Knitting Therapy

Rating: PG
Fandom: Harry Potter
Summary: He has an errand at the Ministry of Magic, but his control keeps slipping, and all he can think about is the chamber that lies within.
Genre: Angst. And lots of it.
Shippiness: R/S. Of course. But I hesitate to label it obvious.
Spoilers: OotP. And a couple mentions of incidents in the shoebox_project, which is practically canon for me, anyway.

So what's this for? Hasn't everyone already written their post-OotP R/S angst? I figured mine was done, with the short piece I wrote just after the book was published, but reading the book over again and reading a treatise on the possibility of R/S as canon (link in my memories) caused me to take a break from my current project, "Fallen," to write this. I was trying to keep Remus in character while looking at what might be going on behind the calm masks he always wears. And, introducing OCs with developed character, without letting them overtake the action. Success? I'll let you be the judge of that. Hopefully, sappiness was avoided.



The fountain in the atrium was completely fixed, Remus noticed. It was his first thought, as he Apparated in. There was no physical evidence that a battle had taken place on the very spot he was standing – that Dumbledore had turned the Dark Lord back once more, that a group of students were very nearly killed, and that a good man lost his life.

Remus stepped over to the security desk, and went through the screenings. The youngish man behind the desk looked askance at the deep gouges across his face, but Remus smiled patiently and let the guard get on with it. “Ten and a quarter inches, dragon-heartstring core, been in use twenty-six years,” the man said, reading off the slip of paper. He arched an eyebrow at Remus. “Correct?”

“Yes,” Remus said, doing the math. Maple, good for defense work. But you’ll be needing a wand like that, won’t you, young Mister Lupin. This wand will get you through the toughest of times to come… and there will be tough times, I daresay. Ollivander always knew what he was talking about. These were the toughest times of all. Remus knew the picture he presented – grey hair, the brown now reduced to a mere peppering in the back, dark circles under his eyes that never quite faded, and robes so shabby that patching them seemed a waste of his hours, empty as they were.

“Have a good visit, sir,” the guard said in his bored tone, and set the wand across the palm of Remus’ hand. Remus took a closer look – the guard wasn’t as young as he thought, perhaps in his early thirties… a mere spattering of years younger than Remus himself. And there was something familiar about him, the brown eyes and soft curling hair.

Remus scrunched his nose, ignoring the familiar stretch of the scar tissue, and gave his politest smile. “I’m sorry… are you a Hogwarts man?”

The bored tone disappeared, replaced by a grin that crinkled the corner of the guard’s eyes and made Remus realize that the man was closer to his age than he’d thought. “Yes, indeed. Class of ’79, Hufflepuff. You? Do I know you?”

“Class of ’78, Gryffindor,” Remus murmured, and waited for the look. It came, as he knew it would, the glimmer of shock when the bearer realized that Remus was only thirty-seven and looked a decade older. It wasn’t just Remus, though, it was Sirius, too. They both had the look of those who suffered: dark eyed, pale faced, swallowed up in their clothing even after Sirius gained back all the weight he lost in the dozen years wasted in Azkaban and could stand to look at himself in the mirror again, despite the lines that hadn’t been there the last time he’d seen his reflection – and Sirius wouldn’t look old, or young, ever again.

The look faded, and the eyes widened. “You were with him, weren’t you? You knew him.” The second stage, the realization that Remus had to be one of those famed Gryffindors, the ones who had a host of admirers, detentions, and loved and died.

“I knew all of them,” Remus said, and it didn’t matter who the guard meant in the first place. And the guard, Hufflepuff, ’79 (maybe his name was Geoffrey), would have a host of questions about Remus, and how the long years treated him, and how he felt about the betrayal of the shining star of Gryffindor and the loss of the charming Head Boy, and how it was the little, unnoticed one who gave his life to save them all, and Remus would have to stop himself from shouting out the truth, that it was the shining star who was betrayed – Remus tucked his wand away and nodded to the guard. “I should be going. Thank you.”

He felt Geoffrey’s eyes on him as he headed purposefully toward the lifts. Or was his name Gregory? It didn’t matter. Those years were gone. He passed through the gates and into the nearly empty hall before the lifts. No one visited in the middle of a hot, summery Thursday afternoon.

Remus was the only one in his lift as it started to move, and the departmental memos fluttered around his head. He listened to the floors as they passed by, and tried not to think about what lay below. And why had Dumbledore sent him there?

Fred or George Weasley would’ve been perfectly good messengers, if the message in question really was too imperative to be sent by owl, but the boys were busy with their joke shop. Arthur Weasley was in Romania with his second oldest son, doing work for the Order under the guise of a holiday. Mrs. Weasley couldn’t be spared – most times, she was the only thing keeping the operation in order. And Hermione Granger and the youngest Weasleys couldn’t Apparate quite yet. Maybe he was the only one without a purpose and without an excuse. It was unlikely, considering the glimmer in Dumbledore’s eyes when he handed out the assignment, though, the look that was always there just before the great wizard started one of his grand plans.

What plan? He was just a prematurely aged werewolf, standing in the back corner of the lift so the memos wouldn’t dive bomb him. He was riding up, past level four (Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, he knew it well) toward level two, where he’d get off, deliver the messages, and return –

“Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including…” But did he have to? Did he have to get off, simply spread the message and go? There was no one here, no one who’d know if he kept riding the lift, if he turned it around and went down to that corridor, to the Department of Mysteries. Know one would know if he traced his steps and climbed up on the dais, except for a few odd Unspeakables, but no one would be able to stop him, and he’d touch the veil, pull it back and see Sirius staring back; and maybe Sirius would come through, or maybe he’d follow Sirius, but it wouldn’t matter which, and in the end they’d be together again – “… Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee.”

The doors slid open, and a slim witch stepped inside, holding a towering stack of parchments. “Oh!” she said brightly, and Remus looked away from the hovering memos. “Professor Lupin! Whatever are you doing here?”

It took him only a moment to recognize her: the golden curls, the dark eyes, the slight dimples that reminded him of Lily’s, when she laughed. Serafina Smith, Ravenclaw, a seventh-year that bright couple of terms he spent as a teacher at Hogwarts. “Miss Smith,” Remus said politely, offering as warm a smile as he could summon. “How nice to see you. I’m just here on an errand… are you working here, now?”

“Yes. I’m an intern in the Improper Use of Magic office.” She beamed. “I love it. I hope they keep me on after I’ve finished… I was so sorry to hear you’d resigned, after the rumors spread. I do hope you started teaching elsewhere – you were the best Defense professor we ever had, you know.”

“Thank you.” He took the comment graciously, as it was intended, though compared to the list of Defense Against the Dark Arts professors that Harry had given, he’d have been hard pressed to be worse. “I haven’t been teaching, no. But I’ve kept myself busy.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

She smiled, and he smiled, and he was saved from having to make unwanted conversation when the door opened again at level two, “Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services.”

He thought about continuing. He thought about going back down, but he followed Serafina out of the lift and nodded his goodbyes as she took her turn. And then he was through the wooden doors, surrounded by the cubicles and the chaos. Just inside the door, tucked away, was a harried witch at a small desk, sitting behind the name plate “Betty Rutherford, Secretary.” Remus approached the desk and nodded slightly. “I’m looking for Kingsley Shacklebolt, please.”

The witch eyed his shabby robes and nodded. “Auror Shacklebolt’s cubicle is at the end of this row.”

He nodded politely, thanked her, and headed down the row. Halfway there, he caught sight of Tonks’ name on a desk: “Auror Nymphadora Tonks, special forces,” with her first name scribbled over in something black. He held back a laugh, especially as he noticed the photographs pinned to her cubicle wall. Her family, the Weasleys, and the largest of all, Tonks standing with an arm thrown over Harry’s shoulder at the previous Christmas. It seemed even wild Nymphadora Tonks had a thing for celebrity. He kept walking, glancing back and forth at the colourful posters on many of the cubicle walls, until he was stopped by the wall. As the secretary directed, he looked at the last desk.

Remus stopped in his tracks and fought a battle to keep his face straight. This little cubicle, tucked away at the end of the row, was covered in photographs and newspaper clippings, much like the rest – but for one thing. From every corner, Sirius’ face stared back at him. James and Lily’s wedding picture was off to one side, the clipping of Sirius’ mugshot snarled from on high, the whole of their class smiled and waved from the Gryffindor Common Room, and tucked away, barely visible, was the one photograph that nearly undid him.

It was a little snapshot of him and Sirius staring out the window of the Hogwarts Express. Sirius was slumped back in his seat, his arm flung casually across Remus’ shoulders. As Remus watched, his younger self shuffled the deck of Exploding Snap cards and peered out at whatever caught Sirius’ attention. Remus reached out and snatched the picture from the wall of Siriuses, fighting down a feeling of betrayal.

“Hullo, there, Remus,” Kingsley said. Where had he come from? The next cubicle over, around the corner – Remus wasn’t paying attention, and that was something he couldn’t afford. It could get him killed.

Remus hid his surprise and simply held up the picture. “Where did you get this one?” he asked calmly. “I thought Peter took it.”

Kingsley made a motion to take the snapshot from Remus’ grasp, but he pulled it back before the Auror could so much as touch it. Kingsley gave an alarmed look, and Remus cursed to himself – he wouldn’t lose his control, not here, not in the middle of the bloody Ministry of Magic, even if that was what Dumbledore had in mind all along, with this errand. “It came into our possession after Mrs. Pettigrew passed on,” Kingsley explained. “I never thought to – well, I just thought you wouldn’t want it. But, if you do… it’s yours. I – well, the wall’s plenty big enough, here.”

“Why?” Remus said. Even he wasn’t sure what he was asking. There wasn’t a simple answer to the question, and there never could be.

“Well, they don’t know he’s – gone,” Kingsley murmured, lowering his voice to the point that only Remus’ senses could pick it up. “I figure if this is all still here, he’s sort of – still around, you know? He could be free up there, at any one of those points.” Kingsley pointed up at a little map that had escaped Remus’ notice. Little red pins stuck out, clustered around England and, oddly enough, Japan. “An ex-pat keeps seeing him in Tokyo,” Kingsley explained. “It’s – it’s something of a tribute.”

“How nice,” Remus managed mildly, even as his instinct was to shove into the cubicle and rip the map from the wall – to rip, tear, rend, until all that was left of the pictures were the memories, which was all he had left, anyway.

“- Remus? Remus, mate, you listening?” Kingsley was staring with concerned eyes, and Remus realized he’d been staring at the wall of Siriuses without any recognition of the people standing around him.

He was in the way of a young woman with a cart of parchment. “Oh. Terribly sorry.” He backed out of the woman’s way and watched her pass by without so much as a word of greeting to him. “I came because – Dumbledore wants to see you,” Remus said. “But not at – He wants to meet us all at Hogwarts. Tomorrow.” He was stuttering. He wanted to curl up and hide in the corner and be the same Remus he’d been when he was Moony and they figured out what he was and became Animagi so he wouldn’t be alone – and he was losing control. He leveled a polite smile at Kingsley. “Dumbledore thought the message too important to send by owl. If you’d give it to Tonks, as well, I’d be much obliged. I should be getting back. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Remus,” Kingsley called, but Remus put his back to the Auror and headed across the office. Not too fast, not too slow, nothing that would make him stand out from any other visitor to the Auror Headquarters.

There were people in the lift, this time, so he had no further problems. He picked up his wand at the front desk and Apparated to Grimmauld Place, where Molly was expecting him in a dark house that he never wanted to see again.