leaving a comment on a fic last updated more than a decade ago is always so hauntingly melancholic. like--they gave you this beautiful piece of writing that you chose to spend your time reading, and you're thankful for it. you go to tell them in their comments, even though it's likely they haven't opened their inbox in years. and they're probably never going to open it again, and no one but you and the others in the comments will ever know how long their writing has been and will be appreciated. you're never going to know if this person died or simply grew up, because the effect is the same.
WAAAIT, @stellarusername's recent ask concerning the conditions in which would Remus raise Harry reminded me of the "Remus DOES check in on Harry eventually" fic I started five years ago and then, per usual, never finished.
I actually love the concept of Remus raising Harry? Like...what would actually get him to do that? I genuinely agree that he would NOT think it's a good idea to take away a child from a home that can house and feed him reliably...unless the circumstances forced him.
First of all, @stellarusername, you should write that fic because it's delicious.
And second, here's twelve pages I wrote five years ago of something that will never be finished :)
--
“Stay here,” said Aunt Petunia, pointing a finger at the two children in the backseat. For once, she lingered on Dudley for a split second longer than Harry.
“But I’ve got to—” Harry started.
“No!” she snapped. “Five minutes! You can’t wait five minutes?”
It had been over an hour since the car had pulled out of the drive in Little Whinging, and since then, Harry had the distinct inkling that he might have to use the loo. Aunt Petunia hadn’t told them before she hurried Harry and Dudley into the car that they’d be driving all the way to London. He’d thought they were just going to the store where there was a perfectly good toilet, but Harry watched dismally as they missed the turn.
Aunt Petunia took up her handbag. Harry knew now that inside of her it was a clean shirt for Uncle Vernon who, before a big sales meeting, had spilled coffee all over the one put on the that morning. Why Uncle Vernon couldn’t go out and buy a new one, Harry didn’t know, but what he did know was that Aunt Petunia always leapt at the opportunity to go to London, and now Harry’s bladder was paying the price for it.
“If either of you leave this car,” said Aunt Petunia, “you’ll spend Christmas in the cupboard. Do you understand me?”
Dudley snickered.
“That means you too, Dudley Dursley,” Aunt Petunia warned.
Neither Harry nor Dudley had ever heard Aunt Petunia speak that way to her son. Rarely did Aunt Petunia actually call Dudley anything other than Dudders or her darling boy. The shock of it struck Dudley completely silent. Harry held in his laugh until Aunt Petunia had shut the car door and stalked away, primly clutching her purse.
“‘That means you too, Dudley Dursley’,” Harry said, grinning.
Dudley’s astonishment turned into a glower just before a fist flew and collided with Harry’s stomach. Harry shrank against the door, praying his bladder held. Dudley frowned.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” said Harry through gritted teeth.
A malicious smile curled Dudley’s mouth. Dudley wasn’t a smart person, but he had a sixth sense for Harry’s misery.
“Oh,” said Dudley. “You’ve got to go, don’t you?”
“No.” Harry tried to sit upright. The effort of holding it in made him sweat.
Dudley reached out, not to strike but to jab his finger into Harry’s armpit. Harry grabbed Dudley’s finger, twisted it until Dudley howled, and then he fumbled for the door handle. A blast of wintery rain pummeled his face as he scrambled from the vehicle, slamming the door behind him. He had to find a toilet. Immediately.
There were buildings all around and people bundled in coats and scarves hurrying under umbrellas from the walk through glass doors. Harry hadn’t seen where Aunt Petunia had gone. Knowing he didn’t want to bump into her, Harry scurried down the street to look for an appropriate place to find a loo.
There was a café a block over. A bell jingled when the door opened, but no one looked up from their tables. Harry hurried to the counter where a bored looking young man raised his brows only slightly at Harry’s entrance.
“What d’you want?” said the young man. His lank hair hung over his eyes, and his lips hardly moved when he spoke.
“Can I use your toilet?”
“No.”
Harry’s stomach dropped. “Please?”
“Can’t give you the key unless you buy something.”
Harry shoved his hands in his pocket, but he already knew he wouldn’t find any money. The only time Harry had money was when he found a coin on the street—which only ever lasted until Aunt Petunia did his laundry and confiscated it.
The man behind the counter tapped his foot.
“I guess I’ll go somewhere else—” said Harry.
“Here,” said a voice behind him. A hand reached past Harry’s ear to shove a few coins at the cashier. “Give him the key, please, and then give him that biscuit there—” a finger jabbed at the glass case of pastries and sweets “—when he comes back.”
Harry turned to gush his thanks while the cashier went for the key. However, as his gratefulness left his mouth, a guilty feeling struck him in the belly. The man who had donated looked as though he could’ve used a donation. His clothing was patched and worn, and his cheeks were a bit hollow as if he hadn’t had a square meal in a long time.
The man’s kind expression faded quickly. His gaze flitted to Harry’s scar and then back to searching the whole of Harry’s face. For a moment, his mouth hung slightly ajar in astonishment.
“Harry?” he said finally, breathlessly.
The cashier thrust his arm out with the key. “Here. Don’t take too long.”
Harry blinked and tore his gaze from the man as he went to take the key. Did he really just hear his name come out of the man’s mouth? If he hadn’t needed to use the toilet so badly, he would’ve asked, but as it was, he was in real danger. He snatched the key from the cashier.
Harry had never used a toilet so quickly in his life. It was a struggle to unlock the door and in his haste, he dropped the key on the floor with a loud clang. What if the man left? What if Harry never figured out why he knew his name?
No one ever called Harry by his name. The Dursleys preferred words like “boy” and “you” used derisively. Only Dudley had the habit of using the name Harry, but usually only to call attention to Harry doing something wrong. Teachers at school didn’t bother calling on him, and other kids tended to ignore Harry, so for a stranger to look him in the eye and refer to him by his name, Harry was astounded.
But then…maybe the man hadn’t said his name at all. Maybe he told him to hurry. It’d been a mistake that Harry had made before. Heart pounding, Harry reentered the café and looked around for the man.
“Key,” barked the cashier.
Harry handed it back. “Did you see where—?”
Then Harry spotted the man near the door, watching him. Harry swallowed, knowing he’d have to pass by him to leave. It was a mistake, Harry thought. The man didn’t know him. No one knew Harry, not really.
“Oi, oi!” the cashier was trying to get Harry’s attention. In his hand was a large biscuit wrapped in paper. “This is yours, remember?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Harry. He took it, knowing he’d have to eat it before he got back to the car unless he wanted it to end up in Dudley’s mouth. As Harry approached the man at the door, he gave a tight smile and thanked him, hoping to get past him without saying much more.
The man stopped him. “Wait a moment, Harry.”
Harry swallowed. So it wasn’t a mistake.
“What are you doing in London on your own?” said the man. “Where’s your family? Your aunt?”
“I don’t know you,” Harry murmured. His heart pounded.
Something flickered across the man’s face as if what Harry said pained him a little. “No,” he said. “You don’t. My name is Remus. Your parents—they were friends of mine, and I don’t think they’d like if you were wandering alone in London. How did you get here?”
“My parents?” said Harry. “You—you knew my parents?”
Remus glanced at the young cashier who regarded the two of them with suspicion. “Yes,” he said. “I did. Is your aunt missing you right now? Where is she?”
Harry pulled a face. Soon his aunt would return from delivering Uncle Vernon his clean shirt to discover Harry wasn’t in the car anymore, and when he returned, he’d spend Christmas in the cupboard. It wasn’t like he was allowed to participate in things gifts or crackers, but at least the Dursleys let him sit on the floor and watch old movies with the rest of them. But now he’d spend Christmas pressing his ear against the cupboard door, straining to hear the television…
“Car,” said Harry. “Er—we just came to—we just had an errand, I had to use the toilet… How’d you know my parents?”
Remus ushered Harry out the door and opened an umbrella over their heads. The coat that Remus wore seemed too threadbare to offer much warmth. What had happened to Remus since he’d known Harry’s parents? Had he always been so poor? Not that Harry could say that he was better off—after all, Harry was wearing Dudley’s old clothes and oversized coat.
“We went to Hogwarts together,” Remus said so quietly that Harry nearly missed it.
“Where?”
“Hogwarts. Where your parents went to—” Remus stopped speaking as two women in heels and trench coats passed “—school. I imagine your aunt isn’t fond of mentioning it, but she has told you about Hogwarts, hasn’t she?”
Harry seriously considered that Remus was joking. “Er—no. I’ve never heard of—er—Hogwarts?”
It didn’t sound real at all. Maybe this Remus person was lying. Maybe he didn’t know his parents at all. Maybe he guessed that Harry lived with his aunt. It was probably safer if he simply said goodbye and went back to the car.
And yet…Harry had never met anyone other than the Dursleys who knew his parents. Could he let go of the chance that Remus was telling the truth?
“I’ll walk you to there, Harry. I don’t like the idea of you on your own.”
“Er—okay.”
The walk was longer than Harry remembered. Into the rain he squinted, peering at each car as they went, huddling beneath the umbrella but careful not to stray into Remus’s path. He stuffed the biscuit into his pocket, determined to save it from Dudley’s greedy hands. But as they trekked down the street, it was obvious that he must have missed the car.
“I think we must’ve gone past it,” Harry said.
“Let’s try again, then.”
As they turned back around, a niggling feeling in the back of Harry’s head was whispering that something wasn’t right. He should’ve seen Aunt Petunia’s car. It was grey like every other car they saw, but he knew what it looked like and he knew Dudley should’ve been in the back seat. There were dozens of cars, none of them Aunt Petunia’s.
They crossed the café again.
“Didn’t see it?”
It was gone. Aunt Petunia and Dudley had left. She’d returned to the car, started the engine, and went back to Little Whinging. Without him.
Harry shivered.
“I’m sure she’s only just left,” said Remus. “She’ll turn around in a moment, I’m certain…”
What if she didn’t? What if she never noticed she’d left her nephew behind? What if Uncle Vernon couldn’t find him? What if he was lost forever?
The minutes stretched as they both watched for Aunt Petunia.
“Do you know my aunt?” said Harry, hoping to distract himself from the horror of being left behind in London.
“We’ve never met. I’m afraid that your mother and aunt were estranged for many years. In fact, when I’d heard you were sent to live with her, I was rather—” Remus stopped himself suddenly.
“No one else wanted me, I guess,” Harry mumbled.
“What makes you say that?”
“Because they tell me that all the time. They don’t like me at all. They only took me in because no one else would.”
“Your family has said this to you?”
Harry shrugged, realizing it sounded worse than he’d meant it to. It wasn’t as though they hit him or anything—sometimes Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia threatened to, but they didn’t. They just couldn’t stand it when he was around, and they made sure he knew it.
“It isn’t true, Harry,” said Remus. “There are plenty of people who would have wanted you in their family…”
“Then why have I got to live with the Dursleys?”
“Because it’s the safest place for you right now,” said Remus. Though he said it with confidence, his wary expression betrayed his lie. “Clearly there are many things that no one has thought to explain to you, Harry, and I’m not convinced that I am the right one to do it. But I do hope you know, there are those out there who would have taken you in if they could.”
Harry doubted it, though it seemed rude to press the issue. “Do you live in London?” he asked.
“No, I’m only here on an errand. I live in Yorkshire.”
“That’s far away, isn’t it?” said Harry.
“Yes, I suppose it is. Have you been there?”
“No,” said Harry. He’d never been anywhere.
Remus checked his watch. Maybe Harry was keeping Remus from his errand. Splattering against the umbrella was a driving rain that was beginning to turn solid as the air thinned with the cold. Remus’s fingers on the umbrella were turning red with chill.
“I don’t think she’ll come back,” said Harry. “She’ll be happy when she’s realized I’m gone.” He’d just have to wander the streets and get a job and find a flat somewhere. At least it was London. Didn’t children run away to London all the time? Lonely as it sounded, it wasn’t like his life on Privet Drive afforded him many luxuries. A camp bed and a roof over his head, but not much else.
“She won’t be happy, Harry,” Remus said. “She’s got to come back for you…”
When time continued to stretch on and Aunt Petunia’s car did not appear and Uncle Vernon did not come looking for Harry, Remus directed them back to the café. When the cashier opened his mouth to protest that they couldn’t sit unless they bought something, Harry brandished the biscuit that Remus had bought for him. The cashier glowered but allowed them to find a table near the window.
“Go on and eat it,” said Remus when Harry made no move to unwrap the biscuit.
“D’you want some?”
“Oh no, thank you. It’s yours.”
It felt strange to eat something sweet in front of someone else like he was allowed to do so. Dudley was the sort of child who got Mars bars when they shopped for groceries. He was the sort of child who had nearly an entire cake to himself on his birthday while Harry was the sort who watched with a mixture of envy and disgust.
“Thanks,” Harry said instead of politely declining like he wanted.
The afternoon wilted, and so did Harry. He was exhausted watching for cars, knowing that none of them had Aunt Petunia or Dudley inside of them, that soon enough he’d have to admit that they weren’t coming back. He was on his own now.
-
Idk petunia comes back or something
Harry kept the slip of paper with the phone number inside a book beneath his cot. Although Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had left his cupboard unlocked at night in case he had to use the toilet, Harry hadn’t braved tiptoeing out to use the telephone.
“Call me if you’re in trouble, Harry,” Remus had said. “I can’t promise I’ll be around to answer, but if you leave a message, I’ll come as soon as I get it.”
Since that day, Harry waited each night until his family finally turned off the television and ambled up the stairs but not before warning Harry to stay in his cupboard. Uncle Vernon barked the usual threats, threatening that another slip-up would land Harry in an orphanage. Harry thought about the slip of paper with Remus’s number.
Nearly a week after his misadventure in London, Harry lay very still as he listened to the ticking of the clock in the other room. An hour had gone since the Dursleys retreated upstairs to bed, and he felt a rumble in his stomach. Dudley had eaten from his plate again. Normally, Harry would’ve hissed at him to leave his plate alone, but now that Aunt Petunia was furious with him, he had to let Dudley take whatever he wanted.
Harry opened the cupboard door. The lights were out.
Upstairs, Uncle Vernon was snoring—a natural cover for Harry’s footsteps. Using the wall to guide him, Harry slinked through to the kitchen, carefully pushing the door open as slowly as he could. It squeaked, and he froze, listening. He thought he heard the floorboards creak, but after a very tense minute, Uncle Vernon snorted in his sleep again.
The kitchen was eerie at night. Without incandescent bulbs to illuminate the shining countertops, Harry relied on the sharp brightness of the moon to lead him to the telephone. The scrap of paper was tacky with sweat, though the numbers were still legible.
Harry could count how many times he had used the Dursleys’ telephone on one hand. Trembling, he reached up to unhook the phone from its cradle. At first, he was fairly certain he dialed the wrong number, so he hung up, took a deep breath, and tried again. It buzzed only twice.
“What?” barked a woman’s voice.
Harry almost hung up.
“Hello?” she snapped.
“Er—”
“Speak up!”
In the background was the din of many people speaking at once. Harry had the impression that he’d called a pub.
“Can I—er—can I talk to Mister—er—Remus?”
“He’s not here,” she said. “’Least, I haven’t seen him. You’re that kid, eh? He didn’t show up tonight. He’s got health issues, you know. Was looking a bit peaky yesterday, but he hasn’t got a telephone, so he doesn’t call in, see? If he’s back tomorrow, I’ll tell him you rang. What’s your name again?”
“Harry.” He hung up.
--
Remus Lupin’s bones ached. Creaking like old stairs, he pushed open the door to The Green, contemplating the wisdom of returning to work so soon after the full moon. It was a particularly nasty one; the wolf was enraged by something that Remus couldn’t name. Whatever caused the wolf to turn on himself so violently didn’t matter—it simply meant that he’d broken a few extra bones and resisted the change back into human form when the sun chased away the moon.
The following evening, Remus managed to force his head through the neck hole of a jumper and his aching legs into trousers in order to present himself at his job. It would be a grueling night.
It was already bustling in The Green when he arrived in time for his shift in Upper Flagley. Among the patrons at The Green mingled a smattering of witches and wizards, most of whom were poorly disguised. A wizard in jeans topped his costume off with a bowler hat while the witch he was speaking to had forgotten to remove her pointed hat. Luckily, the Ministry kept tabs on The Green; a charm meant to keep Muggles from looking too closely at their magical neighbors maintained order in the pub.
“Lupin!” barked Carole when she spotted him coming around the bar. “Bin needs taking out!”
Remus smiled at her. “And good evening to you,” he said.
Carole’s eyes raked up and down his body. “What’s wrong with you? Still ill?”
“No, not at all,” Remus said.
“Wasn’t convenient for you not to show up last night,” said Carole as Remus stooped to gather the liner from the bin.
Remus pursed his lips to keep himself from retorting. Instead, he pulled the bag out through the back way, muscles groaning, while Carole chastised him. Her voice faded as the door swung shut. Upon his return to the stifling bar, she was still talking to him while she slung sloshing amber beers at customers.
He washed his hands at the sink, scrubbing at the last bits of crusted blood from beneath his nails.
“Oh,” said Carole, “and don’t give out this number here like you live here, Lupin.”
Remus frowned. “What?”
“You got a call,” she said. “Mister Remus got a call from a kid. Rude little bugger. Hung up soon without so much as a goodbye.”
“Harry?” said Remus, spinning and hands dripping. “He called here? Was—was he all right?”
Carole squinted at him. “Couldn’t say. What’re you doing giving a phone number to a kid, Remus? I know you don’t have a nephew.”
Unfortunately, Carole knew Remus rather well, and she watched Remus more than she let on. For the last two years since he had come to work for Carole and The Green, it had become hard to hide from Carole that Remus was lonely, friendless, and poor. From his seat at the bar, a grizzled old customer named Virgil fixed upon Remus a penetrating, accusatory look.
“Did he say why he called?” said Remus. He reached for a towel, wringing it with worry as he dried his hands. “Was he in trouble?”
“I don’t know,” said Carole. “Who is he?”
“The son of my friend James—”
“You don’t have friends.”
Remus glowered. “I did once. When did he phone? Yesterday? Did he leave a number?”
“No, but I won’t have you making calls from here—Where are you going?”
Peeling off his apron, Remus skirted around the bar, making for the exit.
It was rash, and it was far more like Sirius Black than Remus Lupin to act so thoughtlessly on his fears. He couldn’t forget how Petunia Dursley had driven off without her nephew, not to notice he was missing until later that evening. The way she wrenched Harry by the arm and shouted at him played in Remus’s mind. Maybe he should have behaved rashly the night he met Harry. Maybe he should have pounded on the door and demanded to know why Petunia had left Harry in London alone. Why hadn’t he said anything?
Because you’re a coward, a voice hissed in his mind. It sounded like Sirius.
Faintly, he heard Carole threaten him—if he left, she was hollering, he wouldn’t be allowed back.
Well, Remus wasn’t afraid of that.
--
A deluge over Privet Drive splattered over him as he Apparated onto the street. Remus, convinced that the residents were all tucked away in their warm homes and unlucky watching out their windows, conjured an umbrella as he approached Number Four. A glow in the window drew his attention. The television was on and the three Dursleys were watching from the sofa. To Remus, there was someone who was noticeably absent. Galvanized, Remus reached for the doorbell and pushed the pearly button with a fingertip.
A minute dragged on. The Dursleys must have been fumbling to decide what they ought to do. After all, it was nearly nine o’clock and a visitor at such at that hour must have seemed improper. However, they must have also known that the television could be seen from outside, therefore it would have been considered peculiar behavior if they did not attend to the doorbell. Finally, the lock clicked and the door cracked open. A mustache appeared.
“You!” said Vernon Dursley, his face already turning red.
“Hello, Mr. Dursley,” said Remus cheerfully. “I apologize for the late intrusion—”
Vernon made to swing the door shut; Remus caught it with his foot.
“—but I thought I might check in on Harry.”
“Vernon?” said Petunia from the other room. “Who is it?”
“We won’t have you lot coming around this house, I tell you!” said Vernon, trying to pull the door shut on Remus’s shoe. “We agreed to take him but not to entertain people like you!”
Remus surreptitiously waved his wand from inside his coat pocket so that the door would open wide for him. Vernon was stunned as it flew from his grip, leaving him quite exposed in the entryway. A meaty finger jabbed Remus’s chest.
“None of that here!” roared Vernon. “Get out!”
“Please, I’m only here to see Harry,” said Remus. “I’m concerned about him.”
“Vernon?” Petunia said, coming around the corner. She froze when she saw Remus. “What do you want?” she snapped.
“I came to check in,” said Remus. “Where is Harry?”
“In bed,” said Petunia quickly. Perhaps too quickly.
Heart thumping, Remus knew he had to see the boy that he had so utterly failed. If Harry called The Green asking for him, perhaps something had happened. Perhaps the worst had happened…
“I must see him,” Remus insisted. “Is he upstairs?”
“No, I’m here,” said a small voice.
Remus frowned. It seemed like it had come from the cupboard under the stairs. For a moment, he stared, flabbergasted between Vernon and Petunia.
“He—er—likes to play in there,” she explained. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Let me talk to him.”
Nervously, Petunia exchanged a look with Vernon who seemed unable to find a reason why Remus shouldn’t speak to Harry. Petunia moved to the cupboard and turned the handle. Without warning, the cupboard flew open and a black-haired child tumbled out onto the floor as he’d been pressed up against the door.
Harry scrambled to his feet, looking sheepishly at the adults who stood over him.
“Er—hello,” said Harry.
“Hello, Harry,” said Remus. It was difficult to keep his voice level and pleasant. He felt a sinking horror as he saw what Petunia was trying to hide. Inside the cupboard was a camp bed and a blanket and a few other belongings that looked like they belonged in a child’s bedroom, not a cupboard…
“How are you, Harry?”
Harry glanced at his aunt and uncle. Both of them were wearing rather threatening expressions as if silently warning him not to speak.
“Fine,” Harry said. “Er—just—”
“Playing,” finished Petunia. “He likes to be in there.”
“You said he was in bed,” challenged Remus. “I do see there is a bed inside there. Is that where you sleep, Harry?”
Before Harry could answer, Vernon was raising his voice and turning on Remus.
“Ungrateful, you lot! The boy is a financial burden—you’ve got no right! No right to criticize us! We’ve not received a penny to help us raise a boy we never asked for! You should be grateful we never dumped him in an orphanage!”
Remus couldn’t help himself. “Grateful? What sort of home is this for a boy? Have you kept him in a cupboard this whole time?”
“It’s more than anyone else has done!” said Petunia, her lips white. “You take him, if you think you could do any better!”
“I—”
“Go on!” said Vernon. “He’s all yours!”
Remus swallowed hard. “But I—”
Vernon shoved Harry aside and began tearing out from the cupboard several things—shirts, trousers, socks, broken toys—and threw them out at Remus’s feet. Harry stood with his mouth slightly open, watching as Vernon removed all of his belongings.
“It’s been long enough! Nearly ten years of putting up with him!” said Vernon, huffing as he chucked a shoe over his shoulder. The flimsy bed broke under his weight, but it didn’t stop him.
“What’s going on?” Dudley had come into the hall. His mouth was smeared with a ring of chocolate.
“Your cousin is moving out!” Vernon announced gleefully.
Petunia, however, paled. “Wait a minute, Vernon, we can’t simply—you remember the letter, don’t you?”
“The letter?” said Harry. His aunt ignored him.
“Bollocks!” Vernon said. “It’s all bollocks! This is just the beginning, don’t you see? Once one freak comes, the rest will follow!” He pulled out a backpack from beneath the bed and stuffed it with Harry’s meager belongings.
Remus’s heart was beating painfully. He couldn’t take Harry—for many reasons he couldn’t take Harry away from his family. He was a werewolf, he had nothing to support the two of them (particularly so since he had lost his job), and he was already disobeying Albus Dumbledore by having any contact with Harry at all…
“Wait a minute!” said Remus. “Let’s talk about this—”
“He’s yours now!” Vernon shoved the backpack at Remus. “Take him or we’ll bring him to an orphanage!”
While Remus was quite sure a person couldn’t simply drop a child off at a Dickensian orphanage anymore, he didn’t doubt that Vernon might drive Harry back into London and dump him on the streets. How could Lily have been related to such cruel people?
“Fine,” snapped Remus. He shouldered the backpack. “He should never have been put here at all!”
--
It was pouring rain. The door shut behind them with a snap of finality, and Harry had a feeling that he would never step foot in Number 4 again in his life. A feeling…or maybe just a hope. But it seemed too abrupt, his sudden displacement, as if leaving a nightmare should have taken more time or had a bit more of a lead-up.
Remus looked as stunned as Harry felt. Harry couldn’t help noticing that Remus appeared more exhausted and disheveled than he remembered, and now he looked positively ill.
“Mister—er—Remus?”
“Yes, Harry?” said Remus, blandly, his eyes unfocused.
“I’m sorry—”
Then Remus blinked. “Sorry? You needn’t be sorry, Harry. I’m—” his voice caught. He cleared his throat. “I’m the one who should apologize. I didn’t think they would throw you out. It’s my fault.”
The light above the door flickered off.
“But if I hadn’t called—”
“No,” said Remus. A bit firmer, he went on. “No, I’m glad you did. I only wish I had prepared for it better.”
Remus had not brought a car, and it was far too late to catch a train anywhere. Harry shivered as the rain pounded against the umbrella that Remus held over their heads. How had Remus arrived in Little Whinging so quickly?
“Harry,” started Remus, “there is something your Aunt Petunia has never told you. About you, about your parents.”
Harry figured Aunt Petunia must’ve been hiding something considering that Harry had never known that his parents had friends that were still alive or that they’d attended a school called Hogwarts. No amount of snooping around Number Four had revealed anything, however.
“But…I don’t think this is the place to explain it all,” Remus said. He paused, glancing at the street. “Can you trust me, Harry?”
“I think so,” Harry said, frowning.
“Because what I am about to show you might seem rather extraordinary, but I cannot see another way of leaving Little Whinging without a bit of magic.”
Magic was a forbidden word under the Dursley roof.
“Magic?”
“You see, Harry, I’m a wizard,” said Remus. He grimaced as if he realized how ludicrous it must have sounded to Harry’s ears.
At first, Harry thought he might see a grin break through Remus’s very serious expression. But the seconds lengthened, and Remus remained quite grave as he watched for a reaction. A wizard?
“But magic doesn’t exist,” said Harry weakly.
Remus smiled. “Well, then, what you’re about to see will be quite inexplicable.”
From his pocket, Remus extracted a thin stick which he stuck out from beneath the umbrella into the pouring rain. A loud bang and a piercing light made Harry yell and throw an arm over his eyes to block out the beams of a triple decker bus that had materialized out of nothing.
“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard—”
Harry peered up at the conductor of the bus, an aging man with very little hair and donned in violet to match the bus. Witch or wizard?
“Yes, thank you,” said Remus, hurrying the man along. “How much for Upper Flagley?”
“Upper Flagley?” said the man, scrunching his face. “Er—thirteen Sickles apiece.”
Remus pulled a face. “Have the rates increased? I’ve only got enough for one of us.”
The conductor shrugged. “You’re not the first tonight to point that out. Eh, just come on board, the both of you. Just give me what you’ve got.”
Remus fished in his pocket for a handful of silver coins and dropped them into the conductor’s hand. As the conductor clanked the coins into the little tin box beside the driver’s seat, Harry could see the uncertainty in Remus’s eyes, as if the conductor had taken something that Remus couldn’t afford to lose.
The conductor reached to help Harry onto the bus when the wizened face froze, his eyes catching on Harry’s forehead. Harry had the sudden instinct to flatten the hair over his brow to cover his unusual, lightning bolt-shaped scar—a souvenir of the car crash that had killed both of his parents. Remus, noticing this, quickly ushered him aboard and directed him down the aisle.
But Harry stopped dead.
He expected to see rows of seats. Although he’d never been on a bus before, he hadn’t thought he would see rows of four-poster beds lining the inside of the bus. Remus’s tight grip on his shoulder edged him forward, and numbly, Harry went where he was directed.
As soon as Harry sat awkwardly on a bed near the back, the bus shot off with another loud bang! It caught Remus by surprise who quickly seized the bedpost to keep himself upright, his face pale with the effort. To Harry’s astonishment, the bus was hurtling into the night without a care of what was in the way. Were his eyes fooling him? Were houses and streetlamps leaping out of the way of the bus?
“What do you think about magic now?” said Remus. Carefully, he inched over to sit beside Harry.
At first, Harry couldn’t find the words. But magic wasn’t real—it couldn’t be real. The Dursleys had always forbidden nonsense talk about anything abnormal. And yet, whatever was happening on this bus could hardly be explained by anything else. He was having trouble thinking of a scientific reason why a bus could appear out of thin air and go careening off into the countryside a moment later.
“I don’t get it,” said Harry finally. “How’s this all going on?”
Then he realized, it must’ve been a joke. It was an elaborate prank put on by the Dursleys. Soon Remus would break out into a grin and tell Harry how stupid he was for going along with it. As the seconds lengthened, and Remus did not laugh, a strange feeling bubbled in his stomach.
“You belong to two worlds, Harry,” said Remus. “There’s the one you’ve just left, the Muggle world, and one full of magic. Your parents were a witch and wizard, you see.” He sighed. “This isn’t how you should have found out. I wish I could have explained before we left, but it seemed prudent to leave Privet Drive as soon as possible.” Then he paused, giving him a doubtful look. “Your aunt has never mentioned a thing about magic?”
“Well,” said Harry. “Not exactly. She and Uncle Vernon get really angry when things like magic come up. They say it’s not real, but I’ll bet they’ve never been on a bus like this before.”
“No, probably not,” Remus said, smiling. Then his smile slipped as if something sad had occurred to him. “Then your aunt hasn’t told you much about your parents, I imagine. I had that sense when we last met, but I didn’t realize just how little you knew. They were extraordinary people, Harry.”
The bus jerked suddenly and came to a stop. The conductor scrambled over to a bed where an elderly woman was struggling to get up. Remus, noticing that the conductor was having a hard time heaving the woman to her feet, excused himself from Harry and rushed over to help. The woman, extremely embarrassed, babbled that she was just fine, just fine until Remus and the conductor, together, helped her up. Remus offered to fetch her bag while the conductor led the woman to the exit, patting her soft hand.
“Nothing to be embarrassed about, Madam Walpole,” said the conductor. “Just this morning, my wife had a time trying to pull me off the—”
“Gerry…” started the driver.
“No shame in it, no shame in it,” Gerry the conductor insisted. His voice faded as he and Remus helped Madam Walpole wrestle her belongings off the bus and into the dimly lit evening. Harry squinted out the window at an unfamiliar village.
As Remus was returning to the bus, Gerry the conductor stopped him with a murmured comment. A worried look passed over Remus’s face, though he quickly hid it behind a gentle smile before he reached Harry again.
A few minutes later, the bus let them off at the edge of a town square. Harry followed Remus off the bus. Behind them, the Knight Bus vanished with a deafening bang!
It was still raining as Remus pulled an umbrella over their heads.
“Follow me, Harry.”
Harry stuck very close, clutching his backpack straps. He knew he should’ve been happy to leave the Dursleys. Hadn’t he always wished someone would rescue him from Number 4? Yet the horror of watching Uncle Vernon chuck all of his things out of the cupboard and into his backpack had turned a dream into dread.
Remus stayed very quiet as they walked, twisting through alleyways, avoiding the worst of the rain. Harry felt like they were walking further and further away from safety, and he began to fear that this was not going to turn out well. Soon, they reached a narrow street.
“It’s just here,” said Remus, turning the corner. He stopped in front of a battered door beside a closed electronics store, reaching for a key in his pocket. The lock must have been old or faulty because it took a few tries before Remus could get the door open. When it did, Harry stared in trepidation at the dark stairwell. There was a musty smell to it. With each stair that groaned below his feet, he told himself that it wasn’t too late to turn back. He could run away now and go back to the Dursleys…
Remus let them into a ramshackle flat. Harry froze in the doorway.
“Er—”
“I know,” said Remus, looking away. “You were better off in Little Whinging, I think.”
“No, no it’s fine!” insisted Harry.
Harry had never visited a flat before, but he surmised that this one was rather unusual. It wasn’t much larger than the Dursleys’ sitting room. The flat opened to a makeshift kitchen where someone had shoved a sink and an old-fashioned stove against the wall. A small kitchen table was piled with newspapers, books, and old teacups, and tucked beneath it were two mismatched wooden chairs. There was a mattress in the corner that was made up with an old quilt and a yellowish pillow; to the left of that was a sofa which might have been nice but was losing its stuffing on one of its arms.
Remus invited him to sit on the sofa and offered tea. Although Harry didn’t feel like tea, he accepted anyway.
It didn’t seem like Remus should be a wizard. If Harry hadn’t just clambered out of a magical bus, he might’ve believed this was an elaborate prank meant to humiliate him. Yet as he sat on the sofa, waiting in awkward silence, it dawned on him that this was all very real, and his life was never going to be the same.
So I do have a couple of Gwayne fics in my drafts and I just want to say no matter what happens to my man in s3, I will get them completed so we can pretend fics once again are canon 🤭
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 3/?
Fandom: MCFNAFverse, pretty depressed productions
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Eventual Dylan/Carson, Dylan/Sammy, Dylan/Carson
Characters: Dylan (PDP FNaC Remastered), Carson (PDP FNaC Remastered), Sammy (PDP FNaC Remastered)
Additional Tags: CPR, Almost Drowning, Dylan/Carson has age difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Horror
Summary:
Handfuls of my writing that I didn't use or removed! No clue what to name this, so The Removed/Unused will be it.
Some of my fics had parts that I wanted to keep in or string into chapters later on, but my mind was changed. And as my favorite version of Dylan was guessed, the removed scenes I had considered for SttC AU will be out here!
Unrealised fic opening from July I found in my docs 🙈 (Hickey x Gibson)
Wonder where this would have gone?
Cornelius Hickey’s name wasn’t really Cornelius Hickey. The real name didn’t matter, he’d passed through about sixteen identities in his twenty-six years. Billy Gibson was the only one who knew both Hickey’s name and where he came from. They were in a children’s home together once. Hickey used to crawl out into the yard every night and kill the rabbits he found roaming near the fence.
Billy was a terrified, snotty kid back then and he followed Hickey everywhere. He watched him kill every rabbit with mild interest. Hickey snarled at him “I’ll get you too if you keep staring at me, Gibson. You’re not going to tell on me, are you?”
Billy had strangely enough grinned at him “Not if you play with me”
And so it went. They ran away together at sixteen. They eventually parted ways because Billy integrated into human life and ebentually found a family of his own. A wife. A wife.
If the world ends (will we?) (Ilsalanna- last chapter!!)
Fav ships Christmas series!!!
the dance after. (Ilsalanna)
A little Song, Dance and Love- Part 2 (Cartinelli)
New one about any ship in my ao3 profile, mitorietta (drop ship-name in coms!)
Voting ended onDec 13, 2025
The Christmas series is a new one I'm working on currently! (Supposed to be a series of a few one-shots of my fav characters and ships- in ao3 profile description- celebrating the holidays!) You can also say which ones you want me to include!
Last two were originally one-shots but I'd have more ideas if youre really interested!
so great chance that like you I'll be that one person in fandom talking about my favorite fic and how its unfinished and longing for a universe where its completed. is there a support group?
it's me, im the support group. also, let me thank you real quick for giving me an excuse to mention Tin Angel (i hear the collective groan of my followers and idc idc, y'all knew what i was about when you hit follow). it's a special kind of pain, right anon? we hold onto the hope that one day that author might return to fandom and bless us with a chapter update, but at the same time, we're just so grateful they shared that story at all and left it up for us to still read whenever we like. so, shoutout to araluna and thank you for my fave fic, i will never shut up about it ❤
