Desire

Remus Lupin started at the sound of his name and at the hand on his shoulder. It was Dumbledore, coming to take him away from Sirius. But it could not be time. Three hours could not have elapsed so quickly. There--didn’t moonlight still flood the chamber?

“Not yet,” he croaked, pulling away and crawling jerkily to the Mirror. He touched a hand to the shining surface. Sirius did the same.

“Remus.” The Headmaster sounded sad and far away.

“It’s not time yet,” Remus muttered desperately, pressing his hand to the spot where his and Sirius’ touched. He felt the Mirror’s smooth surface, but he saw Sirius’ hand. If he only tried harder, if he had more time, surely he would feel the big warm palm beneath his own, taste that breath, hear that voice.

“You said three hours!”

“Remus, it is nearly dawn.”

Remus blinked, startled. Dawn? That couldn’t be right. What about the moonlight?

“Come away,” said Dumbledore gently and laid a hand once more on Remus’ shoulder. “Turn around. The sun is rising.”

“I don’t want to leave!” Who cared if the sun was rising in some other, insignificant little world? The world in which he wanted to remain, the only one that held any attraction for him, was moonlit.

“I thought this might happen,” Dumbledore said quietly to his back. “I was afraid. I’ve spent the night wondering, among other things, whether or not I should have allowed this. I’m still not sure. The need to say goodbye is very strong, the need to let go…important. It’s time.”

“No,” Remus whispered feverishly. “No, not yet--” But he’d heard Dumbledore’s words, and though he’d resisted with every fibre of his being, he’d understood.

But then I’ll never see him again, he thought, lifting his eyes to the unsmiling lips, the shaggy dark hair. Never. Still, a part of him knew that this was not real. Sirius was not in the mirror. He was dead. And because he’s dead, a little voice said, it’s right I should never see him again.

“Remus.”

Sirius continued to look at him, sadly, from the Mirror, but Remus sank back onto his heels and noticed, for the first time, how cramped and stiff his muscles had become, as though he’d remained in one position for a very long time. Not really taking his gaze from Sirius, he turned his head slightly and noted, with great reluctance, that the shadows in the chamber had darkened while the air around them was misty grey. It was cold.

Dumbledore laid a cloak across his shoulders. “Come away now,” he said, no reproach in his voice. “I know you don’t feel ready. Perhaps you never will be ready. But it’s time. Come.”

Remus held the cloak closed at his throat and nodded. Still, it was a long time before he allowed the Headmaster to help him to his feet, before he whispered, from his soul, “I love you”, before he turned away.

“Did you tell Harry?”

They were back in Dumbledore’s office. The Headmaster had pulled back the drapes to let in the faint dawn rays. He had made tea, ordered Remus to drink a cup, and then poured him another. Now they sat opposite each other. Remus was looking out the window at the lightening grounds.

“No,” he said, stirring his tea idly. “No, I didn’t. Part of me wanted to, but I didn’t know how. I was his teacher. It didn’t seem appropriate. Besides, we were never alone together, and I think Molly might have disapproved of my telling him--at least now. I suppose I could have drawn him aside.” He lifted the teacup to his lips, but found, after one sip, that he had no desire for it. “I don’t want him to think he ever had competition for Sirius’ heart those last days,” he went on quietly. He stared determinedly at the Quidditch pitch as he said, “When Sirius--when he--fell--he looked to Harry, not me.”

“It might help him to know that he does not grieve alone,” Dumbledore said. “But this is a very personal thing, and he is quite young. Perhaps someday…”

“Perhaps.” The sun becoming too bright; his eyes were beginning to sting. He blinked rapidly, but the tears just caught in his lashes, blurring his vision.

“He might want to know, some day, more about his godfather. You might tell him then. There is no reason to keep secret the fact that he loved and was loved in return.”

“Yes. Maybe.”

“It might help you as well…”

“It wouldn’t bring him back!” Remus burst out angrily, aware that he sounded immature, and not caring in the slightest. “Don’t tell me what I should do. You’re not my teacher--”

“So I said when you came to me earlier,” Dumbledore interjected in a low voice, “but perhaps I was wrong. Remus, do you think you’ll ever stop being Harry’s teacher? Or any of your students’?” He sighed. “So many young people have come and gone since I first came here to teach. I can’t possibly remember all of them, but there are--many that I do, and some I still care about and wish I could help, though I don’t always know how.”

“Sirius.”

“Sirius.” Dumbledore sounded tired, and old. “I turned my back on him, not because I did not care. It was a mistake, a terrible, regrettable error for which you and Harry would be justified not to forgive.”

Remus did not say anything.

“I said there were students we never forget. He was one, and I regret his death very deeply. From the first day he arrived here he had my attention. A Black in Gryffindor. Oh, Andromeda Black had been Sorted into Hufflepuff, but Sirius was the son of Rigel and Lavinia--archetypical Slytherins if ever there were. And the Hat chose Gryffindor for him. The staff thought there had to have been a mistake. Lavinia Black sent me Howlers for two weeks… But the Sorting Hat was right, though there were times when I had my doubts. There was another boy Sorted into Gryffindor that year, who most of the staff believed to belong elsewhere, before they’d even met him. That was you.”

Remus turned sharply to look at Dumbledore. The older man’s eyes sparkled in a kindly manner and he was smiling very slightly. Remus nodded tersely and looked away again.

The Headmaster said, “I received no fewer Howlers regarding your Sorting than I did for Sirius’. Yours came mostly from the Werewolf Registry, and from my esteemed, but rather narrow-minded predecessor, Armando Dippet. It is fortunate that I receive owls in my office or our secret might have been discovered. That may in fact have been the Registry’s aim,” he added wryly. “But your secret was kept safe and I watched you--an Sirius and James Potter and Peter Pettigrew--grow. For you,” he said, with warmth in his voice, “I had no doubts. You were and are an asset to this school and to the Order. We need you. Harry needs you. Sirius needs you.”

Remus caught his breath. “Sirius is dead.” There. He had said it at last.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said, “and he left much unfinished work. His name, for one thing, must be cleared. And there is his godson.”

“I can’t take his place--or James’. Don’t ask that of me.”

“I do not. I merely remind you that letting go is not the same as forgetting.”

Bitterness rose in Remus’ throat so abruptly he almost choked on it. “Don’t patronise me. I’ve lost enough. I know.”

Dumbledore was quiet, and after a moment Remus regretted his tone. He swallowed his bile and forced himself to enquire, “Why, have you ever lost anyone?”

And Dumbledore answered starkly, “In all the years I’ve been alive? Yes, I have.”

“Someone you loved?” He could barely whisper.

“Yes.”

Remus tried to feel remorse, or at least real chagrin, but though he searched his heart he could find no emotion other than pain. “And how long,” he asked, “did it take for you to realise you could survive without that person?”

“It will have been ninety-three years in December,” Dumbledore said. “And still I’m not sure.”

Remus closed his eyes, but could not comprehend that many years without Sirius. Because he could not, he said, “Do you know what I saw when I looked into the Mirror?”

“I can imagine,” said Dumbledore.

“I saw him. As he was before Azkaban. I suppose that’s good. I don’t wish him back into a sorrowful life. But if--” No, there could be no ifs if he was to survive this. “What did you see?” He knew it was a deeply personal question, but it seemed fair. The other man knew what he had seen.

“Socks is my usual answer when people ask me that,” the Headmaster said quietly. “But it has not been that for two years now. It was not what I saw this morning.”

Remus looked at the other man finally, but the pale blue gaze was no longer on him. Dumbledore was staring into space, at nothing, or at something, perhaps, that only he could see.

The sky was lightening as Remus Lupin made his way across the dew-covered grounds toward the still-sleeping village of Hogsmeade. The stars were fading, and soon there would be none left. It was just as well; these past few nights he had avoided looking at the stars. He wondered what he would feel when winter came and Sirius, the Scorching One, burned brightly overhead.

He paused at the crest of a hill and looked back at the castle. Lights glimmered in a few of the upper windows, but apart from those Hogwarts was nearly the same colour as the mist rolling in from the surrounding mountains. He had always liked this time of day best, had always found that he did his best thinking before breakfast when everything seemed fresh, almost unformed.

Dawn was cold, and damp, and unpleasant, he realised. He wondered if the Three Broomsticks was open, yet. It might be by the time he got there. A cup of coffee would be nice. Then from there he could plan his journey south. And from there… Who knew. Dumbledore had been right; he had things to do.

“So the wolves and the rats inherit all,” he said to the empty air. “Once more you leave me to pick up the pieces. James and Lily, do not fear for Harry. I will not fail you or him.”

And to the fading stars, “Sirius… My soul mated with yours when we were children and since only a Dementor can destroy a soul, I can only believe we are still one. I never loved life except when I was with you, but I never longed for death, either. I always took the coward’s route, existing because I could never trouble to die. I shall endeavour to live now, because Harry needs me and someone has to tell your story. From this moment my life is no longer a life but a mission, and death only a leap into your arms.”

11/14/03