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Remus wheeled around the corner, towards the flashing light of spells, screams, and explosions. His breath caught in his chest at what he found.
A small group of fifth and sixth years, a mix of Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors stood together, blocking a staircase — well, most of them did; a slight Ravenclaw girl with dark hair lay sprawled upon the ground at their feet. Stunned… or killed?
One of the boys — a Hufflepuff — launched himself over the girl’s prone body, tears streaking his face, and hurled a spell at the Death Eater who bore down on them. Antonin Dolohov deflected the boy’s curse as though it were nothing. With a sneer, he returned a rain of flashing light — jinxes and curses.
It was all the students could do to deflect the spells. A bolt of red light broke through their defenses and hit the Hufflepuff boy square in the chest. He fell face-first over the body of the girl and was still. His friends roared.
“Out of the way. You FOOLS!” shouted Dolohov, as he lashed yet another curse from his wand.
All of this happened in the space of a few seconds, the time it took Remus to launch himself between Dolohov and the students. Wand already raised, he cast as large a shield charm as he could muster. He strained to keep it up. An odd malice crossed over Dolohov’s face at the Order member’s appearance, and the curses hit Remus’s shield charm like a cascade of bricks. It was all Remus could do to keep the charm up.
“Get out of here,” Remus barked at the students.
Some of the faces were vaguely familiar… he must have taught them all, judging by their age. Yet it had been years since his time at Hogwarts, and he could not put a name to any of the faces. No, they all would have been children the last time he’d taught them. Here they were, these brave Hogwarts students: still underage, but nearly adults, and insisting on a task well beyond their abilities.
“You’ve done very well! I’ll take it from here.”
“Professor Lupin—?“ began a curly-haired boy incredulously.
“GO!” shouted Remus, cutting him off.
One of the girls grabbed his shoulder, and the students retreated, levitating the bodies of the unconscious Hufflepuff boy and Ravenclaw girl to safety. They whipped around the corner just as Remus’s shield charm broke, and he dodged Dolohov’s assault by rolling to the ground and crouching behind a statue.
“Lupin,” sneered Dolohov. “Greyback wanted you to himself… but I suppose I’ll have to do the honors. Pity. He’ll be so disappointed.”
Remus’s heart hammered in his chest. The students appeared to have made it to safety, but he hadn’t thought this far ahead… he thought of Dora… and Teddy… Something clenched deep within him.
Dolohov walked with heavy footfalls across the floor, towards the statue, and Remus caught out of the corner of his eye the faint glow of a spell reflected on the bricks below, ready to be hurled from the tip of the Death Eater’s wand. Knowing he had less than a second, he acted quickly, exploding the stone statue with his wand, engulfing himself — along with Dolohov — in a cloud of dust and rubble.
He rolled once more out of the way, hurling a spell into the dust over his shoulder as he launched himself up the staircase. Now he had the high ground!
Dolohov roared. Remus swore silently.
His stun spell must have missed. He summoned more curses, ones he hoped Dolohov had never encountered before, but only saw the flashes of Dolohov’s own spells from within the cloud, like lightning in the storm, and he knew the Death Eater was still standing and deflecting everything Remus could throw at him.
There came a tremendous gust that blew Remus’s hair back from his face and nearly sent him toppling. The dust cleared to all corners of the hallway, and in the middle of it, angular and angry, stood a seething Dolohov.
“Half-breed scum.”
“Expelliarmus!” shouted Remus, but Dolohov’s curse hit him first. An invisible knife cut the length of his wand arm, opening his flesh like a zipper, severing the tendons. Blood poured out of him, and he could no longer tense his fingers. His wand dropped from his limp, blood-drenched hand, hit the staircase with a dull thud, and rolled down a few steps.
Ignoring the searing pain, Remus’s eyes wheeled wildly around, a million options firing into his brain like popcorn. Where to dodge, where to leap, how to retrieve his wand with his left hand…
He made to dodge Dolohov’s next spell, but Dolohov must have transfigured the stone beneath his feet to turn to quicksand, for he felt his feet sink into the steps, and the more he struggled, the deeper he sank. Then, the stairs solidified, and Remus knew he was trapped. Unless he could retrieve his wand and undo the spell with his left hand…
He reached forward and toppled over awkwardly, his feet pinned in one place… but the wand lay inches out of reach from his good arm. He strained.
He looked up just in time to see Dolohov bearing down on him.
He didn’t even hear the Death Eater utter the incantation of the Killing Curse, but as the green light engulfed him, he knew what had happened.
Remus awoke in the light of a gentle spring’s day, and the fragrance of flowers filled the air. He found himself lying on a soft patch of moss, not far from a little pond. The sky above the clearing was blue and spotted with fluffy white clouds.
He pulled himself into sitting position and blinked calmly, taking in his new surroundings.
He knew this place: the Forbidden Forest.
And yet… it wasn’t. A strange golden light filled the clearing, and Remus could not hear the sounds of birds that had always populated this familiar place of many adolescent wanderings.
As he pulled himself to his feet, he marveled at the vigor he felt. Years of accumulated aches and pains seemed to have vanished. The pain in his hip, which had been sore after a particularly painful transformation during his time with the Order, had vanished. He felt a man of twenty again… and yet better than he had ever felt as a young man, for there had scarcely been a time when his body hadn’t been wracked by some injury or weakness.
He was naked, but this did not bother to him. He’s spent quite a few years in his youth waking up without clothing in the Forest, and he’d never have to wait long until one of his friends came to meet him with a set of robes and the Invisibility Cloak so he could hurry back to the Whomping Willow, Madam Pomfrey being none the wiser for his absence.
He cast his eyes around to the trees, waiting to see the faces of James or Sirius or Peter appear, eagerly awaiting him…
Peter… Sirius… James…
A knot formed in Remus’s forehead, as if he were remembering something unpleasant. Tentatively, he touched his wand arm, expecting to find a grave injury, but it was as whole as the rest of him. He flexed his fingers and found them all to be working.
Instinctively, he touched his left shoulder and was puzzled to find smooth, unmarred skin in place of the taught, mangled scar tissue he’d carried since childhood.
He walked across the clearing towards the pond, the ground soft and cool on his bare feet, and pulled himself over the lip of the water, examining his reflection in the glassy surface.
His face was smoother, younger than he remembered it… and his hair… Good lord, his hair was as thick and dark as it had been in his school days. Curiously, he ran his fingers through it, and the corners of his mouth pulled upwards; he couldn’t help himself.
“Come off it, Moony,” said a voice from behind him. “Any more of that, and you’ll be as bad as me.”
Remus smiled and turned around to see none other than James Potter stepping out from behind an old oak tree, a set of neatly-folded robes tucked under his arm. James looked as young as Remus remembered him, and his hair was as tousled as ever. His shirt was half untucked, and one corner of his mouth was pulled upward into a mischievous half-smile that Remus knew all too well.
“Besides, I think we can both admit, old Padfoot has the best hair of any of us.”
“James…” said Remus. He blinked. This all felt so... so usual… how many times had James come to find him after his transformation, to help usher him back to the Shrieking Shack? But something was different. And this place was not the Forbidden Forest. Memories flooded him. They had to get moving… they had to get back to Hogwarts… they were needed.
“James, listen… I think something terrible happened. Is still happening. I need to get back to the castle.”
James smiled at his friend, understanding, and a glimmer of sadness filled his spectacle-framed eyes.
“Yes, I know,” said James, stepping forward and pressing the robes into Remus’s arms as he’d done so many times before. “But it’s beyond the reach of both of us now.”
James did not understand.
“James, it’s Voldemort. He’s so close to winning, closer than he’s ever been. It’s… it’s everything we feared. He’s taken over the Ministry, he controls all of Wizarding Britain. How long before he expands his reach? We have to stop him. It’s imperative that we prevent the Death Eaters from penetrating the castle! We need to buy Harry as much time as possible.”
To Remus’s surprise, James seemed almost indifferent. This was not the James he remembered: James would never turn down a battle, would never lay down his wand if he knew the Dark Arts were on the rise. The young man who’d dreamed of becoming an Auror and joined the Order at the first instance, who’d fought shoulder-to-shoulder with Remus through so many skirmishes with Death Eaters…
“Get dressed, Moony. Let’s take a walk.”
Remus pulled on the robes and followed his friend curiously through the forest. They walked slowly down a wide and winding path wreathed by oaks and maples, green in the full glory of spring. James walked slowly, hands slung in his pocket. Every few moments, he looked sidelong at his friend.
“It’s funny; I never thought I’d be back here,” said James peacefully. “Those were some times, alright… Can’t imagine what school would’ve been like without the Forbidden Forest. I'm not saying you enjoyed your furry little problem, but thank god you were a werewolf or school would have been loads more boring.”
Then Remus remembered… something was odd about this place. It was the Forbidden Forest, and yet, it wasn’t.
“James, there’s something wrong. I don’t think this place is the Forbidden Forest. The light’s all wrong… and there are no birds…”
James shrugged. “It’s close enough, don’t you think?” Then he stopped walking and looked his friend full in the face, imploring him. “Moony, you do know where you are, don’t you?”
Remus met James’s eyes and breathed slowly. James looked back in a rare, understanding way. Remus could not deny the truth any longer; he knew it in his bones… but it was all so confusing here. Time seemed to slip in and out, and Remus could not fathom how he and James could be youths in the Forest at the same time the battle raged at Hogwarts, at the center of it, Harry, nearly a full-grown man.
“I’m dead,” he said, closing his eyes, letting the truth fill him. “I died in the battle.”
“Yes,” said James in a simple confirmation.
A long silence hung between them. Then, Remus spoke again, softly.
“I thought a lot about dying, all my life. I used to wish for death sometimes, wishing to relieve my parents of the burden of a werewolf son. And later, after you died, James, and I thought Peter to be dead, and Sirius guilty of betraying you, I… I used to long for it; I was so alone. For most of my life, I would have welcomed death, gladly… but I never imagined it would be like this.”
James didn’t say anything but merely nodded in understanding.
“Why now?” he said, pained. “Of all the times I would have gladly died, why could it only happen when I truly feared it? When I truly had a reason to fear death…”
James rested a hand on Remus’s shoulder and smiled ruefully.
“Well, you know what they say, Remus. Life’s a bitch. And death’s a cunt.”
Remus laughed a little, and a few tears escaped his eyes, he wiped them away, half-embarrassed, but James pulled him into an embrace that Remus couldn’t help but return. And soon, he was sobbing fully.
“I have a son, James,” he murmured into James's robe.
“I know,” said James in a strange, hollow voice. “I know, Remus.”
Remus was lost for a long time in the shoulder of his old friend, grief wracking his body until finally, he spoke. “I… I don’t suppose it’s possible to see him?”
And there they were, transported standing in the quiet, dim nursery. In the bassinet, a small baby with a tuft of turquoise hair writhed slightly in his sleep, a ray of moonlight falling harmlessly across his blanket.
“Teddy,” murmured Remus, stepping forward over his infant son. He looked back tentatively at James, who hung back by the door. “He can’t hear me, can he?”
“No. I’m afraid that’s not part of the deal,” said James sadly. “But you can watch over him.”
He reached down to brush his hand across the turquoise crown of his son’s head, but his hand went through the child, and Remus knew he would no more be able to grasp the living. He couldn’t take his eyes off the child. His little balled-up fists, his nose, an echo of Remus’s… his chin, small and pointed like Dora’s… small, so small… too vulnerable. His heart ached, knowing he would never again hold the small child in his arms, never again feel Teddy's warmth and weight.
“His mother will be back for him soon,” he said to James, but really, he was trying to reassure himself. His stomach clenched, thinking of Dora. Where was she? She hadn’t joined him here… surely she must still be in the fray at Hogwarts. At least there was that…
"You always were dad-material," said James. "Sirius and I used to joke."
Remus couldn’t look away from his child, even as shame engulfed him.
“I wasn't, though. I was a horrible father. I left him, James,” he admitted raggedly to his old friend, who’d never abandoned Harry, who’d fought to the death for Harry. “I didn’t want him to have to go through life with a werewolf for a father. They would have tormented him for it… how could I subject a child to that?” He snorted ruefully. “In the end, I got what I wished for; Teddy will grow up free from his father’s curse.”
James stepped forward and lay a hand on his friend's shoulder. “You were always clever, Moony. That’s why we liked you.” James sighed. “But your real talent was finding a way to blame yourself… for everything.”
There was a long pause.
“You don’t understand, James.” He hung his head. “I walked out on him… and now I’ve left him behind. He won’t have to deal with my affliction directly… but I can’t imagine there won’t be those who will hold his heritage against him. Only now, I won’t be there to protect him.”
“I’ll admit, that last bit’s hard to get used to. It was for me,” said James quietly. Remus looked up to see his old friend more solemn than he could ever remember. James opened and closed his mouth several times as if he were having difficulty forming words. At least he spoke. “I… I wanted to thank you, Remus. For all those years you looked after Harry. Taught him when I couldn’t. Protected him when I couldn’t…”
“I’ve hardly done anything, James,” said Remus. “I hid myself away.”
“Will you stop being a prat long enough for me to express my gratitude properly?” James snapped. He looked pained. Jokes and snarky comebacks came easily to the young man, but he’d never been exactly good at baring his soul.
Teddy stirred slightly beneath them, and Remus looked back at his son, drinking in all he could. He didn’t know how much longer he had to be with the child, for surely he couldn’t linger here forever.
“I mean it, Remus,” James continued. “I’ve watched Harry… all these years, I’ve watched from afar, useless, unable to help my own child, even as he faced the most terrible dangers. And it was my fault too. My fault he'd been implicated in that prophecy. It's no different than you being a werewolf when you get right down to it.”
Remus’s stomach turned. He couldn’t imagine what it would be to watch little Teddy, this defenseless little infant — his blood — face even a tenth of what Harry faced.
“I watched as you and Sirius did what I couldn’t.”
“I should have done more, James. I’m sorry,” said Remus.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I know Harry would be dead five times over if it wasn’t for you. So… thank you."
Remus could not peel his eyes away from Teddy.
“I can’t leave him, James.”
“You already have.”
“There are ways, we both know.”
“That’s not a choice I’d like to see you make, Remus,” said James gravely, understanding what Remus was getting at. “It’s a half-life… you’ll regret it before long. And it won't help him. Not really. You know that.”
Remus was silent. He reached towards his son again, longing to hold the baby once more. As his incorporeal hand reached towards Teddy, he felt it strain against the air itself, almost as if he were pressing out from the inside of the balloon. A silvery glow engulfed his fingers as he reached towards his son.
“Don’t do it, Remus,” said James in a steely voice. His eyes were round, and he strengthened his grip on Remus. “Don’t become a ghost. It's a one-way ticket, you know. You'll watch him grow old and die all the same, and be just as helpless. Death is no so bad... in fact, it's quite peaceful, I think you'll find. Your life has been plagued by a curse, Remus. I'd say it's long past due you had a proper break from all that."
There was another long silence, and eventually, Remus relaxed. The silvery glow vanished from his hand as if fell to his side.
“I suppose you’re right,” admitted Remus. He hung his head, breathing heavily. He couldn't look away from Teddy. So close, and yet separated by death itself. “How did you manage it?” No one other than James Potter could understand.
“I already told you,” said James somberly.
Remus nodded solemnly. He understood. Harry had had Sirius… and himself.
In that regard, he supposed Teddy had Harry.
And speaking of Harry…
They both heard it at the same time… a distant call, a strong pull.
“Moony, old friend, it seems we’re needed elsewhere,” said James softly.
“I don't want to leave,” said Remus, gesturing at the baby.
“There’s nothing you can do for him. And Harry needs us…”
"James... as we've discussed at great length, we're dead. I thought there was nothing we could do for the living."
"Perhaps," said James. "Perhaps not. But we're being called now."
The two men rose together and made for the door, and Remus cast one last look at the infant over his shoulder before walking into the light.