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The early November air cut through every layer Remus wore. He knew that he would be warmer if he chose to stand from the decaying wooden bench he had taken residence on. That the blood would run back to his extremities if he walked away, left the cemetery and headed back to his flat on Diagon Alley. But he would rather freeze to death. Going back there would mean facing the reality that one of his best friends was the worst kind of evil. That a man he had grown up with, thought he knew, betrayed someone he claimed was a brother to him. Instead of celebrating Sirius Black’s twenty-second birthday in the tiny, dingy flat they shared, he was dealing with the fall out of the other man’s recklessness.
Pale green eyes tracked a flurry of fallen leaves as they danced on the autumn wind. The brittle, papery leaves skitted over moss-covered blocks of granite and marble, looking eerily out of place. A moment of playfulness in the sullen spot. When the breeze picked up, his dishevelled hair whipped against his face. He wondered if anyone would recognise the man he had become over the last few months. Running his hand through his sandy curls to push his fringe from his eyes, he supposed not.
Suddenly, the scent of lily of the valley filled the air and Remus flinched away from the aroma. It felt like the universe was tormenting him. That the entire place would be filled with the flower that gave one of his best friends her name. Self consciously, he tugged his old denim jacket tighter around him and tucked his ungloved hands under his armpits. He could practically hear Lily’s admonishments for his stupidity as she cast a warming charm over his fingers.
“Honestly, Remus, what would you do without me?” she would say and smile up at him, green eyes sparkling, while James would watch them, holding Harry on his hip with a smirk on his lips.
Remus choked back a sob, knowing that he would never see that warmth shining up at him again. He really did not know how he would go on without any of them. That he would never hear her comforting laugh, or James panicking about using salt instead of sugar in Lily’s birthday cake, or Peter’s ridiculous conspiracy theories, was too much for him to handle. He was alone for the first time since he cared to remember. The full moon was a week away and he was already dreading how painful it was going to be without the support of his childhood friends.
Head bowed in grief, his eyes landed on something white in his lap. Remus’s fingers rolled the silken petal that had fallen from the gladioli he had brought to place at the graveside. The white slab of marble he had been staring at taunted him in its permanency. The dates carved on its smooth surface an enduring reminder that his friends were stuck in a moment of time. That they would not age past twenty-one. Everything stopped for them on 31st October; their hopes, their dreams, their love. He resented that time had already passed longer for him.
A brush of late autumn air drifted by. Absently, Remus realised that he must have started to cry again as the breeze stung his cheeks just a little sharper than before. He was almost surprised at the sensation. He thought he had shed all the tears he could muster, but he was not sure there were enough in his body to relieve the anguish. His whole body ached with a pain that three days before would have been inconceivable. Remus did not know that it was possible to have every breath he took feel so sharp against his throat. It felt as though a part of him was buried in the frozen dirt beneath his feet beside them, a shard of his soul that died along with them in their little cottage.
Another breath of wind blew through the quiet graveyard, bringing with it the scent of carnation. Unbidden, Remus’s mind turned to the infant his friends had left behind. He had yet to hear how Harry was. In all the commotion upon his return home from the Ardennes, he had not had the opportunity to ask after the boy. He assumed that with Sirius gone, and Frank and Alice in St Mungos, Harry would have been taken in by Andromeda. Despite the six-year age gap, she and Lily had become very close over the years, even before they all joined the Order. Andromeda was the first person Lily had gone to when she found out she was pregnant, fearful of what it would mean to bring a baby into the world during a war. When the youngest Potter was born, she became an unofficial Godparent to the boy. It was not uncommon before the little family went into hiding to find her, daughter in toe, caring for baby Harry while James and Lily stole a few hours sleep.
Distantly, he heard the church clock chime the hour. As though someone had taken a blindfold off he took in his surroundings fully, noting the orange and pink painting the sky. Glancing down at the beaten pocket watch his father had gifted him for his seventeenth birthday, Remus flinched. Had he really been there for five hours?
“I’m surprised frost hasn’t formed around your arse by now.” The crisp, feminine voice startled him. “Couldn’t think of another way to spend his birthday either?”
Remus shook his head and watched as the woman placed a single yellow rose beside his bouquet. Despite her family disowning her over a decade before, Andromeda Tonks was unmistakably a Black. It was there in the quirk of her brow as his eyes met hers, the way her hair was neat despite having a seven-year-old at home, and the way she smoothed the back of her skirt before she took a seat beside him. Much like Sirius, Andromeda had been taken in by the Potters after her family disowned her for dating a muggle-born. Most summers, Andromeda would visit the Potter’s home when they returned from Hogwarts and she quickly became a constant in all of their lives. When she married Ted, the two of them established themselves much like older siblings. Her gentle gardenia perfume was comforting, grounding, a reminder that he still had a little bit of family left.
“I just don’t understand,” he whispered. “How could he do this?”
“I don’t know, Remus,” Andromeda sighed.
“They… They were his friends,” his voice cracked on the last word.
“I know, I can’t fathom it either. I really thought my cousin was not like the rest of the family. Apparently, we were all fooled.” Despite her efforts, the bitterness in her tone was unmistakable.
“I had my suspicions,” he confessed, “I think by the end none of us truly trusted each other. But I didn’t want to believe them. I wanted it just to be the paranoia of war.”
“It’s okay that you wanted to believe the best in him.”
“But how didn’t I see it? I lived with him for two years. I should have known… He was never the same after Marlene…” he cut himself off.
“Yes, well,” Andromeda’s voice wavered a little, “you didn’t. No one did.”
Remus was reminded that he was not the only one grieving. Andromeda had lost family that night too. And not just because her cousin was rotting in Azkaban as they spoke. The bond between Lily and Andromeda rivalled the Marauders’ and overnight something whole became incomplete. Remus knew that it was a Black family curse to be unable to properly and fully express emotion, especially grief. He distinctly remembered Sirius’ reaction when Peter had come back from his mission with Marlene that had gone so terribly wrong. Where Sirius tended to drown himself in firewhisky, Andromeda’s motherly and protective instincts would go into overdrive. When the Potters went into hiding over a year before, she had come over to Remus and Sirius’ tiny flat and cleaned it from top to toe to let off her nervous energy.
“Come on,” Andromeda said, gracefully getting to her feet. “The sun’s almost gone.” She reached out a slender hand to him, inviting him to stand. “She would never forgive me if I let you freeze to death. And Ted could do with a drinking buddy.”
“I just… what do we do now?” His voice sounded small, childlike, to his own ears.
“Live, Remus. We live.”