this is so self-indulgent I want to crawl out of my own skin with second hand embarassment rn (happy father’s day, mase)
+++
It’s only by virtue of his phoenix reflexes that Mason manages to snatch the potato flying at his head out of the air a split second before it connects with this face.
He stares down at it in his hand in the middle of the Morrisini villa’s sprawling kitchen. “What the hell do you want me to do with this, Zeus?”
Nico shoves a small contraption at him, as well as a large bowl and a bulging hessian bag. “Peel it.”
“Peel…? What?”
“Peel it,” Nico repeats. He gestures to the bag. “And all those too.”
“Uh, no. These hands were not made for manual labour.”
“Mase,” Marie huffs, her hands on hips on the other side of the sprawling island bench. “I expect that from Sinclair, but not from you.”
“He’s become too accustomed to the good life. Too pampered,” Maddox says from his perch on a stool nearby. He pops something into his mouth and crunches loudly as he smirks in Mason’s direction.
Mason snorts. “Like you can talk, Ajax.”
Outside, the sun shines across the villa’s grounds and the wind carries in the excited squeals of the children as they race over the lawn and splash in the villa’s pool. It was another one of Nico’s family gatherings, one of the many he insisted on each year and that everyone knew better than to argue about. One year, before they had the twins, Mason and Ethan had been off world and the earful they’d copped had them immediately hightailing it back to Earth from Citadel space to make it in the nick of time.
They all know better than to argue when Nico puts the call out now.
Mason peers through the large windows overlooking the vineyards. It was beautiful here, he couldn’t deny it, and the twins loved catching up with the Morrisini brood but being put to work by Nico in the kitchen was more than what Mason was prepared to take.
“Actually, you know what, I’m just going to go see if Ethan needs any help with the ki-“
“Sit your ass down and start peeling, Huntsman.”
“Better do as he says,” Archer says. He rests on a stool, one leg out in front of him and a lethal looking blade in one hand. There are slabs of red meat on the chopping board in front of him. “Or you might end up having to do something worse.”
“Is that what you’re doing?”
“Just putting some long dormant skills to good use.”
“Well, we didn’t all marry celebrity chefs in our youth, Rose,” Mason chuckles just as Luca comes tumbling through the doorway.
“Nic! Marie! I need potassium hydroxide and ethanoic acid and um, like a really big stick.”
Marie frowns. “Well, I can give you two out of those things but what do you need them for?”
“No time to explain, have you got it- never mind, this will do!” he’s gone again in a flurry of wild curls.
Silence drags around the room and there’s a distant squeal and a pop that has them all tensing suddenly. Mason waits with bated breath for inevitable wail of tears that will send them all rushing outside but it doesn’t eventuate.
“What is he doing out there?”
Marie takes a calming breath and pinches her nose. “I… I don’t want to know.”
Nico slides his arm around her and kisses her temple, whispering something into her ear Mason can’t (and probably doesn’t want) to hear. She seems more tired than usual and it’s not lost on Mason that her glass is only sparkling water and not wine. He wonders if baby number five might be on their way for them.
Five. Mason shudders inwardly at the thought. The twins were a handful on their own and that was with help. There had been a long, long period there that Mason wondered if his and Ethan’s sex life would ever recover.
“You’re still not peeling, Huntsman,” Nico warns, turning his attention back to him.
“Make Rose do it,” Mason grumbles, only for Archer to swirl that lethal looking knife over the chopping board in front of him.
“He’s already put me to work, as you can see.”
“Seriously, Mase,” Marie huffs as she busies herself with slicing up the fresh bread. The spread of food was insane, much of it grown on the villa grounds, more of it transported from Cerillo’s farm on Nova Terra. “Who does the cooking in your household if you won’t even peel a potato then?”
“The... Ah… Help…”
Marie’s knife pauses as she looks up at him suspiciously. Maddox goes to swipe an olive from the tray but she swats him away without taking her eyes off him. “How many do you have now?”
Mason doesn’t like where this is going. “Three?”
“Three?!” Marie splutters but he’s pretty sure that might be jealousy in her eyes. He shrugs, nonchalant. “Oh my god, well, aren’t you living the good life.”
“What do you expect? Pampered wardog over here,” Maddox comments, pilfering another olive. Nico snatches his wrist.
“Next time you go for another one, I’m gonna stab you.”
Maddox growls. “Fine. Hurry up already then. I’m going to go check on Mini in the nursery then check on the kids. Who knows what Sinclair has got them up to.”
He exchanges a filthy kiss with Archer before he leaves that has Mason rolling his eyes.
“It’s not Ethan you should be worried about,” he mutters as Archer snorts.
“Huntsman!” Nico barks. “Potatoes!”
--
The evening is balmy with summer and it’s well into the twilight by the time they all come to eat at the long trestle table piled high with food under the trees of the Morrisni villa. Fairy lights drape overhead, shedding a sparkle over glasses and kids squeal and thread among the adults as they enjoy the meal.
Mason does his best to balance Max on his knee they eat and the entire affair is noisy and chaotic, full of laughter and warmth and old friendships forged in blood and fire. Nico reigns supreme at the head of the table like some kind of benevolent god and he might as well be. It’s Nico that has been the one to draw them all together, year after year, no matter how far they spread across the galaxy. Familiar faces they’ve fought alongside of, faces they love now gone their separate ways now that the war was over. Their time on the Berlin felt like another life, a long ago memory that might have happened to someone else.
Mason never thought he’d miss it, but it’s long been regulated to a portion of his past alongside his early childhood in Sydney and Phoenix One.
He juggles his wine glass over Max’s head and listens in to the conversation around him. He presses his leg against Ethan’s under the table, needing the contact suddenly. Ethan catches his eye and wordless smile graces his lips as he leans in to brush a kiss to Mason’s cheek and lightly ruffles Max’s hair.
“Want me to take him for a bit?”
“No, he’s fine, as long as he stops squirm-“ Mason rescues his wine glass just before it goes flying. Max was almost getting too big for this, but Mason didn’t like to think about that. “Whoa, easy there.”
“Sorry, Dad.”
“You’re okay, mate. Where’s your sister anyway?”
Max shrugs, leaning back against Mason and chewing on a piece of bread but Ethan motions with his head to look down the table. He spies Ben at the other end with Lexi’s arms tight around his neck and she’s giggling as Luca attempts to juggle spoons beside them. Mason smiles then stabs the gnocchi on his plate and lifts it up to show his husband proudly.
“Hey so while you were outside with the kids, I made these.”
Marie pauses her conversation with Isaac and Archer on the other side of the table to laugh. “Mase, you peeled one potato.”
He waves his fork dismissively. “Still counts.”
They all chuckle, Archer’s more muted on account of the small bundle on his chest. It doesn’t feel that long ago that Lexi and Max were that tiny and Mason is about to mention as much to Archer before their conversation is interrupted by Ciara crashing into her mother’s side. Her gold eyes wide as she gushes excitedly about fireflies.
Mason glances back at his own daughter. She’s on Ben’s lap now, trying to feel him with all the grace of a five year old’s giggling and over exuberant enthusiasm. “Does Lex need anything?” he says to his husband.
Ethan smirks as they watch on. Ben has a smear of sauce down one side of his mouth and across his chin. “It looks like Uncle Scoots has it covered.”
Max scrambles off Mason’s lap and latches himself straight to Ciara’s side. Mason protests softly. “Hey, where are you going?”
“Ci says she knows where the fireflies are!”
“Oh, no you don’t. Finish eating first. Then fireflies.”
“Aw, dad!” Max’s whine is joined by Marcello and Enzo’s as they materialize out of the dark and they all groan dramatically. “But fireflies!”
“You’re not allowed to go running around in the dark by yourselves. Someone might get hurt.”
There are more protests before Eva climbs to her feet. “I can take them, if you like?”
Mason looks up at the Fury. If they’re safe with anyone, they’ll be safe with her but he slides a questioning glance at Ethan anyway. “Are you sure?”
Eva shrugs, a small smile on her lips. “Sure. Luca and Ben will want to come too.”
“We’ll all go,” Marie announces. She stands up and motions for everyone else to as well. “It’s about time for the bonfire anyway.”
“Bonfire?!” The kids squeal and take off running into the darkness.
“Wait, kids-“
There’s a wink of blue in the distance when Eva appears in front of them, sending the kids all shrieking in excitement. Mason downs the rest of his wine for fortitude then pulls his husband in for a kiss in case he can’t steal any later.
“Come on, Sabre, let’s go.”
--
If they find fireflies, Mason doesn’t see them.
The excitement of time spent with their adoptive family and the bonfire have both kids melting down from too much over stimulation and it’s touch and go for a while until they both crash in his arms. Mason watches the flames dance and listens to Luca’s voice as he strums his guitar, Lexi’s head tucked under his chin while Ethan sits beside him with Max asleep against his chest.
They should probably get the kids back to the villa, tuck them into their beds, but he’s reluctant to move and spoil the moment.
Luca sings, his voice carrying clearly over the crackle of the fire, first upbeat songs with words half substituted thanks to the buzz of Nico’s homemade grappa he insisted they all sample. Ciara twirls barefoot, hair streaming out behind her as Maddox takes her on a makeshift waltz around the bonfire and Nico hands out mugs of mulled wine as Isaac and Eva sit with heads bent together roasting marshmallows in the flames. On their other side, Marie is flanked by each one of her sons, both slumped against her, not quite asleep but dangerously close. And Archer, cane discarded by his chair and a baby on his chest, sits quietly beside Ben, staring thoughtfully into the fire.
“You know, if anyone had told me on P1 this is how our life would end up, I’m pretty sure I would have laughed myself out an airlock,” Mason says to Ethan. “Sometimes I can’t believe it.”
“We’re the lucky ones,” Ethan agrees quietly. The firelight catches the line of his jaw and sends his hair shining gold. He’s still the most beautiful man Mason has ever met and he’s all Mason’s.
After ten years, it still hasn’t got old.
“Any regrets?”
Ethan turns to him and leans in. Mason meets him halfway, pressing a kiss to his mouth, mindful of the dual weights on their chests and careful not to wake them. Then Ethan draws back. “Not a single one.”
“Me neither,” Mason murmurs but then the moment is interrupted when Nico shows up.
“Here,” he grunts, handing them each a metallic mug. Something spicy Mason doesn’t recognize wafts up.
Mason takes the mug hesitantly and looks up at Nico with a silent lift of his eyebrow. “Am I going to have to peel anymore potatoes if I take this?”
“No,” Nico rumbles. “Tomorrow we’re going to slaughter a pig and make sausages.”
“We’re gonna what?”
“You heard me. And you can do the honors. Time to earn your keep, Huntsman.”
Nico moves away and Mason stares into his mug. “This is payback, isn’t it?” he says miserably to Ethan. “For giving him all those shitty ops back in the day?”
Ethan’s lips twitch. Mason thinks he might be laughing. “It might be, babe.”
“Well, Fu… Fudge.. me,” he slumps against Ethan’s shoulder as Luca plays his songs and the stars continue to wheel overhead.
Characters: Harry Potter, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Marauders
Warnings: Major Character deaths, all canon compliant.
AO3
Summary: "Remus Lupin sat in his home, his son in his arms. He was about to go fight in a war. He knew that one way or another, this would be the final battle. He whispered his goodbye to his little Teddy, not wanting to entertain the idea that this may be the last time he does so. He rested the dozing baby in his crib, and turned to leave.
On his way out the door, he spied a small crystal bottle. It wasn’t there before, but the part of his brain that told him this may be his last calm moments told him what it was for. He raised his wand to his temple, and lifted strand after strand of shimmering memories into the bottle. When it was full, he stoppered it, and wrote on the blank label."
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Remus Lupin sat in his home, his son in his arms. He was about to go fight in a war. He knew that one way or another, this would be the final battle. He whispered his goodbye to his little Teddy, not wanting to entertain the idea that this may be the last time he does so. He rested the dozing baby in his crib, and turned to leave.
On his way out the door, he spied a small crystal bottle. It wasn’t there before, but the part of his brain that told him this may be his last calm moments told him what it was for. He raised his wand to his temple, and lifted strand after strand of shimmering memories into the bottle. When it was full, he stoppered it, and wrote on the blank label.
*~*
The battle raged on in Hogwarts castle, and as Remus entered it with his wife, and the mother of little Teddy, through the Room of Requirement, all thoughts of little bottles of memories left his mind. They only re-emerged in those last few moments, when he thanked that little voice in his head, and held his wife’s hand as though to reassure her that little Teddy would be alright.
*~*
It was a few months later later before Harry Potter came across the bottle, in a pile of Remus and Tonks’ belongings which were to be under Harry’s care until Teddy was old enough. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to look through them yet.
He picked up the bottle and read the label. The note on the label was in a very small script, so as to fit it all in.
For Harry James Potter.
You never knew your father, and it saddens me to think that you only got to see him in the brief memory of a man who hated him. I hope that these recollections of him will give you some comfort, and help you to know him as he truly was.
I do not want Teddy to grow up without knowing me, which is why I ask you to show him these memories when he is old enough to understand them. I hope it will not be necessary.
Your friend and teacher, Remus John Lupin.
Harry stared, dumbstruck, at the note. He knew he needed to look at these memories. Memories of his father, of Sirius and probably of his mother too. It was something he had only dreamed about before, but now that he held it in his hands, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to go through with it. Would it be too painful, to see those he loved, and those he barely got a chance to love, living their lives, unaware of what was to come?
He was on the verge of putting the bottle away, when a hand stopped him. A floral scent reached him, and he looked around to see Ginny behind him, reading the note. She took his hand and smiled at him reassuringly. She led him to the fireplace and took out some floo powder.
“Go. Look at them. You can’t leave them unseen.”
He knew she was right, but it was difficult.
“You can do it, Harry. I know you can.” And with that, Harry stepped into the flames and flooed himself to the only place he knew he could view the contents of the bottle.
*~*
The office looked exactly as it had the last time Harry had been there, with the only difference being that it was now, clearly, in use. There was a familiar emerald green cloak hanging next to the desk, and the sign on the desk read Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress.
Harry had almost forgotten that today was August 31st. The headmistress was probably out preparing for students to return. He had been back to the school several times in the last few months, getting the crucial areas back in working order before students could return. As it was, there was now only the bare minimum of rooms for students, all on the ground floor or below. The Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students would be staying in with the other houses until their towers could be sufficiently repaired and the routes to them were safe enough to traverse.
He spied the silvery light in the corner and went to it. He poured the contents of the bottle into the pensieve, and without pausing to over think it, dunked his head under the surface.
He emerged in a shabby yet homely kitchen. The little table was a bit crooked, but there was a friendly looking cloth spread over it. A little boy sat there, eating porridge. His feet barely scraped the floor. He had a large cut on the side of his face, which seemed to look less and less severe even as Harry watched. An owl fluttered in carrying a piece of parchment addressed to Mr Lyall J Lupin. Remus- for that’s who the little boy was- looked almost excited as he saw the owl, but when he saw it was for his father, his face took on a dejected look.
Almost immediately, there was a knock at the door. Remus’ parents emerged from another room and opened the door to reveal none other than Albus Dumbledore. Harry heard Dumbledore explain how he felt Remus should be allowed to go to Hogwarts, and as he explained how the school would go about hiding his condition, the young Remus grew steadily happier and happier, until his joy seemed to brighten the whole room.
The scene grew brighter and brighter until it was entirely obscured by whiteness. Harry blinked, and all of a sudden he was on the Hogwarts express, the same young boy from the Kitchen scene seated opposite him. Above his head was a familiar-albeit much less battered-trunk bearing the name “RJ Lupin”.
It was dark outside, and the train seemed to be coming to a stop. Remus stood and took his trunk down. When the train pulled into the station, they got off and Harry looked around for a sight of his father or Sirius. He didn’t have to look too hard, as when he followed Remus into one of the little boats, the two of them jumped in beside them, closely followed by a smaller boy who seemed to have quite a bit of baby fat left over. Remus curled in on himself at the sight of these two rowdy boys, and Harry realised he must have been told to keep a low profile.
The boys caught sight of the castle rising above them, and Harry turned to look. He briefly forgot about the boys in the boat at the sight of the magnificent castle. He had almost forgotten what it had looked like before the battle, but he was immediately barraged by images of his own first arrival at Hogwarts, and before he knew it, the scene was once again dissolving to be replaced by another familiar sight.
*~*
The Gryffindor boys’ dormitory. Harry glanced around, and was surprised to notice that it was the exact same room he himself had called home over the years, although it was one bed short. It must have been one of the first nights there, as James and Sirius were cheerfully discussing what they thought of school so far on the nearest beds. Remus was huddled with a book on the furthest one, and Peter Pettigrew, the fourth boy, sat on the remaining one, listening eagerly to the conversation.
“Oi, Remy! What do you think of old Dumbles then?”
Remus seemed to jump about a mile from the bed at James’ words, and stared blankly at him before replying quietly.
“I- I don’t know. He seems fairly nice I suppose.”
“What are you doing studying anyway? We haven’t got any homework yet!” Remus shrugged at Sirius’ question, but he put the book away.
The image dematerialised again, and a series of brief images flickered past: The four boys sitting in transfiguration, Remus making his teacup dance in a way not entirely approved of by McGonagall; a Halloween prank involving James dressed-surprisingly convincingly- as the Grey Lady; a whispered word in the common room.
“Marauders.”
The next time the image stuck seemed to be at least a year later. Judging by how tired Remus looked, the full moon was near. He entered the common room to find James, Sirius and Peter sitting, waiting for him. James and Sirius nudged each other in a silent battle, which Sirius won. James stood up and begrudgingly held out a box to Remus. Chocolate cauldrons. His favourites.
“For yer mum, like. You usually go to visit her around this time of month, yeah?” He glanced out the window as he spoke. The moon was not yet in the sky, but Remus had been glancing nervously out it this whole time.
“Oh-I-Well...”Remus stuttered but couldn’t seem to find words to respond.
“Wait...” muttered Peter.
“I thought you said you didn’t believe him about that?”
Harry saw pained looks cross both his father’s and Sirius’ faces. Remus looked terrified. He was deathly pale, which made the faint pink scars stand out all the more starkly. He turned on his heel and made to run outside.
The two dark haired boys stopped him and blocked his way. They reassured him that, although they knew he was lying, they didn’t hold it against him.
“B-But I’m n-not ly-“
“It’s alright, Remy. We’ve figured it out.”
“You can’t have.” Remus seemed to be reassuring himself more than contradicting them, Harry thought.
“Are you alright? We didn’t think you would take it this hard...” James seemed to have realised how panicked his friend was, at last.
“It’s just... We’ve noticed.... That is, in astronomy, we were tracking the moon’s phases, and, well, Sirius joked that you were...”
“Hey you were thinking it too!” Sirius interjected.
“We noticed that you always left the night of the full moon... Add to that the scars and stuff, and it all... Made sense.”
Remus was shaking. He didn’t seem to be able to believe what had just happened. Harry noticed he was trying to speak while tears pooled in his eyes. When he did, it all came out in a rush.
“I’ll just-I’ll just go out then. I’ll go and transform tonight, then I’ll go to Dumbledore in the morning and tell him how you feel. I don’t want to make you all uncomfortable by staying here...”
He had made his way halfway down the stairs before the others realised what had happened, and they rushed out to him.
“WAIT! MOONY WAIT!”
Remus froze.
“What did you just call me?”
Sirius blushed at his blunder. “Well, we just... Since, with the moon and all, I started... It’s a nickname. Friends give each other nicknames, right?”
At the word “friends” Remus looked puzzled.
“But I thought you hat-“
“We don’t hate you Moony. In fact, you go to wherever it is you need to go, and tomorrow, if you don’t come to us and explain to us exactly why you thought this would make us hate you, I’ll.... I’ll... I’ll think of a threat to give you!”
At this, Remus laughed. A real, genuine laugh, and once again his joy filled the room and the image dissolved.
*~*
Another series of flickering images passed by in front of Harry’s eyes, this time spanning more than a year. Despite Sirius’ words before, these images showed Remus seeing less and less of his friends. Remus studying alone in the common room; peeking through the curtains on his four poster late at night to see the others huddled together discussing something quietly. Harry could pick up the words “teeth” and “claws”. Remus closed the curtains with an almost inaudible sob. Another image showed Remus coming in from a transformation to an empty dormitory, looking ragged and exhausted.
Finally, the memories solidified once more. Remus was walking up the stairs to the dormitory. There was a lot of noise coming from within: Thumps and bumps, and an odd squealing. Remus knocked apprehensively, sighing as if to say he wasn’t sure if he could handle any more surreptitious glances and blocked conversations. When he opened the door, however, he was met with bright mischievous grins. Harry felt he knew what was coming.
Sirius stood up with a flourish.
“Messr. Moony.” He began. “It is an honour and a privilege to introduce to you my good friend, Messr. Padfoot.”
Remus stared at him blankly for a moment, before shouting with surprise at the shaggy black dog right where his friend had just stood. Harry knew exactly how he felt, remembering his first experience with the dog.
...Okay, maybe Remus wasn’t as scared as Harry had been.
Before Remus had had time to recover, Peter had stood up and repeated Sirius’ words almost exactly, with only a small blunder.
“Messr. Moony. It is an honour and a privilege to introduce you to my good friend, Messr. Pa-
Wormtail.”
Remus gasped loudly as he saw his friend shrink into a rat right before his eyes.
Finally, James stood. As he spoke, Harry realised he had never actually seen his father’s transformation. He knew it had been a stag, and had seen it in his own patronus, but he had never seen the majestic animal up close.
He took a step forward to see the stag as it appeared. Its brown fur was glossy, and Harry reached out to feel it, before realising he would simply go through it, and retracting his hand at the last moment. He turned back to look at Remus, who was still standing, shell-shocked, inside the door.
Padfoot walked forward and nudged his friend’s hand. His eyes seemed to ask “Well, what do you think?”
“I... I don’t... How did you manage this? Why did you do this?”
Prongs quickly transformed back into his human form. “Don’t you like it? We thought, if you... If you could have company on full moons, then it might not be so bad...”
“Plus, you know, being able to turn into a dog could come in handy for pranks!” Sirius piped up, having also transformed back.
Remus grinned through the tears in his eyes. “Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs.” He said.
“I like it.”
*~*
The memories turned hazy for a while after that, and Harry seemed to only catch glimpses of trees, full moons, and animals frolicking in the forest.
Suddenly, an all too familiar scene caught his eye. OWLs. He found himself, yet again, out in the grounds, by the lake. He didn’t want to see this particular scene again. He stared out towards the lake, blocking out the taunts and the shouts from his parents, their friends, and Severus Snape.
The memory that followed was not what he was expecting, however. Instead of seeing his father, seething or upset, he saw his mother. Lily and Remus were alone in the common room late at night. She seemed to be crying into his shoulder.
“I c-can’t believe he would say something like that. He was my best friend.”
It must have been the night of the incident, after she had confronted Severus outside the portrait hole.
“He’s gone for good.” With that, she seemed to sob even harder, and Remus put his arms around her.
“It’s gonna be okay Lils. I’ll be here for you from now on, alright?”
She let out a slight huff of laughter at that.
“How didn’t I see it before? I should’ve known he would hurt me. I mean a bloody werewolf is more considerate and caring than he was.”
Remus looked shocked, but he just laughed.
“Does everybody bloody know about it by now?” He joked.
“Not everybody. I just happened to notice your curious nickname. Still haven’t figured out the others yet, though. I mean what kind of name is Prongs anyway?”
*~*
Suddenly, the memory changed. Harry felt as though he was watching a film shot by a shoddy cameraman. The ground seemed to shake and figures passed in and out of sight in an unclear blur.
He could sense fear-terror- in the air and there was a scream somewhere in the distance. The vision went black and reformed in the Hogwarts hospital wing. Remus stood beside a bed awkwardly.
Severus Snape lay under the covers, looking shaken, but not hurt. Dumbledore was explaining the situation to them both, and Sirius and James stood behind him, one looking sheepish, the other almost blank. Dumbledore sent the three boys out as he was talking to Severus.
Harry followed, and heard Sirius apologising to Remus.
“Do you have any idea how dangerous that could have been? I could have killed him, Sirius. I very nearly did kill him.”
“It would have been all my fault.” Sirius’ face was full of regret for what he had done.
“No Sirius. Not in the eyes of the ministry. It would be my fault. Mine, and Dumbledore’s. He didn’t take all necessary precautions for my transformations. I let you find out where I transformed. It would have been my neck on the cutting block if he had died. I could be locked away if he tells anyone as it is!”
His voice rose to a shout at the end, and Sirius simply stared at him in horror as he realised just how stupid his “little trick” had been. James put his arm around Remus and led him away, and Harry watched, tears in his eyes, as Sirius stood there, watching them go.
*~*
The next memories Harry got were of little moments over the next few weeks. A note of apology from Sirius. Chocolates on his bed every night. And finally, a note from Dumbledore saying that Severus had agreed not to tell anybody what had occurred. Harry was filled with relief so strong it took him a while to realise it wasn’t just his own, it was Remus’ radiating out of the memory.
After that, the brief pictures showed that the four marauders went back to being friends. They seemed to skip forward to seventh year. Remus sat in the common room, looking much more similar to the Man Harry had known. James and Sirius were muttering together, but James wasn’t paying much attention. He kept glancing at the portrait hole, and it seemed like Harry wasn’t the only one who noticed. Sirius started joking with him about something or other and it wound up with a mock fight that had Remus gathering up his things and heading to the library.
Harry stood up to follow him, only slightly disappointed that he had missed the point of Sirius’ joke.
As he walked in the doors, he saw his mother sitting at one of the tables. Her quill scratched on the parchment, but every now and again, Harry noticed her glancing out the window. He checked to see what she was looking at, and saw the Quidditch pitch off in the distance. Odd. He had never imagined his mother to be the Quidditch type.
The scene continued as it was for a good ten minutes, and Harry began to wonder why Remus had bothered to give him such a boring memory. However, just as Harry was considering skipping on to the next memory, the library door opened and his father walked in. Lily, who had been neglecting her study in favour of the window, quickly glanced over, before blushing ever so slightly and burying her nose once more in her book.
“Moony m’dear!” He whispered. Well, whisper was a bit generous. It was more of a breathy shout.
“You’ve been studying all day, Moony. I think it’s time you took a break. Come on, let’s go fly for a bit!”
“I’m halfway through my potions essay Prongs, can’t you ask Padfoot? Or Wormtail?”
“Mooonyyy. We need at least two a side for a game of quidditch! You know that!”
Remus sighed and didn’t say a word, turning the page of the heavy tome he was taking notes from.
“I’ll play you.” A voice piped up. Harry and James looked up, identical looks of surprise on their faces. Harry glanced at his father, now seventeen years old, and realised with a start how very alike they were. In fact, if it wasn’t for the eyes, and the scar, he could very easily be looking in the mirror.
“Lily-pad! You don’t play quidditch, do you?”
Lily sat at her table by the window, looking just as confused and surprised at her outburst as the boys.
“Well... No, not really. But I am a fast learner.” She had a determined look about her, and grin began to spread across James’ face.
“I suppose then, if Moony refuses to grace us with his presence, we will simply have to teach you!”, James announced. Loudly. So loudly, in fact, that Madam Pince (looking barely younger than she had in Harry’s years) had to usher him out of the library, along with his “Cohorts”. Neither Lily nor Remus looked happy about this term.
As James and Lily headed off towards the Quidditch pitch, Harry was once again deprived of his parents by Remus begging to be let back in to finish his essay, and succeeding with the help of a generous chocolatey “gift”. To be eaten far away from the books, of course.
Harry was glad to see Remus taking up Lily’s spot by the window to finish. He too kept looking out at the quidditch pitch, where Harry could just about make out the figures flying around. Lily, with her bright red hair was the easiest to recognise.
As he watched, Lily went into a steep dive. Harry was impressed for a moment before he realised it wasn’t a dive. She was falling. Another figure began to chase after her. His posture on the broom seemed unnervingly familiar to Harry. It was just like his own. That must be James, then, flying after her. James managed to fly next to Lily as she dropped further down, and pull her off her broom and onto his own.
Somehow, Harry was unsurprised when the image disappeared after that, to show the common room once more. What did surprise him, however, was the fact that it was later the same evening, and that his parents were in the chair he, Ron and Hermione had sat in so often together, locked together at the lips.
Thankfully enough, the memory didn’t last long.
*~*
After that, Remus’ memories took a dark turn. Harry knew that the first war against Voldemort was heating up outside of Hogwarts, and he caught a glimpse of Remus talking with Dumbledore about joining the newly founded Order of The Phoenix. There was barely a single image showing the NEWTs being taken, before the Marauders (Plus Lily) were out in the big bad world, and attending secret meetings for the Order.
Suddenly, there was a bright spark amidst the doom and the gloom. Lily and James stood at the front of the meeting, announcing their engagement. Even Sirius had tears in his eyes. (Though he claimed he was only sad that James was “Settling so soon” and was going to become boring.)
Soon enough came the wedding. Harry had seen it in photographs, but nothing had really prepared him for this. The joyous looks on His parents’ faces as they fed each other cake, the simple setting of what must have been the Potter’s back yard, the family and friends applauding them and wishing them a life of happiness together. It was too much for them. Harry felt himself fall to his knees as the tears began to fall. He couldn’t see them like this, knowing what was to come. The scene faded, and next thing he knew, he was looking at himself, face red, and tears streaming down his face.
“We’re going to call him Harry.” James announced over the newborn’s cries, holding his son up so everyone could see him.
“He’s... Um... A bit fussy today I’m afraid.” He mumbled.
Lily reached over and plucked the child from his arms, cradling him against her until he calmed down.
Harry- eighteen year old Harry, that is- wiped away the tears on his face as the next scene formed around him.
*~*
“Sirius.”
It was James’ voice speaking.
“Not that there’s anything against you Remus, or even Peter. We’d trust any of you with our lives. There’s no way you could betray us.”
~*~
As that last scene faded out, Harry became aware that the scenes were not forming as quickly as they had before. In fact, there was not a single solid memory for at least five minutes. Eventually, a scene formed, and it was one Harry didn’t want to see, of the destroyed house in Godric’s Hollow, and Remus watching as Sirius was cornered by Aurors, and taken off to Azkaban.
~*~
The memories after that were almost all familiar to Harry. Remus teaching at Hogwarts, Discovering Sirius was innocent, Voldemort’s return.
Harry watched as Remus met Tonks, and fell in love with her. Scene after scene played out of the last couple of years, until the very end, when everything went blank.
*~*
The final memory was not really a memory as such. More like a message. Harry heard Remus’ voice
as if through a microphone far away.
Harry. I want to thank you, properly for what you have done for me. If it wasn’t for you, I would never have found out that Sirius was innocent. I would have gone to my grave believing the worst of him.
If it wasn’t for you, I would not have had the happy memories of the last few months. I would not have had my dear little Teddy. I am sure that if your father could see the man you have become, he would be infinitely proud of you. I know you have heard this before, but you are so very like him. I hope that now you can accept that as the compliment it is.
And to Teddy. There is nothing stronger than the regret I feel at the thought that I may not be there for you as you grow up. I want you to know that I will be watching over you always. I love you more than anything in the world, and I know that Harry and your grandmother Andromeda will take the greatest care of you.
Love, your father, your teacher, your friend,
Remus John Lupin.
*~*
As Harry drew his head out of the pensieve, he saw McGonagall walk in the door to her office. She seemed to know exactly what he had been doing there, and silently withdrew the memories from the pensieve and put them back in the bottle. In that moment, he finally understood that the war was over. Voldemort was gone, and so were his family. But he would do everything he could to make sure Teddy, and all the other children too young to remember, would know what had happened, and that people like Remus Lupin would not be forgotten.
To be a soldier, is to shed a part of yourself. To abandon your hopes, your dreams, your self. To leave it all in a box to open again when you return home, but the chances of returning home are slim. And the chances of finding that box when you come home are even slimmer. It's a truth that at some point we all had to learn, whether we were dying in the combat zone or wishing we had. Wishing the war had taken us while we waste hours on something we pretend is sleep.
I've found that most nights, the stories come out. Whether I want them to or not, there's no way to deny them. The phantoms from thirty years ago, still haunting me like they happened yesterday. Yesterday or never, I can't tell anymore. It's like the words spill out of me as I try to skim across the surface of my history. Sometimes it feels like I'm trying to save my own life with these stories. Maybe if I tell it differently, then things will be different in the here and now.
But once someone is dead, you can't just undo it. Bodies decay and give way to new life. There is no need for last calls or psychopharmacologists. That's for those of us who survived, or at least, for those of us who have been told we survived. There's no way to visit their graves. Half of them don't have one, and the other plots belong to strangers. Only a few names had ever been known in full, some in part, but most were left completely unasked. Except in clearly unreasonable cases, we soldiers were generally called by the names we had been given, or some nickname given to the alias. We made no great effort to disentangle Christian names from nicknames from capitals.
As it is, though, I don't know if it would have changed too much. I know that the weight of seeing it in stone would be too much for my shoulders. The burden of survival already too heavy for me to carry most days. It wasn't until I left the Project that I felt the weight begin to form. To crush me, consume me, become me.
It had been realising that none of us had ever been heroes. That their deaths had been in vain. Knowing that when the bell tolled for me, I would have to lie when I met them once more. To keep this secret close to my heart for all of eternity, so that they might rest easily. Thinking that their sacrifice had been felt. That it had been worth every ounce of pain they had suffered in their final moments. Bodies that had burned, been cut apart, bled out.
Even if I met them again, in some Hell I don't believe in, there are those of which we will never see again. Those who's bodies gather dust in storage containers, minds locked in a state of mindlessness.
When I tell stories, they live. Sometimes when I tell stories, no one dies. Sometimes everyone dies. Sometimes I give myself a new name, and I tell the tale of my demise. On the nights that I'm most lonely, I tell the bartender that some of us are getting together for drinks next week. Even though we aren't, and even though I mention some of them by name. Usually the ones who died first. The ones who still haunt my restless nights with screams of agony, or even worse, the ones who haunt my days with broken laughter. Memories strung together in a disjointed line, even the happiest of thoughts have become nightmares.
When I tell these stories, sometimes I can see them sit up. Stand up and wipe away the blood that stained the wounds that had killed them, walk away from the place where they died. I can see them smile. That is the moment I know that I have to keep telling these stories. I want to save their lives -- not their bodies, just their lives.
Because I survived, but my story doesn't have a happy ending. I end when the weight of their stories swallows me down into imagined quicksand. Where I will emerge from the other end of the world, where they are alive and I am not alone. Where my lover will be waiting, and they will take me in their open arms and pull me close to them before the shore pulls me back into reality. I will call it something close to love, others will call it something more sinister.
But until that day comes, I will keep telling stories. I will tell them to myself at night, I will tell them to the court appointed therapist, I will tell them to the shadows of the trees in the park five miles from my house. The civs think I'm telling war stories. But I don't tell war stories. I've never told war stories.
