Chapter Text

The August air is crisp and cool - summer’s last breath before the plunge into wintry darkness. Behind the raised beds his mother has planted at the back of the garden - which is really just a fenced off stretch of field - Remus Lupin sits, one hand plucking at the tall grass. He has to squint to see the pages of his book. It’s giving him a headache.

Perhaps most remarkable was his unself-consciousness. He did not preen nor pout as the other handsome children did.

The wind picks up; grass brushes against his knees, and curls that have grown long over the summer tickle his forehead. He really should have brought a blanket to sit on, Remus thinks, annoyed, as he scratches the spot on his leg where the grass touched him, and runs his fingers through his hair. 

Indeed, he seemed utterly unaware of his effect on the boys around him. Though how he was, I could not imagine: they crowded him like dogs in their eagerness, tongues lolling.

Another gust and his hair is plastered to his face. The wind is sharper this time too, icy hands that probe at the gaps in his knitted jumper. Remus scrubs frustratedly at his face, trying to erase the awful wispy feeling of his hair against his skin. A surge of unfounded anger rises in his chest, and he promptly squashes it back down.

He draws his knees up to his chest and pulls his jumper over them, wishing he’d worn trousers. Squinting upwards in the vague direction of the sun, he wonders why it has to be so bloody bright if it’s not even warm.

I watched all of this from my place at a corner table, bread crumpled in my fist. The keen edge of my envy was like flint, a spark away from fire.

“Fuck.” Remus breathes, snapping his book shut.

The wind and his hair, and then the grass and the cold - and suddenly his woollen jumper too - all seem to leave ghostly fingers that rake over his body, until he's covered in something unshakable. Something that feels deeply wrong. 

Still, Remus tries to shake it, his hands flying to his face, scraping back the curls from his forehead. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tries to will away the prickling feeling that crawls in his skin, and the hot fury that blazes through him. 

It isn't aimed at anything in particular. The world. Himself. Both, maybe.

Relaxing his face but keeping his eyes shut, Remus tilts his head towards the sun. He inhales, holding his breath for a second before he lets the air out slowly, eyes fluttering open to view the scene in front of him.

Beyond the low fence of his back garden, he can see fields stretching for miles, the green only interrupted by scattered white of sheep. The sky is a milky blue. He can see a bird glide over the expanse.  A buzzard? He isn't sure. Peter would know. 

Slowly, Remus feels the anger swimming in his chest retreat somewhat. The tight prickling in his skin lingers, though, and his breathing is still heavy as he releases his legs from his jumper, and stalks stiffly towards his house.

“Could you cut my hair?” He bursts out, after throwing open the back door to his kitchen and stomping inside. 

Remus blinks, suddenly surveying the scene in front of him. His mum shoots him an irritated glance, her head tilted awkwardly to clamp a phone between her ear and her shoulder. One hand is reaching for the oven door, and the other is wearing a glove and clutching a tray of what looks to be shepherd's pie. 

As he studies her face more closely, he notices the purple bags under her eyes and a deep crease between her brows. Is that just concentration? It certainly looks like she’s juggling a lot right now - or… is it pain? It's hard to tell.

“Sorry! Sorry.” Remus murmurs, swallowing any remaining anger rippling beneath his skin as he sinks down at the kitchen table. 

God, why does he have to be like this? he thinks, remembering with a squirm of discomfort the way he had stormed into the kitchen and demanded a haircut. Then he shoves that thought down too.

At the dinner table, Remus waits with his head in his hands, eyes tracing the swirling pattern of the oak grain. Warm kitchen smells and the sounds of his mother's quiet muttering down the phone wash over him as he drifts into daydreams about university. 

What will it be like to learn so many new things? To be taught by people who really care - people who've devoted their whole lives to understanding? 

He pictures himself as confident and kind. The new Remus would never be so rude and demanding towards his mum. If he even gets into university, his own voice cuts into his mind, he could have worked so much harder, he should have, how could he just throw his whole future away like that?

“Sorry darling,” Remus blinks, looking up, to see his mum sit down beside him. “I didn't mean to upset you, it was just a really important phone call and I had to focus.” Ah, thank Christ, just concentration then.

“Oh, no, mum, you really didn't. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have just marched in here and asked you like that. You were busy.” Did he look upset? Then the other half of his mum's words catch up with his brain. “Who were you calling?”

“Oh, no one very interesting, just the bank.” His mum gives him a tight smile and Remus feels a twist of anxiety in his gut. That would be the third time this month, and Remus hasn’t missed the letters piling up by the front door.

“So, anyway,” his mum moves on quickly, “what's this about a haircut?” she reaches up and tugs at one of his curls. “I thought you were trying to grow it.”

“Yeah, I was…” Remus hesitates. “It's just getting in the way.”

“Okay, well how about after tea? The pie's only got about ten minutes left in the oven, and your dad's not back until late again today so we can have it straight away.”

“Yeah, sure mum. Thanks.” 

Remus notices the almost wistful expression on his mum's face when she mentions his dad and he can't help but wonder what it's for.

 Sure, when Remus was younger he had longed desperately for his dad to be around more. But after so many school assemblies, parents evenings and sports days missed in favour of his work, Remus stopped expecting his dad to show up at all.

That longing turned into a burning resentment for his father - that he and his mum weren't a good enough reason to stay. As Remus grew older, the anger had cooled and all that remained was a strange indifference for the man, like he wasn't his dad at all, just a particularly discreet lodger. Remus wonders now why his mother can't feel the same.

Remus isn’t alone in having a distant father, he knows. Certainly, among the students that had attended the same exclusive private boarding school as he had, many of them were familiar with the constant work trips and missed family time that came with a highly paying job.

Unlike his classmates, however, Remus’s father's work had not given him the cushy life of luxury expected to come with his schooling. No, in reality, he'd earned his place on a bursary, awarded after exceptional results in the brutal admissions tests he’d taken, aged eleven.

 Remus’s father's job is, in fact, one of the reasons his dad is so hard to hate - and as it happens, the reason why Remus had vowed so vehemently to hate him as a teenager.

Remus’s dad is a brilliant and intelligent man with a heart of gold, or so he's been told. To everyone else, he supposes, he probably is. As the head of the biggest charity for youth homelessness in Wales, Remus’s dad's hours are long and his pay is little. A few times his mother has suggested he find a new job - one that would give him more time to spend with their family and ease their tight finances, but Remus’s dad would never hear of it. And so Remus tries to be proud, tries to understand that his father's work is important, good. 

Still, sometimes, Remus wants to scream at his dad. “I'm your son, not them. I know you think your work’s important, but it's not more important than me. So can you please just stop caring about other kids and care about me.” But he knows how terrible and selfish that thought is. Indeed, he’s heard how hard most of those kids’ lives are, and he realises his own must seem like a dream in comparison. 

So, Remus keeps his mouth shut.

Now though, as he watches the pensive face of his sick mother, Remus can't help but feel a sting of betrayal for her. How can he say you love them, if he won't stay?

-

Remus watches in the mirror as his soft brown curls catch the sunlight on their descent to the ground. The steady grating sounds of hair against metal along with the gentle tugging on his head is almost meditative, and Remus finds his eyelids drooping until his mother's voice cuts into the peace. 

“Are you worried about results day? It's only a couple of days away now.” Oh God, not this. 

“Yeah, I guess, I don't think my exams went that well.” He cringes as he says it. A fist is squeezing his insides. He can't bring himself to meet his mother's gaze in the mirror, but he is almost certain he would be met with sadness.

“I know darling but you know there’re always other options you can look at. Have you been researching how to apply to universities through clearing?” 

Perhaps, Remus thinks, it is his own fault that his mother is so quick to agree that he is bound for failure come results day. He's been all too eager to inform people of his supposed poor performance. The thought of opening his grades to shocked disappointment from friends and family who had been expecting excellence feels preposterous. 

Still, Remus feels a prick of anger when his mother does not try to reassure him. Why doesn't she believe in him? He knows it’s unfair - he’s given her no reason to believe in him. He doesn't even believe in himself, but even so… it hurts. 

Then, Remus does meet his mother's eyes and all he can see is the dark stains beneath them. Looking down at her hands, for the first time he notices how they tremble slightly as she clutches the scissors. Quickly, he chastises himself for his anger. She just worries about him, he tells himself, remembering his mother's own words.

“Remus? Have you thought about clearing?” 

“Oh, sorry. Yeah, I have actually - well, sort of. I was looking at Hawthorne University’s website and they actually have a foundation year. That way I could still go to the university I originally applied for. It would mean I'd have to do an extra year at uni, and it might be a bit boring having to relearn a lot of the content from sixth form, but… I don't know. I just really liked Hawthorne, and if I apply to another uni without really knowing much about it, I might get there and hate it.” Remus looks up at his mum's face nervously. Their eyes meet for a second before she turns her attention back to his hair.

“Well, I suppose it would be better than retaking your A Levels,” she sighs, her mouth forming a line.

“Yeah.” Remus sags internally with relief. He hadn't expected his mother to say no - he is eighteen after all, and his student loans will be his own to pay off. But he can't help but feel as though he will be disappointing her if he has to effectively retake a year of school. When he was eleven, he beat out a hundred other kids for a place at his school for Christ's sake. Now, it seems, he can barely scrape through his A levels.

 Perhaps Remus’s mother really is disappointed in him, though he knows she wouldn't say so. Perhaps this is exactly what she expects of her son, he thinks bitterly and then dismisses the thought. No. Maybe she doesn't believe in herself, but she believes in him, she just worries about him, he tells himself, but he can't quite get himself to believe it.

“All done,” Remus's mother smiles. “Do you like it?” She fingers a curl at his temple.

“Yeah, I do, it's really nice, Mum. Thank you.” Remus meets his own eyes in the mirror and for a second, he sorely misses the old hair now scattered about his feet. 

He wishes he could just be normal.

-

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Remus's days have a certain rhythm to them in the summer holidays. Not anything that he has chosen for himself but a routine he finds himself falling into, day after day, even when he tells himself tomorrow will be different.

Each morning he wakes up without an alarm, to the sound of his father’s car pulling out the driveway. Then, he lies in bed, trying to ignore the early summer sunlight that paints the inside of his eyelids gold. 

Eventually, though, he’ll be drawn into the dull gravity of consciousness, and give up on the pretense of sleep. With a sigh, he will drag himself from his slumber and into the day ahead.

Most mornings, Remus will read, content to lose himself in other people's stories. His mother will be in bed until at least noon, and quietly, Remus is glad for it. He enjoys the solitude. 

It is in these sequestered hours of the morning, when there is no one around to witness him, that Remus does his chores. Silently, he creeps around the house, tidying away stray items that have lost their homes. When he can be bothered - which is not as often as he should - he will sweep and mop the floors. Occasionally, he dusts. 

He is supposed to do the dishes, and most days, he does. However sometimes the thought of it turns his stomach. It's on these days when sometimes his father will come home from work late at night - his mother having spent the day in bed with a migraine - and demand to know what Remus has been doing all day. Remus will say he doesn't know. His father will tell him he is selfish, and Remus will be inclined to agree with him.

Really, Remus knows he should do more. His father has said as much to him in one of their rare moments of conversation. If you won't get a job, then the least you could do is help around the house more. Your mother is sick, Remus, for goodness sake.  

Just as Remus has grown tired of his father, he wonders if now, his father is bored with him as well. Still, day after day, time just seems to slip away from him, like smoke, and he finds himself having lived the same day as yesterday, having done nothing more to assist his family. Remus thinks it makes him a terrible person.

When his mother gets up, often swaddled in a dressing gown with hair hanging limply at her shoulders, the two will spend the afternoon watching television. They bounce between comedies, documentaries and trashy reality shows, both of them working their way through cups of tea and a packet of chocolate digestives. Remus stays quiet and sinks into the cushions, hoping that if he is unobtrusive, the bloated silences between them will not become noticeable to his mother. Whilst Remus enjoys the quiet company, he sometimes worries that he's letting the distance between them grow. 

Slowly as the day leans towards evening the pair will meander towards the kitchen. Remus's mother enjoys cooking and Remus often helps, save for the days when she hasn't left her bed and Remus quietly cooks for them both. Other times, Remus will make himself do something else, perhaps even something useful, like replying to the university emails he’s been ignoring for weeks. Sometimes, he draws, or bakes, or  writes - none of which he thinks he is good at, but it gives him something to do, so it doesn't always feel so much as though he is floating through summer invisible, with nothing to prove he was there at all. 

Just before sun sets Remus will take his old dog, Ziggy - shockingly named by Remus before he had ever heard of Bowie - on long walks through the Welsh countryside. As he does whenever he is alone, he wears his headphones, and decides between music, audiobooks or silence. Together, he and Ziggy have explored forests, graveyards and ancient castle ruins. It is when he is away from everything and everyone that Remus feels like he can breathe.

After the sun has sunk deep below the horizon and all the traces of golden light drain from the sky Remus will return home. In the darkness, he waters his mother's flowers. He knows she loves to look at their vibrant petals in the summertime but she no longer has the energy to trek through the garden everyday. And so quietly, Remus tends to them late at night.

Tonight, when Remus creeps back inside the house, all the lights are turned off - his mother has gone to bed. The silence, usually a comfortable companion to his solitude, now seems too large and empty. It makes him feel on edge.  As he walks further into the house, he flicks on the yellow hallway light and hears it buzz. Moving past a stack of unopened envelopes and the Hawthorne University reading list that has been pinned to the living room mantle piece, Remus flops down onto a worn leather sofa, throws off his headphones and pulls out his phone. There's a text from James. Tugging at the short curls at his temple, he opens the message:

Marauders

(James) Meet me in the treehouse at the back of my garden at 15:00

(Remus) Uhhh…you know I'm a four hour drive from you all?

(Sirius) Yes moony but we've had a brilliant idea

(James)(Voice Message) Hi moony. So you know how results day is in two days time (Sirius) Obviously he knows that (James) Shhh, I was just getting to the important part. As I was saying, results day is on Thursday, and Sirius, Peter and I are all going to pick our results up from school together, and we thought, if you're going anyway, then maybe you could come to my house the day before and my parents can drive us all to the train station.

Shit, Remus thinks, his heart sinking. He was actually going to get the school to send his grades to him online, as are most of the students, he assumes. He cannot fathom why any of his friends would want to go all the way to Scotland to collect a piece of paper - though, actually, he can. James, Sirius and Peter are nothing if not ridiculous and dramatic to the end.

For a second, Remus entertains the prospect of travelling to Dorset, like his friends want. His mum can't drive that far and he assumes his dad will be working. Beginning to run through other possibilities in his mind (a bus would be cheaper than a train but Remus doesn’t know how he'd begin to go about finding one that goes as far as James’s house) Remus feels a strange resistance to the proposal. Whilst there is some nagging corner of his mind that hates to miss out like this, Remus thinks, no, there's no way he can go, it's so far.

Marauders

(Sirius) (Voice Message) Pleeeaassseee, Moony, I miss you. It's been aaagggeesss, and Effie's said you can stay as long as you like, all summer if you want.

It’s not that he wouldn't like to see Sirius, he really would. Still, he’s not sure he's ready to let go of the quiet Welsh countryside, where his only company for months has been his books, the television and his dog, Ziggy. In the months approaching his A levels, Remus had felt himself slowly unravelling - not an unfamiliar feeling, if he is honest with himself. But in his current quiet existence, it seems like maybe he has been stitching himself back together just enough so as not to fall apart again at university. The thought of leaving the solitude behind just yet makes his chest tighten, uncomfortably.

Marauders

(Peter) Yeah, please moony

(Sirius) Pleeeaaassseee pleeeaaassseee pleeeaaassseee

(James)Pppppppplllllllllllllleeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaassssssssssseeeeee

God, fine. Maybe. Perhaps it's the thought of his three best friends spending all summer without him. Or perhaps it is a small, childish wish to cling onto the last summer of certainty, that compels his curiosity. He won't go, but it can't hurt just to see…

Face lighting up with the turquoise light of the Trainline app on his phone, Remus begins searching how to get to Dorset from his house.

06:00 - 13:18 £65.15 Limited tickets left

7h 18 mins ~ 3 changes

07:38 - 14:18 £63.15 Cheapest - Limited tickets left

6h 40 mins ~ 3 changes

Fastest 11:50 - 18:05 £66.95

6h 15 mins ~ 3 changes

He balks when he sees the prices. Remus has a little money saved from his summer job last year, but it was supposed to be for university. Abruptly, he realises his decision has been made for him: Remus can't justify spending that much money to visit them. Definitely. The conclusion settles over him, immediately, he feels something inside him loosen. It’s a little unsettling, when Remus notices muscles he didn't even know he was tensing begin to slacken.

Two more messages pop up on his home screen.

Marauders

(Sirius) Mooooonnnnyyyy where are u?

(Sirius) We know you've seen our messages

Fuck, Remus swears in his mind, internally cursing himself for not shutting down their suggestions sooner. A hot coil of anxiety wriggles in his stomach at the thought of how he will explain himself to his friends after letting them get this far. He wants to throw his phone across the room and put the whole thing out of his mind for at least a week, or just until the unease lingering in his chest subsides.

He knows that it's silly, really, he thinks his friends would understand, but the thought of rejecting them consumes him with irrational panic. It's fine, he tells himself - he has a perfectly good reason. Remus tries not to dwell on how easily he settles into the excuse.

He doesn't want to disappoint them. In a strange way, it makes him feel like he is failing himself. He should be able to visit his friends and have a good time with them. Probably, he would. Christ, it's only one train ticket. Remus can't tell if he even needs to be so uptight about his finances at this point. But the excuse of money is a sweet and protective line in the sand that his friends - with their expensive houses and nice clothes - can never cross, but would never dispute either. 

Maybe he could go, but he just… can't.

“Fuck.” Remus whispers into the silent house.

Winding his hand through his short curls, Remus reopens the messages and begins typing a reply.

Marauders

(Remus) Sorry, I would love to see you guys but the train tickets are really expensive. I was just going to get my results from the school's online portal.

There's a beat where no one is typing. The tight knots of thoughts that Remus had strung up in his mind are cut loose. A tentative relief echoes in the space left behind - like he was drowning, but suddenly finds his toes brushing the floor, and maybe there is some chance of reprieve.

Marauders

(James) That’s okay, I can ask my parents to come and pick you up.

Then, the floor drops out from under him. Panic rushes in, cold and sharp, squeezing his ribs. Remus shuts his eyes against it, paralysed on the sofa, and in that moment, he feels himself coming apart. When he opens his eyes, he is sure he will see there is nothing left of him but tiny pieces of himself fluttering to the ground.

No. 

No, no, no.

He can fix this, Remus tells himself, forcing out a slow, trembling breath in an attempt to make the anxiety recede just enough to organise his mind. As he begins scraping together the scattered pieces of his mind, he can feel the fabric of his t-shirt brushing against his skin. The contact makes him shiver, and for a strange moment, he is horribly aware of the weight of his arms, and the press of his legs against the chair. 

Like squinting through a hazy morning fog, if he focuses hard, for a moment, he can make out the tendrils of his thoughts. Carefully, he strings them together. The panic is still there, pinning him to a precipice, but in reaching for his phone, Remus allows the words he types out on his screen to become fragile reins on the damage he’s letting loose.

Marauders

(Remus) What?! James, no, please don't.

(Remus) It's so far.

(Remus) Seriously, I can't ask them to do that for me.

He recognises the frantic tone of his messages, but there is nothing that can be done for it now.

Marauders

(Sirius) Sorry moony, he's already gone to ask them

(Sirius) Guess we’ll be seeing u after all ;)

(Sirius) Honestly tho, don't worry abt it. James parents r so nice I'm sure they won't mind. Besides, the worst they can say is no

No, no, no. Fuck. This cannot be happening.

He needs to say no. How can he say no?. Remus is racking his brain for any excuse, but the thoughts in his head are beginning to roar, making it harder to think.

…so selfish…

How could he let this happen?

God, he hates himself

He's a terrible person

…selfish…

He could tell them that he can't leave his mum, but he can't draw attention to that - shouldn't use her as an excuse. He can’t handle their pity any more than the guilt he’s feeling now.

He hates himself, he hates himself, he hates himself.

His heartbeat is hammering in his ears.

He could… school work, maybe, the reading lists - something about student finance, packing, something - 

But, no, none of it would work - they'd see right through the excuses. They'd know he just means no, and how can Remus say no to them?

Selfish.  It wouldn't be fair, he'd disappoint them, wouldn't be… It's selfish. Selfish.

And so Remus can't say no. He needs to say no, but he can't. How can he? He doesn't know what to do.

Remus's mind is a flurry of noise. He feels sort of fuzzy and distant except for the barrage of thoughts that are hurling themselves into his consciousness with venom. It’s making him feel trapped - like a caged animal. There’s something tight and fervid in his skin, keening to get out.

Scrambling to his feet, Remus begins to pace.

He has to get out of here.

The flickering yellow lights suddenly feel stifling, their buzzing filaments bouncing in his skull. Dread is rising in him like a wave.

 He has to get out of here. 

Remus can feel his breath quickening, tears pricking in his eyes. He wrings his hands as and flicks his wrists as he walks, as if he can shake off whatever feelings are seizing his mind.

Just don't think about it. He is trying to shove them back down - but they’re in his chest, his throat, his skin.

Remus is trapped, but he doesn't know how he can escape.

His breath stutters - a gasp escaping his chest.

He doesn't know what to do.

He wants to claw at his skin or slam his head into his palms - anything to make the thoughts stop for a second, to feel something else.

But he knows he can't do that.

And so he ambles towards his room, silent sobs clawing themselves from his throat. He mustn't wake his mother. He cannot imagine anything more mortifying.

Tears are blurring his vision by the time he throws open his wardrobe door and crawls inside.

He hates himself. He hates himself. He hates himself. He hates himself. He hates himself. He hates himself. He hates himself. He thinks, as he is bathed in the darkness of the inside of his wardrobe. 

He can't breathe - his cries are choking him as they rip from his chest. His throat aches. He hates himself.

It is alone in the darkness, curled into a ball with his palms pressed to his ears, that Remus Lupin really comes apart. 

Even alone in the dark, though, he never can fully let go. 

It's as if a small part of his mind has been detached from the rest of him, and from the outside, it watches him with disdain.

Just wash the dishes, he’s being selfish, he mustn't think about it, mustn’t wake his mother, mustn’t hurt himself. Why is he acting like this? He’s being ridiculous. He should stop crying, he should just get up, answer the bloody message - it’s really not a big deal.

The worst part is, Remus thinks it's right. It isn't a big deal. Because Remus knows that if he wasn't alone, he would have just let the feelings swallow him whole. He doubts anyone would have noticed anything was wrong. So when he lets himself fall apart like this, he knows it's a choice, a dramatic overreaction. He is being ridiculous, selfish.

Gradually, the world comes back to him, that nudging piece of his mind getting louder. It tells him that he can no longer ignore the pins and needles in his legs. It is bored of the silence. Still, the thought of facing anything right now seems impossible. 

Remus left his headphones in the living room. He waits a while longer before deciding he can no longer endure the silence. The tears have dried on his face.

Quietly, he rushes through the house, flicking off the awful yellow lights as he goes. After grabbing his headphones he hurries back upstairs to the safety of his wardrobe. Turning the volume to its lowest setting, he presses play on his phone.

Slow down, you crazy child
You're so ambitious for a juvenile
But then if you're so smart
Tell me why are you still so afraid?
Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?
You'd better cool it off before you burn it out
You've got so much to do
And only so many hours in a day.

It's funny really, Remus hasn't really done anything this summer - just, sort of… drifted. Still he finds the lyrics comforting somehow and lets the song repeat, over and over again, the melody washing over him like water.

He is so tired.

He wished he could close his eyes right there in his wardrobe, but that wouldn't be right. There is a list of things he has to do before he is allowed to sleep. Remus turns it over in his head. It isn't much. Just changing into his pyjamas, brushing his teeth and getting a glass of water. Just three things, he tells himself. It isn't much. Thinking about it makes him want to burst into tears all over again. Pyjamas. Teeth. Water. He stares into the darkness, seeing nothing.

Remus waits a little while longer before taking a deep breath and creaking open the wardrobe door. The silence of the house presses in on him - still, soft, like a noose,

Just three things, he tells himself as he shrugs off his clothes. The chilly air bites at his skin, leaving it prickling and raw, as if every nerve is exposed. Pulling on his pyjamas is almost painful as scratchy fabric drags over his skin. He wishes he could tear them right from his frame; it doesn’t usually feel like this. 

Two more things, he breathes, a tear slipping past his lip, and then he can be in bed and then maybe his body won't ache and his mind might be quiet enough for sleep.

It is only when he has brushed his teeth and is carrying a glass of water to his bedroom that Remus remembers his phone discarded in the living room and the messages he is yet to respond to. 

Shit. Remus freezes where he was tiptoeing up the stairs, carpet painful on his feet. A fist clenches his insides, a new bubble of hysteria rising in his chest. He needs to turn around, pick up his phone and answer James's message. God, he doesn't even know how long he's left it without replying. He needs to turn around, but he can't quite make his feet move. Come on, he thinks, he has to do this, imagining the mess he would create if he just let himself forget his phone and collapses into bed instead. Slowly, he squeezes his eyes shut for a second before walking back down stairs, thoughts a little fuzzy, vision a little blurry.

His hands shake slightly as he picks up his phone, skin tight and tender where fabric shifts around his form. There are six unread messages from James.

Marauders
(James) Mum says of course she can. she'd love to see you :)
(James) She says she'll pick u up at about twelve, if that's ok with u??
(James) Remus????
(James) Hey Remus, u ok?
(James) I'm gonna assume it's fine for mum to pick u up tmrw but can u pls respond soon just in case

A quiet whimper escapes Remus's lungs and he hugs his arms to his chest. He can still feel the goosebumps blanketing his body, and imagines himself crawling out of his skin. 

He just wants to go to bed.

Instead, letting out a shaky breath, Remus begins to type out a reply.

Marauders
(Remus) Hi, sorry I didn't reply sooner, my phone died and I couldn't find a charger. Twelve would be great, could you tell your mum thank you? It's such a generous offer and she really doesn't have to.

The lie arrives at his fingertips like it’s nothing - they come so easily to him now. Sometimes, distantly, Remus tries to remember what he was like before them, when people knew every part of him. Now, he scatters his secrets like bread crumbs, never too many for the same person, carefully folding the truth into himself. Even as he presses send, he cannot bring himself to feel guilty - only a sad sort of resignation for the way things have to be.

Remus's phone vibrates in his hand, the sensation echoing within him long after it ends.

Marauders
(James) No problem. See you tmrw :)

“Okay, James. I'll see you tomorrow.” Remus whispers into the empty air. 

He smiles, a little, and he can taste the salt in tears that are seeping, once again, down his cheeks.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

When Remus wakes, he feels hollow and brittle, as if all the emotions have leaked from his body. The house is still as he dresses. Pale morning light filters through the kitchen window as he makes his breakfast.

Effie is coming at twelve. It is a piece of knowledge that makes Remus's stomach drop every time he recollects it. He needs to pack a bag before she comes; the usual flow of the day will need to be abandoned. And…

And he needs to tell his mother. He can't believe he forgot.

As he chews his cereal, he wonders how she will react. It's not that Remus thinks she will be angry with him — she likes it when Remus spends time with his friends. Remus doesn't even think she will mind how last-minute his plans are. Still, he can't help but think she'll be disappointed that he's leaving her again… not that she'd ever say, he doesn't think. 

Your mother is sick, Remus, for goodness’ sake. His mother is sick. How could he leave her?

The thought makes dread flutter through him. He recalls, regretfully, how just last night he'd refused to use his mother as an excuse. It wouldn’t be an excuse now. With morning comes reality, and he isn’t sure he can make himself leave. Not for any noble reasons though. Remus wouldn't be staying for her, but because he is struggling to swallow the guilt that consumes him at the thought of going.

He is so selfish.

Suddenly, tears are pricking at his eyes. He wants to be at home. He likes it there. He likes the quiet and watching television with his mother and walking in the hills with Ziggy. He doesn't want to be trapped in the company of his friends. He just wishes he could be left alone. 

Scrubbing at his eyes, Remus takes a deep breath. No, he can't do this now. The thoughts of hiding away all summer are petulant and childish. Of course he can visit his friends.

Effie is coming now — there’s no turning back. If Remus can just picture his friends — lunchtimes spent laughing together, holding Sirius's hand — he wonders if he will be able to embrace the fact that he's leaving.

At least if Remus can get away from his parents, he can't keep upsetting them. He assumes he will still feel the same suffocating tangle of emotion every time he thinks about them, but maybe time and distance will dull it.

And so Remus Lupin is running away to his friends for the summer. He will run away from his mother who loves him but is perhaps quietly disappointed in him; he never could quite be the son she wanted. He will run away from his father who doesn't seem to love him enough to stay. It won't solve anything, not properly, but it might let him forget, just for a little while.

After washing his cereal bowl, Remus creeps through the house, towards his mother's room. Waiting outside the door for a minute, he tries to build up the courage to knock. Your mother is sick, Remus. He shouldn't be waking her like this, but when he taps his fist to the door, he is surprised to hear his mum's voice in response.

“Come in, Remus.” Her voice is bright and clear. 

Maybe she woke up feeling well. Except, now Remus is about to ruin that, too.

When Remus cracks open the bedroom door, he is met with his mother sitting up in bed, the warm light of her bedside lamp flooding the room.

“Hello darling.” His mother smiles softly at him.

The scent of his mother — lavender, old oak furniture and sleep — invades his nostrils as he makes his way into her room. It's not exactly unpleasant, but Remus still has to force himself to breathe normally as he imagines the odour scorching his lungs with each inhale.

“Hi, mum.” He comes to sit beside her on the bed.

A line forms between her eyebrows.

“Are you okay? You look… worried about something.”

 He does? Remus tries to school his features into a more neutral expression.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He smiles reassuringly. 

He just needs to say it.

“James asked me if I could go round to his house.” He mumbles.

“Oh, okay, that's fine.” His mother's face gives nothing away. “That's a long way away, though, how long are you going for?” 

That makes Remus's stomach clench.

“Oh, umm… well, James said I could stay as long as I wanted. I probably won’t stay that long, though… A week maybe?”

A week would be okay. He can get through one week.

“That's fine, Remus. Stay as long as you like. Enjoy yourself.” She says, smiling placidly. “I'll miss you, though. I hardly get to see you all year with your school, and now you're off again.” 

And that hurts, because it’s true, and Remus has known it all this time. He's leaving her anyway.

“I'm sorry.” Remus stares into the bedsheets. “I don't have to go.” He mutters. 

He knows he can't offer this to his mother, but the words leave his mouth anyway. Maybe he's wishing she’ll tell him to stay. She won’t, though. 

Instead, she smiles again. “Oh, Remus. Don't be silly. You're eighteen. You want to spend time with your friends — that's allowed. Go and have fun with James.”

Suddenly, mortifyingly, Remus can feel tears springing to his eyes for the second time that morning. He loves his mum. So much. The feeling is flooding his chest. The two of them spend so long talking like strangers, that sometimes, he forgets. But Remus feels it now. A watery grin is splitting his face. He hopes she doesn't notice the tears.

He only gets to feel it for a second, though, because doubt sprawls across his mind. 

Maybe she really doesn't mind. How could he be so self obsessed to think she would care so much? People's lives do not evolve around Remus Lupin. 

No.

Don't think about it.

“It's not just James,” Remus clears his throat, looking up. “Remember Sirius lives with him now. And you know Peter lives just down the road, so James says he’s been visiting almost every day this summer.”

“Sirius… he’s your friend with the long hair, right?”

Friend.

“Uhh, Yeah. And remember you saw Peter at a parents’ evening once. He has blond hair.”

“Oh yes. I remember thinking he looked just like you did when you were younger. Your hair was a lot lighter back then.” Remus’s mother runs her fingers through a lock of his now mousy brown hair. “You were so cute as a toddler. I remember how you'd always let me cuddle you when you were tired. You insisted you weren’t, but I could see you struggling to keep your eyes open.” She chuckles to herself, maybe a little sadly.

Remus tries not to let his mind linger on the fact that he never hugs his mother anymore. She tries sometimes, but he always finds his muscles tensing and his breath stopping in his throat. His mother will let him go, then, and Remus can always see rejection shining in her eyes. She’ll try to look away after that — to stop him from noticing anything is wrong. But Remus sees what he is doing to her.

He doesn't want to think about those kinds of things, though. Not now. Instead, he lets the conversation stay pleasant, smiling along with his mum as she reminisces. 

He doesn’t mention the distance Effie is driving to pick him up — he knows it would upset her. By keeping their conversations polite and surface-level, Remus usually manages not to sour the mood. He remembers a time that he used to rant to his mother down the phone about all of his problems and wonders when that changed. Perhaps his problems just got too big for her to solve. Now, there’s a space between them, and whenever he tries to wobble across the gap, he tips them into a row instead. Was it Remus who put the distance there? Was he the one who shut his mother out? Does it disappoint her too?

”I do love you, you know? So much.”  His mother looks to him, out of the blue. 

She is reaching out her hand to place it over his. Remus has to fight not to pull away.

“I know.” He says weakly.

There’s a beat of silence.

He glances up from the sheets. He can never quite look her in the eye for moments like these, so he lets his gaze fall somewhere over her shoulder.

“Love you too.”

He makes sure to smile as he says it.

—

Just before Effie is due to arrive, he shoves a few slices of bread into his mouth. It's too early for lunch, but he's not sure when he will next get a chance to eat. When he spots Euphimia Potter’s car approaching his driveway from the living room window, he quickly grabs the bags by his feet and hurries out of the house. 

There is still a stubborn stream of anxiety that surges under his skin whenever he thinks about how far he has asked James’s mum to drive, but the feeling has dulled now somewhat, and Remus is able to push the memories away every time they resurface in his consciousness.

Don’t think about that.

Effie is already walking up to his front door by the time he meets her.

“Hello darling. It's lovely to see you — you've gotten so tall!” She envelops him in a hug and Remus tries to force himself to relax into it.

 “Would you like me to help you with any of your bags?” She asks as she pulls away.

“No, that’s okay, thanks though.” Remus can’t quite meet her eyes.

The car journey is uneventful. Remus feels uncomfortable being alone in the car with Effie. He realises, as he sits beside her, he’s only met her a handful of times, and none of them alone — a side effect of attending boarding school — and he finds he's not sure what he's supposed to say to her. 

At first, he attempts small talk, but when the pair lapse into silence, Remus isn’t sure if he’s supposed to pick the conversation back up — isn’t sure where to begin if he is. Eventually, he admits defeat and commits himself to silence. Leaning his head against the window and watching the changing scenery, he lets his mind drift. 

He is jolted from his daydreams rather suddenly when the car turns off the motorway and rolls to a stop outside a dull, concrete service station.

Lifting his head up, he blinks a sleepy gaze towards James’s mother.

“Sorry darling,” Effie sighs. “I just needed a little break from driving.”

A familiar stab of guilt twists in Remus’s stomach.

“Oh, yeah, of course.” There's a drawn-out pause, after that, and Remus feels compelled to blurt out the same message he’s already had James relay to her. “Thank you so much for driving me. It's such a long way. You really didn't have to.”

“Oh darling, I love any chance I get to see all of you boys.” She dismisses. 

It doesn't feel like enough — one meager thanks for so much kindness, but what else can he say?

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” Effie declares, tucking her long grey-streaked hair behind her ears. “If you don’t mind, could you grab that bag from the back seats? My back’s far too old to stretch like that.” She laughs.

Remus is a little confused but does as she asks.

“Cheese sandwiches!” She beams, pulling tin foil packages from the bag. “James told me they're your favourite.”

“Thank you.” It isn't an adequate response, but again, nothing comes to him when he searches for words in his mind. He just wishes she would stop being so nice. The guilt has become a constant simmering in his chest. 

Remus is quite hungry now though, and silently grateful to James for letting his mother know what he likes, and so he pushes these thoughts to the back of his mind and lets himself take the food he is being handed.

“So, how has your summer been, love?” Effie asks, turning to face him as she tucks into her own sandwich.

“Oh, umm, it's been okay… I haven't really done much.” Remus squirms, feeling the spotlight hanging over him. He grasps for something to add. “I've done lots of reading, I suppose… I've walked Ziggy a lot.” He finishes weakly.

“That's lovely, I adore the Welsh countryside. I've always thought the hills look so dramatic. Not like Dorset; it's all so tame and pretty where we live. Monty and I actually nearly moved to Wales, when we were young, but in the end we decided it would be best to stay closer to his family. Of course, it's just us there now — and the Pettigrews. Still, I couldn’t leave Dorset anymore. It really has become our home.” 

Mrs Potter looks wistful as she says it, and Remus wonders absently if it's for the life she could have had, or the one she is currently waiting to get back to. Remus has a vague memory of James telling him this information, and yet it still seems an oddly personal insight into the Potters’ past. Remus has no idea what he is supposed to say in response to any of it, he hopes he can reassure her, somehow.

“I love your house. I remember when I visited for a couple of days back in fourth year, all of us used to go down to the beach every evening. Sirius always insisted on going into the water even though it was only Easter so it was absolutely freezing.” 

Remus laughs at the memory, allowing himself to relax into the conversation a little, taking a bite of his sandwich.

“Ah, yes.” Euphimia’s eyes light up, like maybe she’s picturing it. “Crazy boy. He’s not quite that impulsive anymore, since he's moved in with us, but I must say, he is still partial to the sea in summer.”

Remus isn't really listening anymore. Ever since he has tasted the mayonnaise in his plain cheese sandwich, dread and disgust have been roiling his mind, food turning to dirt in his mouth. Remus has to fight not to grimace as he swallows. 

There is no way he can take another bite. The unwelcome substance that has violated his body makes him feel deeply wrong and uncomfortable. His stomach lurches as hot anxiety trickles down his throat, tasting slightly metallic; the world looks slightly flat. For a moment, he can't quite hang onto the words leaving Effie’s mouth.

Focus. Remus tries to sweep the feelings from his mind. What was Effie saying? He focuses on threading the sounds that washed over him into something intelligible. Something about Sirius being impulsive? The seaside? Summertime?

“Right… yeah.” He coughs. “He loves the sea.” 

Remus cringes as the words leave his mouth.

Mrs Potter smiles back anyway, though he sees confusion — or is it hurt? — clouding her eyes. It vanishes after an instant though, and Effie continues.

“He's so looking forward to seeing you. Won't stop talking about you. I think it's making James a little bit jealous.” She smirks, conspiratorially.

“What? No. Not James.” Remus grins, composing himself as best he can. “Those two are so inseparable sometimes, that I forget I'm the one who's supposed to be dating Sirius.” 

He meets Euphemia’s eyes as he says it, hoping the gesture seems light and easy — hoping she missed his slip. 

“I know.” She laughs, and he dares to think he's pulled it off.  “I've told him as much too. He just loves seeing all of you so much.”

“Yeah. It's nice.” 

For a second, Remus casts a glance down into his lap, at a mostly uneaten sandwich, sitting in its tinfoil. It’s a mistake, because Effie follows his gaze. Where before, Remus had dared to think his awkwardness and untouched food had gone unnoticed, she now seems to take it as her cue to speak.

“Is your sandwich okay? You haven't eaten much.”

“Yeah, it's good. Thank you. I'm just not really that hungry. I had lunch before I came.” He tries to look sheepish.

There's a slight pause. Euphimia's eyes run over him, assessing. 

“I picked you up at twelve.”

It’s a question; Remus knows she's asking for a better explanation, but he can't think of one. He hasn't technically told her any lies.

“Umm — yeah, I guess I just ate earlier than usual today. I was up early so I got hungry.”

There's another gap in the conversation. Effie is looking at him again, skeptical. Remus’s head swims as he waits to see whether she will accept his excuse. 

He is in free fall, unsure if she will release his parachute.

“Okay then, I suppose, if you're not hungry. Keep the sandwich though, for later, in case you change your mind.” Effie seems reluctant to drop it, but to Remus's relief, she does.

The conversation peters out after that, and Remus returns his attention to the window. Effie starts up the car again, and once they rejoin the motorway, she turns the dial on the radio. For the rest of the journey, the two don't speak.

Knots are pulling uncomfortably at Remus's stomach. He can't stop thinking about their conversation. He knows he's said so many things wrong, that he's upset her somehow. Guilt and dread rise in his chest like a wave, and all Remus can do to stop it consuming him is squeeze his fists tight against his sides. In his mind he is chanting: He hates himself, he hates himself, he hates himself. It is an effort to drown out the other thoughts that cut him more deeply. The ones that scream that he is selfish, a disappointment, until they have carved gaping holes into his skin.

Hating himself is simple. If he can give enough of himself to it, maybe that will be taking enough.

—

Whilst he can't quite shake the tension from his body, Remus's mind has settled back into its usual quiet emptiness. It’s abrupt, then, when that stillness is ripped away — to realise the world outside the window has morphed into a familiar village.

 The car is pulling into the driveway of the Potter's grand old house. Remus catches a twitch of a curtain, a flicker of movement from within, and then, seconds later, the front door is thrown open. Three boys are standing within the twisted, oak doorframe and the roses that climb the limestone walls wrap around them. The one with the long dark hair is running, colour blooming in his cheeks like two pink petals.

Sirius.

Remus is unclipping his seatbelt, unlocking the car door, stumbling outside. He only has time to take a couple of stiff steps on the gravel before the two of them collide. 

Sirius hugs him tightly. Remus feels the startling warmth pressing into him as he breathes in Sirius's faint scent of detergent and leather. The whole world is dark and quiet, encased in black hair and a baggy band t-shirt.

Two boys cling to each other in a driveway, and for a second, everything else falls away. For a moment, Remus can breathe.

“I missed you.” Sirius murmurs.

The words are tender and soft against Remus's ear.