you are the moon that breaks the night [Arrival - closed]

[timenssecundus]

Who: Remus Lupin and YOU! Edit: Think I gotta close this to be Marauders-Only. (Lily counts as a Marauder, if she wants to join!) Gonna be too hard to switch my brain to anything else. <3
Where: From the Attic out onto the Roof
When: Now! -ish! Whenever's best!
Rating: Oh boy, ratings… erm… some psychological darkness (vague potential suicidal ideation). No sex, drugs, or violence (…yet. Unless/until the rest of the gang show up? …Hang on, wait. What?)
Summary: ARRIVAL LOG—with embedded accidental network post (see the vid and follow it to the log?)
The Story:

The dehydrated, filthy thing on the bed shook as if with fever.

.:
Where are you
Who where you
How could you
:.

He couldn't tell if it had just happened, or if it had happened years ago.

If he was dreaming it again, or living it right now, or the phantoms of anguished memory replayed it over and over around him.

Albus Dumbledore standing silently: the still, sombre centre of Remus Lupin's hurricane as the younger man paced and tried not to let inanimate things be inevitably hexed in his wake.

Remus could never remember what he'd said or if he'd spoken aloud at all; he'd barely been able to conceive of it at the time.

Is it true?
No.
I don't believe it.
How can you be sure?
But there are ways to fake… couldn't it have been a frame… couldn't…
I want to see him. I have to speak to him.

But he could remember exactly what Dumbledore said.

"I'm afraid the time for that is passed," it had been, as gently as was possible. "The trial is over. And you should avoid visiting Azkaban."

Had he been able to reply? Or merely stood stupidly, thought with shaking impotent fury:
And you didn't call me back…
What business could ever have been more important than…
It didn't matter anyway because…
Harry…
Who you also won't let me see… I know I could never be a fit guardian to anyone but at least…
There has to be a way…

"I'm sorry," said Dumbledore, hearing the spoken words or gleaning by legilimens or simply intuiting. Insufficiently, but with all the weight of knowing how insufficient it was, to everything. "It's already done. There's nothing to change it. We have to move forward."

And Remus, not feeling the tears on his face, finally rendered immobile but for his fingers working at his sides, almost as if they wanted to work something upon Dumbledore himself—the person left to whom he owed love, loyalty, life, everything; whose word and deed were unassailable truth…

But no…

"Let me see him," Remus said with quiet desperation.

"If you mean Harry," said Dumbledore, "then I have isolated him from the wizarding world for his own protection—just as I once isolated you from the muggle world for yours. Please respect that, and my judgment. If you mean Mr Black…"

Don't stop saying his name. He's Sirius. He must have been.

"…then it's out of my control… and yours. We can't risk him continuing to manipulate you as he must have" [barely heard: "manipulated all of us"] "all along."


A stab of claws and jaws to the chest.


"I'm afraid the court and the Dementors have no doubt."

Everyone can be wrong.

…including…

…me?

"You couldn't have saved them," said Dumbledore with the utmost gentleness.

I could have tried.

I could have died with them

"Mourn Lily, James, and Peter however you must. —and mourn Sirius Black too for you must just as surely let him go."

Dumbledore may have said more. But Remus had sank to the edge of the mattress, burying his face in his hands. And when left all alone—

truly

—had folded onto his side and curled up.


.:
And was there still.
:.


How could you
Where are you
Who where you


With a sudden… sound—

Not a cry, not a grunt, not a roar, something between human and beast—

the figure on the bed threw out a hand.

He'd been reaching for his wand.

(And what did you want it for, Moon?)

(No more of that name.)

He wanted a way out of those last moments.
He wanted a way out of the next interminable breath.

(I want it to be over.)

Instead he accidentally knocked the device onto the floor. Where it landed on its activation touch and began to transmit.

The sound made him sit shock upright. He squinted, blinked. Held out his empty hand palm-downward and his wand leaped from the sidetable up into it. He croaked, "Lumos."

He trained the light in the direction of the unexpected sound, first. He approached warily, something of the beast still in his movements—not because it was near the moon but because it was too terrible to be the man—and crouched to touch and examine it. Only then did his eyes and wand lift and he stared around him at the room.

Though just as becowebbed and dusty, made of similar creaking wood and unlikely angles…

There were no gashes in the boards covering windows—there weren't boards covering up windows. No claw-slashed wardrobe. An untorn, unstained bed. And objects, treasured junk and paraphernalia as far as the eye could see…

This wasn't the Shrieking Shack.

Leaving the device forgotten on the floor, he shouted something indecipherable that caused the light to abruptly zoom away from his wand. He followed it. It slammed itself into the door and seemed to pass through it. In its dying glow, the man slashed the wand viciously, and the door flew open with a bang so violent it nearly fell off its hinges.

He looked out through the doorway. Saw the other adjacent, opened it in the same way, and went through it.

When you reach him, he's standing stock still on the roof, staring out, all around, at the unbelievable, exquisite vista of Wonderland.

He's filthy and tattered, in clothes that have been torn and fouled, half-covering fresh gashes over mottled scars on his arms and torso; face gaunt, unshaven, hair long and lank, eyes sunken.

He turns and stares at you a moment without recognition. Then says in a voice nearly unrecognizable as Remus Lupin's, hoarse from weeks of screaming isolation—but, oddly, still with a very characteristic amiable resignation:

"I've gone 'loopy' for real, haven't I?"

Comments

[timenssecundus]

The hand holding Remus's wand finally starts to shake. He holds James's gaze too, and beneath all the other emotions, there's…

(proving he can't help but believe you)

…a matching guilt.

"Don't be sorry," he says, throat gone dry with shame. "It's not your fault."

James was right, he was always right about such things. …To a point.

But someone like James, so naturally confident and self-possessed in the world, so pure in his own motivations—which even if short-sighted or thoughtless always boiled down to a delight in their very existence and love of others in it and desire to make it all the more exciting and wonderful and worthwhile for everyone… someone for whom his own being came effortlessly… could be blind to how other people may truly think, feel, exist differently. How they could have thoughts, insecurities, jealousies, doubts that would never enter his head. Or he'd underestimate. Things like… Remus being not just afraid but ashamed of his predicament. Not thinking he deserved such help. Or owed it to the world to justify the space he took up in it, make up for all the harm he could potentially cause, and thus must find his own way.

…And more shamefully still…

"I wouldn't take it."

Because no matter how much they'd all swore not to drift apart after school, wars don't care for friendship pledges, and no matter how it was in service of what they'd all sworn to do, what they all agreed was vital, what they nominally shared, every separate and separating mission, every radio silence, every day where they failed to know what the others were doing, couldn't share their joys or their pains, not rationally but viscerally felt like a betrayal… at least to him…

"You tried to help me and I backed away."

But that wasn't all of it, was it Moon. Was it. Prongs'd never understand, he'd never let such feelings get between him and a friend. But you're not as good as him. Which is why Lily was always going to be with James in love and marriage. …But was she never going to work with anyone else again, either? She was my friend and academic partner, first! Before…

"Even before…"

His eyes flicker to Sirius.



That's a pain that goes beyond guilt or shame or anger or betrayal. It's just… chasm.

Do you really believe he could do that?
Of course not! But that's the point: does it matter what I believe?
Everyone can be wrong. Including me…
Let me see him
We can't allow him to manipulate you as he must have done all along
Let me talk to him, let me see him

Remus looks at Sirius with empty eyes.

Of course I remember. Even if I didn't tell you back what it meant to me to be confided in. Even if I couldn't really understand what it meant to have a brother… but I could imagine because you…

Slowly shakes his head like he's trying to wake up.

who are you how could you



Everyone can be wrong.



Remus lets his wand drop to his side.

"All right," he says hoarsely.

"Explain."

[goodwoofjames]

Sirius can feel his stomach turning under the gaze Remus is putting upon him. It's clear that this time Remus is much further along. He's not their school chum. He's their mourner. He's the Remus that Sirius has betrayed, one way or another.

And now he's being asked to explain how they're standing here. James could be a ghost, perhaps, although Sirius was never clear on how that sort of thing worked when the death was due to the killing curse. But Sirius was supposed to be in prison until Remus' middle age. And here he is, on the verge of turning 17. Not a traitor yet, unless he'd always been one.

Like Peter.

But no. He can't say that, not after Peter's come and gone. Not after he saw the Peter isolated in Storybrooke's wood with his rooms filled with cages.

God. Where does he start? Where can he possibly begin when Remus thinks the absolute worst of him? He draws a breath and lets it out shakily.

"You'll...probably believe James more than me. But, um." Sirius glances at James, both looking for and giving support. "We're in a place that. Doesn't much care for time. Or place, I guess."

[pottershotter]

James nods at that look, gladly stepping in. He's given this talk dozens of times now, and is more equipped for it in many ways. He's even had this conversation with a grieving Remus before, though the wound wasn't so...fresh, then.

"It really doesn't," he says. "We aren't at home. We've been taken to some other world, called Wonderland. All from different times, so...I'm not-- that hasn't happened yet, for me. But I know about it. We both do. We've learned a great deal about what's coming, and we can get into how we know later. There's something more important first."

He glances over at Sirius again, sharing a look with him. Even if he's done this before, the support is still appreciated. He steps back and places a hand on Sirius' shoulder.

"Sirius didn't betray me. He didn't betray anyone! He'd never. It was..."

James stops. His breath hitches and it's just as difficult to say as it always is. Instead of just resting his hand on that shoulder, James squeezes.

"...It was Peter," he says, looking downward. "Apparently we'll switch at the last moment, to throw off suspicion. Anyone would guess Sirius would keep our secrets, but no one would suspect Peter, so...we switched secret keepers to him, and didn't tell anyone."

Tenses change at the last moment, reflecting that it's already happened for Remus, and that it's something he's already suffered through.

[timenssecundus]

Remus had to take each piece they gave him separately, carefully. It was impossible to look at the whole.

"Wonderland," he repeated flatly.

Remus was the only half-blood of this lot. The only one who'd been brought up at all in muggle culture. Pureblood James, and even moreso Heir of Ancient Anti-Muggle-and-Mudblood Royalty (however much he disagreed with those philosophies) Sirius, shouldn't know about Wonderland. Nor had they been particularly drawn enough to muggle literature—or even wizard literature—to have come across it themselves. The only likeliest way for them to know would be if Lily or Remus himself had mentioned it to them once.

And he couldn't remember.

"That's from a muggle novel. A satiric fairy story. Is there also someone here named Alice? Or Queen of Hearts? Or White Rabbit?"

Perhaps this was all in his mind, and that was his subconscious telling him he'd gone mad. Placing him where "we're all mad, here!"

He should really stick to that point—again, don't engage with a reality until you know it is indeed real…

…but he can't.

When the other part is so pressing.

And so much harder.

In part because… Remus hadn't known the circumstances leading up to it all. Other Order members had filled him in after the fact. But in bare bones, so cruciatingly far from sufficient. There had been a prophecy. It may or may not have been about Harry—even if prophecies had any merit at all which was far from given. But either way, it had painted a target on James and Lily's backs. They'd gone into hiding. A large part of their protection was the Fidelius charm. Supposedly, Sirius had been the Secret Keeper, but betrayed the secret to Voldemort, who found and killed them. Peter had tried to catch Sirius and likewise been killed. And Remus…

…Remus had been left out of all of it entirely.

Either because he'd been undercover—quite literally underground—on assignment at the time. So perhaps the others couldn't reach him.

Or perhaps because Dumbledore wouldn't let anyone reach him. Knowing Remus would betray the cause and abandon his post the moment he heard of such things, to run back and try to help his friends. Which could be construed as trying to protect Remus. But the way it had turned out…

Or because…?? Too much. Too much. First…

"Peter was… what? The secret keeper? The traitor? Why?"

—And the most crucial point, that almost occurs to him too late.

"'Apparently' you 'will'? How do you know?"

We can't risk him manipulating you

[goodwoofjames]

"We said time isn't right here. When I got here it was just before my sixteenth birthday, and I haven't aged since."

Sirius manages this much. But as he pauses to take a breath, he isn't sure what to do with his hands. Isn't sure if what he's going to say is going to help. But he'll regret not saying it later, he thinks.

"I think...I think Peter didn't believe we were really friends. I wasn't very...I bullied him." Which Remus must know, especially a Remus who's an actual adult. "I didn't work with You-Know-Who. But."

Sirius trails off, drops his gaze.

"I'm sorry. It hasn't happened yet, for me, but. I still. I'm sorry."

What else can he say?

[pottershotter]

James lets that apology hang in the air for a moment, though he thinks it's not necessary. They both probably need it, in different ways.

"...Harry's gotten famous, you know," he says, gently easing back to that topic. "I mean, of course he has - they'll start calling him The Boy Who Lived, or maybe they already have in your time. I...I'm not sure how long it's been, for you."

The only guess he can wager is "not very long at all" if the anger and pain is this fresh, and it hurts to think about.

"Anyhow...someone's written books about his school years. Gone and marketed them to muggles as fiction too." He still sincerely believes that, even after all this time. "That's how we found out. We've read all of them."

He watches Remus carefully, hoping that this will be a sufficient explanation. If he can't believe them, then perhaps he'll believe the written word. Surely he wouldn't think they would write seven novels just to manipulate him.

"We still have them," he says. "You can read them too if you want to, but I understand if you'd...rather not."

They all need to know, but Remus is past the point in time where he would be able to change things. It isn't as necessary for him to read his own future, aside from it being their main piece of proof that they aren't lying.

"...Remus, we don't want any of this to happen," he says. "All we've been trying to do since we got here is figure out how to change it. If any of us can hold onto any of that information when we leave, we might be able to prevent this future...and prevent what you've already been through."

That might be too much hope for Remus to handle, but James has always been nothing but hope and optimism and ridiculous confidence against the all odds.

[timenssecundus]

The answers were so… normal…
not in the proportions of the monsters and martyrs they'd become in his mind
only humans
only schoolboys

and their answers raising more questions

(…Not about the book thing, oddly enough. The way James explained them perfect sense to Remus. Sure, of course, why not. In the wizarding and muggle world alike, he could believe that easily.

But the books weren't here right now, Remus couldn't read them instantaneously even if they were, and those would still be secondary source material at best. They wouldn't accomplish what he needed done right now.)

They wouldn't prove that the two people standing in front of him right now were who they said were really who he thought they'd been

Nor would they answer the questions

including why didn't you ask me
why didn't you tell me

or make him certain the answers were true.



But his mind can't keep up that screaming spinning. It's beginning to go numb. Into shock.

Which is exactly when the training is designed to kick in.




At his side, Remus's knuckles whiten on his wand.




(Whether he'd want it or not is irrelevant. He can see it.)



He could do it. He could do it before they could stop him. Neither had their wands out. Neither was treating him as a threat. Neither was poised to block or evade or counterstrike. …If they even fully knew how yet.

Take out James first: petrificus totalus or incarcerous—the first, more immediate, less time for either to react, less risk of binding him to Sirius.

Then Sirius left undefended. For him…

…what…? He didn't have veritaserum. Beyond that, there wasn't a magick in existence that could prove he was telling the truth. Be certain he was answering honestly if asked who he was.



…no magick… are you sure?



whether he wants it or not he can see it



he wouldn't even need to raise his arm again
just flick up the the wrist, shoot from the hip
hit James with petrificus totalus, lift arm to tighten aim and intensify force as James falls, and the moment he's clear
hit Sirius with

with…

…



…no.



Even in imagination. (Or war-traumatized ideation. Whatever.)

Even if Sirius Black was that good a liar, and had been since a child. Had been for years.

Remus couldn't cast Imperius on him.



Even if it was the only way to say Tell me the truth and make it an unbreakable command.



…even if…




Are you sure?



Remus's eyes widened.



It isn't fighting darkness by adding more darkness.

The only way to lessen darkness is with light.



Slowly, Remus raised his wand.

Pointed away from James and Sirius.

He closed his eyes.

Even in the most impossible of moments.

Find a thought to

Never let yourself be rendered incapable of casting—



He had let himself—hadn't even tried

He hadn't been willing to entertain the possibility of holding any conducive thought in his head

hadn't been able to use any of the thoughts he'd thought were the only kind powerful enough

can't be any of them. Not James, not Sirius, not Peter, not even Lily, wouldn't work…



…McGonagall.
His first night being shown to the Shack.
Her scowling as Dumbledore explained the arrangement
Her eyes on Remus, who doesn't explore or cry or scream as a child should
Her leaving Dumbledore's side and coming to sit beside him on the cot
Taking off her own tartan shawl and wrapping it around his shoulders.
Saying matter-of-factly,
with no room for argument,
There.
Feeling peaky will be no excuse.
I expect to see you back in class on Wednesday.



Unaware of the tears running down his face, eyes still closed, Remus whispered, "Expecto patronum."



The light that lept from his wand was more shining that sunlight. But it didn't leave everything else dimmer or duller in its wake. Quite the opposite. Suddenly everything around them, on that rooftop, in the world, felt realer and brighter and more vibrantly existing than it had before. Whatever the light touched became not only more vividly present, but euphorically so.

And the light, which had never quite coalesced before, gathered itself into a shape. Larger than a dog. Smaller than a stag. Something that walked on four legs, gently across the ground, gently across the space between them, to stop and look up at them. It tilted its head at James. Then turned to Sirius.


The best tests accomplish several things at once

He wouldn't have been taught this use of a patronus. It was a wartime secret, an initiation into the Order, to learn how to pass perfectly secure, unforgeable, unfakeable, unimpeachable messages this way. It would take the real Sirius Black's and James Potter's characteristic brilliance to figure it out under pressure without guidance on the fly

And no Death Eater has ever been able to cast one.


In a starchime reflection of Remus's voice, the wolf patronus said, "Cast a patronus and deliver the message through it. That you are who you say you are, and that you always have been. That you would never kill or betray your friends." It turned his head slightly to include James in the next directive: "That everything you're saying is true."

The wolf's eyes pierced Sirius's.


As somewhere far, far away, Remus also opened his eyes.

The patronuslight shone through them.
And patronus's eyes were Lupin's.



The patronus and/or Remus said, "Solemnly swear it."