Survivor's Guilt: Moony's Tale

A week later Remus was pacing his office, still confused. The students were on another Hogsmeade trip and yet again he had been unable to locate Harry. He had even gone up to Gryffindor tower and asked a rather sullen-looking Neville Longbottom if he knew where Harry was.

"He went to the library. Said he'd left his vampire essay there," Neville had said. "But that was ages ago."

He had been short with Neville partly because he was still upset with the boy for his part in Sirius's abortive attack on Ron, but also because being in the Gryffindor common room was difficult for Remus. Much of the furniture was still the same as it had been in his school days and it was unsettling for him to think that on that very couch, he and Sirius had once or twice -- But there was nothing to be gained by such thoughts and he left the tower quickly.

He had gone to the library next, vainly hoping that Harry actually had gone there, but when he asked Madam Pince if she had seen the boy, she merely pursed her lips and shook her head. Since nothing happened in Madam Pince's library (at least during the day) that she did not take notice of, Remus knew Harry could not have been there. And if Harry had lied to Neville about where he was going, then he must be somewhere he was not supposed to be.

I should tell Dumbledore, he thought as he made his way back to his rooms. He had a residual schoolboy dislike of being thought a telltale and he did not want to get Harry into trouble but the danger to the boy being what it was .... Is he in danger? a small part of his mind asked sharply. Sirius has been in the castle three? four? times this year. He's got himself into Gryffindor tower with a knife. And yet Harry has not suffered any harm. And so far as Remus knew, Sirius had not tried to lay hands on a wand.

Remus knew himself to be no fool. He had been a bright and dedicated student -- occasionally brilliant -- and had never found his wits to be lacking. They had stood him in good stead for more than thirty years. And yet he was baffled by this. He could not make it add up, even with the knowledge of Sirius's Animagus form, which no one else shared. Or perhaps because of that information, he thought. Everyone else is so certain he's guilty and that he'll stop at nothing to kill Harry. I'm the only one who's not sure. But I'm the one who knew him best, and the only one left who knows he's an Animagus.

He shook his head. What he needed was a drink. It was only early afternoon but he poured himself a tot of whiskey. Draining the glass, he thought, I'll just have to keep my eyes open for clues. "Constant vigilance!" as Moody would say. Somehow this all has to make sense and I'm just not seeing it. He wondered if he should take his doubts to Dumbledore but quickly decided that that would still mean revealing what he knew, and he was not prepared to do that just yet.

He was just about to pour himself a second drink when a sudden burst of green flame from the fireplace made him leap backwards in surprise. Then the voice of Severus Snape boomed into his room, "Lupin! I want a word!"

Remus sighed. Snape sounded as though he was in a rare fury, but if he was actually demanding the presence of the one person in the castle he despised more than Harry, it must be important. He grabbed a pinch of Floo Powder from the mantle and threw it into the fire. "Professor Snape's office," he intoned clearly as he stepped into the green flames.

The spin of Floo travel in conjunction with the whiskey that was just hitting his system made him feel a little dizzy and he stepped out of the Potions master's fireplace a trifle unsteadily. He brushed the ash from his robes, noting that Harry was also present, looking both confused and distinctly worried. Could it be that he didn't go to Hogsmeade after all? "You called, Severus?"

Snape was clearly in the grip of a cold fury. "I certainly did. I have just asked Potter to empty his pockets. He was carrying this." He gestured at something on his desk with his wand.

Remus blinked with shock which he quickly suppressed, trying desperately to hang on to his mask of calm unconcern. Lying on the Potions master's desk was the Marauder's Map. He had not seen it in almost twenty years but there could be no mistaking it. His name -- all their names -- was right there, staring him in the face. And Snape knew it. Even if he did not know the meanings behind the names, he knew to whom they referred. Remus experienced an unpleasant sinking sensation. How did Harry get his hands on that? He wondered.

Snape was waiting less than patiently, tapping his wand against the desk, but Remus barely noticed. "Well?" he said at last.

This isn't going to be good, he thought. Severus is likely to say anything at this point, secrets and loyalty to Dumbledore be damned. The best thing to do is probably to get myself and Harry out of here as quickly as possible.

"Well?" Snape repeated. "This parchment is plainly full of Dark Magic. This is supposed to be your area of expertise, Lupin. Where do you imagine Potter got such a thing?"

So that's your game, he thought. You're going to try to get me to incriminate myself in front of Harry. You bastard. You know he won't believe anything you might tell him, so you want me to do it for you. Well, dammit, I'm not going to give you the satisfaction.

He half-glanced at Harry, hoping vainly that the boy would not ask any awkward questions, or volunteer any unfortunate information. This was a delicate situation. "Full of Dark Magic?" he inquired as mildly as he could manage. "Do you really think so, Severus? It looks to me as though it is merely a piece of parchment that insults anybody who tries to read it. Childish, but surely not dangerous? I imagine Harry got if from a joke-shop --"

"Indeed?" Snape cut him off. Remus knew it was a dangerous game he was playing. Both he and Snape knew exactly where this particular Aid to Magical Mischief Makers had come from and Snape had nothing to lose by letting something slip "accidentally". "You think a joke-shop could supply him with such a thing? You don't think it more likely that he got it directly from the manufacturers?"

Two of whom have been dead since Harry was a year old, one of whom supposedly wants to kill him, and one of whom is standing in this room. He thinks I gave Harry the map. Remus tried very hard to look puzzled. A trickle of sweat ran down the back of his neck. "You mean, from Mr Wormtail or one of these people?" he turned to Harry. "Harry, do you know any of these men?"

"No," said Harry, looking confused.

"You see, Severus?" he managed a slightly smug smile at the other professor. "It looks like a Zonko product to me --"

There was a sudden sound of feet pounding down the corridor outside. A second later Ron burst into the office, red-faced and panting. Clutching at his side, he managed to get out, "I -- gave -- Harry -- that -- stuff. Bought -- it -- in -- Zonko's -- ages -- ago ...."

The lie would not have convinced the most gullible first year but Remus was impressed nonetheless. That's Gryffindor bravery. It was clear these boys did not like Snape any more than he liked them, or any more than he had liked the Marauders. Remus decided it was time to make an exit.

"Well!" he exclaimed with as genuine a smile as he could manage. "That seems to clear that up! Severus, I'll take this back, shall I?" He swiped the map from the desk and tucked it into a pocket, mentally cursing himself for using the word, "back". He hoped the boys had not noticed. "Harry, Ron, come with me," he said. "I need a word about my vampire essay. Excuse us, Severus." He nodded to the still-furious Potions master and ushered the boys out of the office.

There was no reason to take Ron and Harry back to his own office which was a long walk from where they were, so instead he turned left, heading for the Entrance Hall which was likely to be deserted at this time on a Hogsmeade day. As they walked in silence he thought about the map burning a hole in his pocket. Harry should know better, he decided. I can understand a bit of recklessness or high spirits from a boy of his age, but an item like this could so easily fall into the wrong hands. It's ten times worse than Neville leaving that list of passwords lying about.

"Professor, I --" Harry began, as they reached the Entrance Hall.

"I don't want to hear explanations," Remus told the boy rather more sharply than he had intended, glancing around to be sure they were not overheard. "I happen to know that this map was confiscated by Mr Filch many years ago," he continued in a low voice. "Yes, I know it's a map," he said when the boys registered twin looks of surprise. "I don't want to know how it fell into your possession," he went on. Not yet, anyway; that would be asking Harry to incriminate himself. "I am, however, astounded that you didn't hand it in." James and Sirius wouldn't have either, admonished a tiny voice in the back of his mind. And neither would you, at that age. "Particularly after what happened the last time a student left information about the castle lying around," he went on, ignoring the voice. "And I can't let you have it back, Harry." But, God help me, I can't destroy it either. I only hope I can keep it safe for the time being. He was more fearful for Harry's safety than he was angry, but he knew how it must sound to the boys.

Harry nodded reluctantly, obviously disappointed to be losing such a treasure, but he asked, "why did Snape think I'd got it from the manufacturers?"

"Because ..." Remus knew he was treading on thin ice here. Go carefully, Lupin old man. "Because these mapmakers would have wanted to lure you out of school. They'd think it extremely entertaining." That's no lie, he told himself. Harry would easily have been one of the gang.

"Do you know them?" Harry asked, wide-eyed with awe.

And that's my cue to exit, Remus thought to himself. Harry knows all he needs to know about the matter for now. Maybe someday I'll be able to tell him more. "We've met," was all he said.

He drew his eyebrows together as he continued to look at Harry who was obviously keen for further explanation. How to make the boy see the gravity of the situation they were all in? "Don't expect me to cover up for you again, Harry," he finally said. I only did it this time because the map was involved. His hand went to his pocket and he fingered the worn parchment gently. "I cannot make you take Sirius Black seriously. But I would have thought that what you have heard when the Dementors draw near you would have had more of an effect on you." Who am I kidding? He's thirteen. Weren't we all forgetful, resilient and convinced of our own immortality at that age? "Your parents gave their lives to keep you alive, Harry. A poor way to repay them -- gambling their sacrifice for a bag of magic tricks." It was harsher than he had intended but he could thing of nothing else might make an impression on Harry.

Ron looked exceedingly uncomfortable and Harry hung his head, blushing furiously. Remus did not know what else to say to them. He had made his point and anything he could say now would only soften the sting of it. He wanted them both to learn from this experience, so he simply turned and walked away.

Arriving back in his rooms, he collapsed into the armchair next to the window. He looked thoughtfully at the drink he had poured himself before Snape had called him away. Maybe later. Instead, he reached into his pocket and drew out the map, unfolding it across his knees. Now that the tense circumstances had passed, he allowed himself a chuckle at the words still scrawled across the parchment.

"Mr Moony presents his compliments to Professor Snape, and begs him to keep his abnormally large nose out of other people's business," he read, shaking his head. Well, it was the sort of thing he would have said back then, and the sort of thing that even now he tended to think without saying.

He took out his wand to wipe the parchment with a quick "mischief managed", but he hesitated. When they had made the map (James and Sirius's idea, originally), instead of filling it with stock phrases to insult the uninitiated, they had invested it with a little of each of their teenage personalities.

Remus gave in to temptation. Instead of clearing the page, he tapped it lightly with his wand and said softly, "Mr Moony greets his old compatriots and hopes they enjoyed their little joke on Professor Snape."

The words before him faded away, and were replaced by the legend, "Mr Wormtail greets Mr Moony, and hopes that he also enjoyed the joke on that slimy git. He wonders if Snivellus is still as much a drama queen as ever?"

Then slowly underneath, "Mr Prongs tips his hat to Mr Moony -- excuse us -- Professor Moony, and wonders how Hogwarts is getting on without the rest of us?"

"Not what is was, Prongs, old man," Remus whispered sadly. "Not for me. You and Peter gone; Sirius beyond redemption."

"Mr Moony greets his aged self, and wonders if Headmaster Dumbledore has really gone batty enough to hire me on as a Professor?"

Remus smiled slightly at that, but the next words would not allow him to maintain the expression.

"Mr Padfoot warmly embraces Professor Moony, and requests to know if he is still the same handsome devil he always was?"

Remus shook his head. He should never have given in; the parchment was only able to interact with the reader so far -- far enough to bring on a massive bout of nostalgia but not far enough to bring him any joy. Perhaps he would have that drink after all. "Goodbye, boys," he whispered, and tapped the parchment. "Mischief managed."

Harry's Patronus lessons continued through the early spring. Remus could see Harry's increasing frustration, however, that he was never able during these lessons to replicate his achievement on the Quidditch pitch.

"Don't worry about it," Remus told him shortly before the start of Easter break. "Harry, at least you know you can do it if you need to."

"I know, Professor," Harry said glumly. "I just don't understand why I can't do it whenever I want."

"Well," Remus said carefully, "the true Patronus is not there to come when called, but when it is needed. You can't just summon something as powerful as that any time you feel like it."

"But," Harry protested, "I didn't need it the day we played Ravenclaw. Those weren't real Dementors."

"You didn't know that, Harry," he reminded the boy. "You believed that they were, and it was your belief in the need for your Patronus that summoned it. Now that you know you can do it in times of need, isn't that enough?"

"Yeah, I guess so," said Harry in a tone that said he did not think it was nearly enough.

"Harry, you have made such progress this year. I have to say I am really impressed with the quality of your work and your dedication to it." Remus smiled. "Your parents would both be very proud of you."

"You think so?" Harry asked, looking a little more cheerful.

"I know so. I knew them both very well, Harry. They had such high hopes for you, but I think you have managed to exceed even their expectations."

"Thanks, Professor!" he definitely looked as though he felt better now.

"In light of your progress, Harry," Remus continued, "I think perhaps this will be our last Patronus session. There really isn't any more I can teach you about the Patronus, and I shall be very busy after the Easter break writing exams."

"Oh." Harry looked disappointed.

Remus gave him a tired smile. "Come now, Harry. Haven't you got enough on your mind these days? The Quidditch final is just around the corner. It's no wonder if you're having trouble focussing on something as discipline-intensive as the Patronus Charm."

Mention of the Quidditch final was sufficient to distract Harry from his other concerns, and the two spent a pleasant half hour discussing Gryffindor's chances at the Quidditch Cup which had only been won by Gryffindor three times since Remus's own school days.

Remus was slightly taken aback at the depth of Harry's anti-Slytherin feelings, but he understood them, given the appearance of the fake Dementors at the last match and a couple of Malfoy's other stunts Harry mentioned to him. He knew from first hand experience how rude and obnoxious Draco could be and he had developed a well-suppressed dislike for the boy. Unlike Snape, he tried not to play favourites in the classroom. Such behaviour was unprofessional.

The tension between Slytherin and Gryffindor was palpable throughout the school, heating up noticeably in the last two weeks before the match. The tension did not just focus on Harry, either. All the students from both houses were infected with it. The air fairly crackled between them and there was more than one less-than-amusing hex cast as the big day approached.

Remus felt the tension in the air like a storm about to break and he thought perhaps it ran deeper than a mere inter-house rivalry. Something is going to happen soon, he decided. Something big, and not necessarily good.

Indeed, the Quidditch final -- fortunately not coinciding with the full moon -- came and went without incident, the Cup going to Gryffindor after another impressive snitch capture by Harry, yet the tension in the air did not seem to lessen at all. Not for Remus, anyway. He found himself becoming increasingly nervous and jumpy and barely able to focus on the end-of-year exams he was meant to be writing.

In the end he decided on a practical exam for his students. Their two previous Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers had been incompetent and many of the students were well behind where they should have been for their year. This turned out well for Remus, since it meant he could give more or less the same exam with only a few small adjustments to all of his classes. He also thought the students would appreciate being able to do their exam outdoors in the early June sunlight rather than locked away in a stuffy classroom.

Harry took the exam on the morning of the last day of the exam period. With Quidditch over for the year and confidence in his ability to hold the Dementors at bay, it was clear that he had been able to concentrate on his studies once again. Remus was impressed with Harry's performance, and would have been glad to award him full marks even if he had not been his favourite student. He even managed to outdo Hermione. Remus wondered if Harry still saw a Dementor when he looked at the Boggart but he did not ask when the boy emerged from the trunk trying to look cool but barely suppressing a triumphant grin.

After Harry's class was through, there were only the second years to left to take the exam that afternoon, and then the academic year was officially over. Remus was amazed by how quickly it had gone by. Faster than any year since -- well .... He would miss Harry and his friends, would miss the castle and the grounds, would even miss teaching. He marveled at how good it felt for his life to have some purpose again. I can survive a summer, he thought. It will be September again before I know it.

He wondered if Sirius would have been captured by then but tried very hard not to think about it. Alone and friendless, it was astounding that he had not yet been caught. It could only be a matter of time. If only he would leave off his obsession with Harry -- just disappear, thought Remus desperately. Surely that would be the best thing for everyone. Maybe he had disappeared; after all, there had been no sign of him in months, even though Remus had taken to spending full moon nights in the Shrieking Shack again.

Seeing the students leaving their last exams, racing through the corridors of the school and demonstrating bouts of high spirits reminded him of that last-day-of-term feeling of his boyhood; the excitement that he and his friends had successfully made it through another year, the sadness that they were parting for the summer, the nostalgia remembering all that had happened over the last nine months.

He was still smiling when he reached his rooms. His eye fell upon the Marauder's Map, lying blank and neatly folded on his night-stand. What the hell, he thought recklessly. Might be fun to have a look. See what the kids are up to. He spread the map out on the bed, tapped it gently with his wand and in ironic tones declared, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

He became so engrossed in the map -- in watching the students and teachers and trying to guess what their various movements meant, and marveling anew that he and his friends had managed to create such a complex artifact -- that he nearly missed the feast. Instead of putting the map away, however, he gently folded it and put it into the pocket of his robes. As he did so, his fingers brushed the tiny wooden dog he still carried there.

Sirius, he lamented. How often have I thought of you this year? And yet, for all his thinking, he had managed to come to no conclusions that made any sense; only implausible theory upon implausible theory. Perhaps human nature cannot be so easily explained, and I am looking for sense where there is none. I want Sirius to be innocent -- for there to have been some mistake, he reminded himself. Wanting a thing does not make it any more likely.

The Great Hall was lit with late-afternoon sunlight pouring in through the enchanted ceiling. It gave the feast the relaxed atmosphere of a summer picnic. Once seated, Remus noted that the place at the teachers' table that was usually filled by Hagrid's bulk was instead occupied by the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, and an elderly gentleman in Ministry robes who Remus did not recognise. When he greeted them the unknown gentleman smiled cordially enough but Fudge only gave him a brief and unconvincing half smile before leaning over to whisper in the other man's ear. The Ministry official nodded then gazed speculatively at Remus, and he realised who the man must be and why he was there.

He had heard, of course, about the trouble that year involving a Hippogriff of Hagrid's and that little shite, Malfoy. He had forgotten, though, that the beast's appeal was scheduled for today. He shuddered at the thought. As an occasional beast himself, he was not unaware of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, nor was he unaware of their reputation for disposing first and asking questions later. Or not at all. That explained Hagrid's absence; the gentle giant would want to spend a last evening with the unlucky Hippogriff.

He nodded to the Committee Member, who was still looking at him. Yes, I'm Dumbledore's werewolf, he thought grumpily, but said nothing. After a moment the man turned his attention to his meal. Remus tried to eat as well but the Ministry presence turned the excellent fare tasteless in his mouth.

After the feast, Dumbledore took him aside. "Remus, I'd like to speak with you if you have a moment?"

He was mildly surprised. "Certainly, Professor." They left the Great Hall and headed for Remus's office.

"I'm afraid I can't tarry long, dear boy," said Dumbledore as they walked. "That unpleasant business with the Ministry, you know."

Remus merely nodded.

"I do feel sorry for poor Rubeus. He has something of a blind spot where his creatures are concerned, I know, but I really do think that in this case the Hippogriff is blameless." The Headmaster sighed. "Not that there is much I can do to change their minds. It would seem that poor Buckbeak has run out of time."

Remus looked at Dumbledore, wondering if he was supposed to understand some hidden meaning in his words, then decided that the Headmaster's inflection was merely a part of his oddness -- perhaps a joke that only he himself was in on. "Well, Professor," Remus said instead, "I'm sure you know my feelings on such matters."

"I do indeed, Remus," the Headmaster nodded gravely. "You are not a supporter of the more extreme measures of the law, are you?"

"No, Sir," Remus shook his head. "It is my firm opinion that some forms of 'punishment' are never justified." They had reached the door to Remus's office, which he held open as the older man entered, closing it firmly behind them.

"Even in the matter of Sirius Black?" Dumbledore asked shrewdly, turning toward him.

"Even in the matter of Sirius Black," he replied firmly. Especially in the matter of Sirius Black, he did not say. "The loss of soul -- how can we even know what that does to a man? Only those who have experienced it can truly know, and they are in no state to say. Can such a thing ever be justified?"

"Remus, your heart is as soft as Hagrid's," said Dumbledore with a smile. "But I do not think you are wrong. I myself have had words with the Ministry on that policy as you may know, but to no avail."

The two men sat and Dumbledore removed a long-stemmed pipe from his robes, which he lit with a wave of his hand. Remus watched him puff away on it for a moment before asking, "do you think Black will be caught?"

Dumbledore looked down his long nose at the younger man, eyes thoughtful. "You don't have to pretend with me, Remus," he said at last.

"This business of calling him 'Black', as if the two of you had never met -- you must see how foolish it sounds. Of course I understand how it might help you to distance yourself from the matter. But I suspect you've found that, in some cases, distance is an illusion?"

Remus looked down shamefacedly at his desk. "It is, Professor," he whispered.

"Poor Remus," Dumbledore said affectionately. "Even as a boy, you felt everything so deeply. It is not surprising that one such as yourself should have known great love, and it is a terrible thing that you have had to know great betrayal and great sorrow as well," he sighed. "There are those who would condemn you for loving Sirius still." Remus nodded. "But I am not one of them. To me, it only shows your heart to be as pure and true as ever it was. Such people are rare, Remus, and a man may count himself lucky to have such a one among his friends." The old man's eyes twinkled.

"Thank you Professor," he replied humbly, still looking at his desk.

"Harry is lucky to have you in his life as well," Dumbledore continued, "though he may not know it yet. One day he will."

At last Remus raised his eyes to meet Dumbledore's. "Thank you," he said again. "Thank you for giving me this opportunity to know Harry. To teach. To have some purpose."

"I am pleased to have been of help," replied the Headmaster. "It has not been an easy year, though, has it? Sirius's proximity has no doubt had an impact on you."

"It has, Professor," Remus sighed. "But in a way, I'm glad of it. I've had a chance to think about things, and had the opportunity to make myself think about things I once thought too painful."

"And have you found some measure of peace?" By Dumbledore's tone, he might have been inquiring about the weather.

Remus thought for a moment. "No," he said at last. "Only more questions."

Dumbledore smiled. "As long as a man can ask questions, he is still alive. Are you still alive, Remus?"

"You know, I think I am, Professor." He suddenly felt a little bit lighter.

"Well, I hope for your sake that you find some answers to those questions of yours," the old man said as he rose. "If ever there was a man who deserved a little peace, it is you, Remus."

"I think I agree with you, Professor," he said, extending his hand. "It has been a pleasure to be back at Hogwarts. I suppose you have to go now?"

"I'm afraid so, my boy," said Dumbledore regretfully. "I promised Hagrid I would be there, and I have a suspicion young Harry and his friends may try some daring stunt to spring the Hippogriff. I wouldn't want to miss that." He shook Remus's hand warmly. "It's been a pleasure having you on the staff. I'm sure most of us will be glad to have you back in September," he said, and departed, closing the door behind him.

Remus sat down behind the desk again and put his head in his hands. Answers, he thought. Where do I find answers? All I have are questions. I want to know. I have to know, before they catch Sirius. That's the only way I'll ever find peace. But he did not know any more about where to find these answers than he had before supper.

At a loss about what do next, he took the Marauder's Map from his pocket again and unfolded it on the desk. As Dumbledore had predicted, three dots labeled "Harry Potter", "Hermione Granger" and "Ronald Weasley" were moving in the direction of Hagrid's hut.