything he could think of that he had known Sirius -- really known him -- better than anyone, and as well as one person could know another, and never once in Remus's presence had Sirius been anything other than, well, if not utterly sane, at least not unhinged. His only madnesses, Remus was certain, had been a wicked sense of humour and irrepressible high spirits.

But if Sirius was sane he could not have done what he had done. And if, supposing for a moment, he had not been the betrayer, where was the proof? Someone had to have done it and there was no one else. Sirius had been James's best friend and the Lily and James's Secret-Keeper. And the Potters had been betrayed and murdered. And there was no denying that an entire street full of Muggles had seen Sirius kill Peter and a dozen other people. He had seen the devastation himself.

No, he just could not see any other way it could have been. It did not make sense but there was only one person he could ask for the answers he could not seem to find himself and that was Sirius himself. But could he trust the man? He did not see how he could. He had never heard that Sirius had confessed to anything, so chances were he would say he had not done it whether he had or not.

He shook his head. He had been going around and around in the same senseless circles for years. Perhaps if he had ever been able to convince himself completely that the man was guilty he could have eventually gotten on with his life. But he had not been able to. Nor had he been able to come up with any evidence for his innocence. And that was why Remus had lived the last twelve years of his life in bondage to doubt, unable to move forward, unable to undo or make sense of the past, living the gray existence of one whose life has lost its meaning.

If he was honest with himself, he knew that regardless of whether Sirius was innocent or not, he wanted him to be innocent -- wanted to find the evidence to convince himself that it had all been a mistake and that the great love he had known had been a real thing. He knew that was a dangerous way to think because it put him in a position of wanting to trust someone who, by all accounts, was not worthy of the least shred of trust, and that by trusting him he could be putting not only himself but Harry and all the other students in the castle in danger.

He knew that what he should really do was go to Dumbledore, confess everything, including the secret of the Animagi, and hand over the lock of hair. His fingers curled impulsively around the tiny, carved dog. He should turn towards the door now. He should walk down the hallway. He should go to Dumbledore's office. But he could not. It was weak of him, he knew, but he just could not do it.

Sirius's actions of the night before, insofar as he remembered them, had said one thing very clearly to Remus. Whether or not Sirius was guilty of the crimes put to his account, the man still, on some level, loved him. And even if it was possible for Sirius to betray that love, Remus never could.

Please, God, he begged silently, let someone else be the one to do this thing. Let someone else catch him. Don't let it be me.

Perhaps he should leave the castle tonight, before the change came upon him. Go down through the snow to the Whomping Willow and through the passage to the Shrieking Shack. If Sirius meant to come to him again tonight, at least that way he would not be coming into the castle. He would follow Remus's scent in the cold air, and he would not be near Harry. That will be better, won't it? He did not even allow himself to have the shameful thought that he was following this course of action because Sirius was less likely to be caught.

Decision made, Remus pulled on his shoes and his thin woolen cloak and quietly made his way down the empty corridors of Hogwarts and out of the school into the frost-filled winter twilight, hand resting on the tiny wooden dog in his pocket.