Chapter Text
Remus handled the loss of his eyesight reasonably well until he realized it meant he would never read again.
The Healer had been kind, holding his hand and speaking in a gentle voice as she broke the news. In the three days since he'd regained consciousness, Remus had been hopeful that the blindness was merely a side-effect of being grazed by the Killing Curse, one that would wear off eventually, and the Healers who examined him had told him to hope for the best but prepare for the worst, just in case. In hindsight, he supposed he should have realized the truth then, but he hadn't wanted to accept it.
That was the day his spirit had been broken. It wasn't the doubts about where he would go once he was released from St. Mungo's or how he would make a living - a werewolf and blind - or how he would adjust to living without sight that brought down the crushing weight of despair. It was the loss of the one constant joy of his life: words on a page, the weight of a book in his hand, the feel of the paper slick and smooth beneath his fingertips. When all else around him crumbled, his books were there; they had nursed him through countless dark nights, offering him a respite and giving him an escape if only for a few hours. But they couldn't help him this time. His only true, lasting friends were lost to him along with everything else, including his son.
Andromeda had come to his hospital room with a Ministry official in tow and announced that she thought it was in Teddy's best interests if Remus relinquished primary custody to her. "How can you take care of him now?" she had pointed out, and Remus had been unable to think of a convincing argument when he had no idea where he would live or how he would support himself and a child once he was released.
Agreeing with her and resorting to begging her to promise she would bring Teddy by for regular visits had been one of the most difficult, painful things Remus had ever done, and after she left, he felt as if he'd been hollowed out and left empty inside.
"You're lucky to be alive," the Healers had told him, although he wasn't certain he agreed anymore. When he had first woken up, he had considered himself lucky, especially when he learned he had been mistaken for dead at first. Someone had seen the Killing Curse flash past him and assumed he'd been killed along with Tonks when he collapsed, but he had only been brushed by the barest edge of it, and the last thing he remembered seeing was a flash of sickly green before everything went dark.
"Muggles have books in Braille," Hermione had told him in an obvious effort to offer him some hope. "It's an alphabet made of raised dots on a page, and you learn which configuration of dots represent which letter, and you read by touch."
It had been a nice thought, but he would have to learn Braille first, and normal books were expensive enough, a rarely indulged luxury for someone like him. He had built up his small library slowly over the course of decades, and he possessed only a fraction of the books he wanted. But now the cherished volumes he did have were useless, and he would have to start from scratch if he learned Braille. He wasn't even certain there were magical texts available in Braille; he might be limited to Muggle books.
Thus he had sunk deeper into depression while he waited for the Healers to decide he was strong enough to be discharged, unable to distract himself by escaping in the world of a novel as he used to do. He had no visitors other than Harry and sometimes Hermione, which didn't help; he had no distractions from his own thoughts, which grew steadily darker with each day that passed. Harry continued to visit, however, which was both gratifying and surprising, considering their quarrel, but he suspected Harry wanted to hang on to his one remaining connection to James, Lily, and Sirius.
"You haven't touched your supper," Harry said, a reproachful note in his voice.
Remus felt the bed shift under the addition of Harry's weight at the foot, and he could hear Harry's breathing, slow and even. Already his other senses had grown more acute to compensate, or perhaps he was simply more aware of their input now that one avenue was denied him. Whatever the reason, he could hear things he'd never noticed before. At first, this phenomenon had fascinated him, but now he didn't care.
"You have to eat," Harry added.
"Why?"
"Well..." Harry floundered, as if he hadn't expected Remus to question the assertion; normal people didn't, after all. "You'll starve, and I know you don't want that, not really. You're a fighter, Professor." He paused, and Remus heard the uncertainty in his voice as he corrected himself. "Remus."
It was the first time Harry had ever addressed him by name. Remus had given him permission some time ago; he was no longer Harry's teacher, and they were fighting as equals, but Harry had continued to call him "Professor Lupin". Remus assumed it was because Harry didn't want the intimacy that first names implied.
"Look, if you're worried about what's going to happen after you get out of the hospital, you needn't." Harry's voice was firmer now, regaining its strength and conviction. "You're coming back to Grimmauld Place with me. The house is big enough for the both of us, and Sirius would have wanted it this way. I know he wouldn't have wanted you to be alone, even if this hadn't happened."
Remus didn't know any such thing. In his will, Sirius had left everything to Harry, and that made Sirius' priorities perfectly clear to Remus. Remus had left when Harry returned to school to begin his sixth year at Hogwarts, and he returned only when he was summoned there for meetings of the Order. During one of her visits, Hermione had mentioned that the house had been cleaned out from top to bottom so there were no more lurking dangers, and she'd sounded pleased when she informed him that the portrait of Mrs. Black had been removed, but other than that, he didn't know what changes Harry had made, nor did he particularly care.
"I don't want your charity, Harry." Remus' own voice was dull and lifeless - a reflection of how he felt. He didn't even bother turning his head in the direction of Harry's voice; he simply lay on his back, his sightless eyes open as if he were staring at the ceiling.
"It isn't charity," Harry insisted. "I'll give you a job if it makes you feel better. It'll be an arrangement just between you and me, so you won't get in trouble with the Ministry until Kingsley Shacklebolt gets those stupid laws repealed."
"A job doing what?" Remus gave a bitter chuckle. "A bit of light cleaning? Gardening every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday? Or perhaps you want me to try my hand in the kitchen, preparing meals."
"Actually, I was thinking something more along the lines of you looking after the house for me." He paused, and his next words contained the hint of a stutter, as if he realized how foolish asking Remus to look after anything had been. "You know what I mean. I won't be around much once I begin working, and even if being an Auror isn't as time-consuming as everyone's told me, I don't have any experience with running my own household. I've always had Aunt Petunia or Mrs. Weasley to do it for me."
"House-elves don't need to be supervised."
"I'm not going to have house-elves. I'm hiring a couple of people to cook and clean and stuff. They're not much older than me, and they lost their parents, their home - everything - in the war."
Remus almost smiled at that. Harry the philanthropist, taking a bunch of needy, helpless strays under his wing. Albus would have been proud.
"I don't suppose I have much of a choice," Remus said, and the bitterness wasn't quite gone from his voice.
"You could say no and be on the streets within a month after you leave here. It's not an appealing option as far as I'm concerned, but it is an option, if you can't get over your pride and accept an offer of help."
It isn't pride, he wanted to say. His refusal to remain in the house just after Sirius' death had indeed been born of stubborn pride. Now, however, he didn't care; if he ended up on the streets, he wouldn't live through the winter, and that wasn't an unpleasant thought, although he knew it should have been. But there was still a part of him that fought for life as hard as it ever did, and it was that part of him that answered.
"Yes. All right."
"Brilliant." He could hear the smile in Harry's voice, and he felt the mattress shift beneath him again as Harry stood up. "The healers said you can leave in the morning. I'll be back then."
Leave, Remus thought. Not go home. Remus was aware of the crucial difference, even if Harry was not. Still, he didn't protest when Harry came to collect him the next morning. When asked, he told Harry where to collect the rest of his belongings, and Harry promised they would be picked up and delivered to Grimmauld Place; then he had awkwardly offered Remus his arm to lead him out.
When Remus' luggage arrived the next day, Harry brought it to his room along with a cane that was charmed to give a sudden jerk in a safe direction if it detected any obstacles within a certain distance in front or on either side of him. "So you don't have to rely on someone else when you want to walk around," Harry explained.
So no one will have to touch you to help you. Harry didn't say that, but he didn't have to. Remus knew it. People didn't like touching werewolves if they could help it; he'd learned that the hard way, and so he used the cane as he began relearning the layout of the house all over again.
It was seven steps from the bottom of the stairs to the door of the kitchen. It was fifteen steps from the top of the third floor landing to his bedroom door. There was a heavy decorative urn in the corridor that he stubbed his toe on during the night if he went to the loo unless he remembered to take his cane or stay away from the wall on the left. The parlor always smelled of citrus just after Lizzie cleaned. The library smelled of paper, dust, and old leather. The wood on the banister was slicker near the posts where the finish hadn't been worn by the slide of countless hands.
Lizzie and Ethan had been warned not to move anything around, which helped. Everything had to stay in the same place so Remus wouldn't get hurt, Harry told them, and they complied. They knew what Remus was. Harry had told them that as well, and their acceptance of being the underlings of a werewolf was part of the job package.
Lizzie was a former Hufflepuff and diligent enough that she didn't need prompting about her tasks. Ethan, a former Ravenclaw, sometimes let himself be distracted by the library, but Harry had given him permission to read anything he liked since the dangerous texts had long since been removed from the house. Remus envied him.
Harry was anxious and restless while he waited to hear whether he would be accepted in the Auror Department despite having skipped his entire Seventh Years and not taken his NEWTs, although Remus suspected the application process was a mere formality, even if Harry wasn't so certain. Ron, who had also applied, was just as impatient, and the two of them, along with Ginny and Hermione, were frequently away in search of distractions. Harry often said they needed to enjoy themselves while they could, since they wouldn't have time for fun once they began working. In Harry's absence, Ethan and Lizzie reported directly to Remus, although once they learned the routine of the household, he didn't have much to do. He couldn't manage the accounts, he couldn't write up grocery lists, he couldn't take care of Harry's non-personal correspondence - which, according to Harry, consisted mostly of requests for money and proposals of marriage - and he couldn't take stock of the larder. He couldn't do much of anything except ask if Ethan had checked the woodpile and if Lizzie had aired the guest bedrooms that week.
Neither of them seemed to mind; Remus imagined they were too grateful to have a roof over their heads to protest having to answer to him, and he heard sympathy underlying their voices whenever they spoke in his presence. How could a blind werewolf present any real danger, after all? he thought. They weren't afraid of him; they pitied him, seeing in him someone worse off than they were themselves. They knew as well as he did that his position was for show; he wasn't contributing anything, and he wasn't needed. They all helped sustain the illusion so Remus could lie to himself and say he was earning his keep.
At first, learning his way around the house had provided a distraction, but after a while, he knew where everything was, and depression crept up on him again. There was little to occupy his time until a week before Remus' first transformation after leaving St. Mungo's, when Severus arrived bearing a dose of the Wolfsbane potion.
"So this is where you've been holed up." Severus' voice was different now - rougher, raspier, and less mellifluous in the aftermath of nearly having his throat torn out - but his tone was as scathing as ever as he set the goblet down on the table in front of Remus. "Back to being a hanger-on, I see."
"Do you need anything else, Mr. Lupin?" Lizzie asked, her tone suspicious, and Remus smiled slightly, imagining her looking askance at Severus for haranguing him.
"Severus, would you like some tea?" Remus asked, inching his fingers along the top of the table as he searched for the goblet slowly, not wanting to knock it over.
"No."
"That will be all, then, Lizzie. Thank you." His fingertips bumped against the base of the goblet, and he slid them up the stem until he had a firm grip on it. He heard Lizzie give a little disapproving huff as she left them alone together, and his smile widened as he lifted the goblet to his lips. The acrid tang of the potion was even more potent now, and he held his breath before swallowing it in one gulp, unable to keep from grimacing at the taste.
"You could have just asked me to hand it to you," Severus said.
"It didn't occur to me." Remus set the goblet back on the table and pushed it towards Severus. "Thank you for bringing it."
"I heard what happened to you."
"The injury?"
"No, that you were working for Potter." Even if his hearing hadn't become more acute, Remus would have heard the quotation marks around "working".
"Harry was kind enough to give me a place to stay and something to do," Remus said. "I'm very grateful to him for that."
"Liar."
Remus turned his head as if he were looking at Severus, one eyebrow raised in surprise. "Excuse me?"
"You're feeding me the party line, Lupin, and I don't believe you. You're miserable - and I'm glad. It's about damned time one of you golden boys learned how it feels to live trapped in servitude under the weight of a debt you never wanted to owe and can never repay."
"I'm aware that my job here is nothing more than an illusion to preserve some small amount of my dignity," Remus said, keeping his voice calm and quiet. "I don't need you to point it out to me."
"Then why are you doing it?"
"Because there wasn't an acceptable alternative. If Harry hadn't allowed me to stay here, I don't know what would have become of me, and I wasn't ready to give up and die."
"Are you now?"
"Are you?"
"My lot has improved," Severus retorted sharply. "I'm still alive, for starters, and I'm free of both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. On top of that, I've been hired to teach at Hogwarts again, I received an Order of Merlin first class, and I still have all of my faculties intact."
"Congratulations. All that, and you outlived all your old enemies except me, and I've ended up like this. May it put to rest some of those demons that have been riding you all these years. I would say 'how the mighty have fallen', but you and I both know I didn't have that far to go anyway." Remus was able to keep the edge out of his voice, but only just. Reaching for his cane, he closed his fingers around it and rose to his feet, careful not to bump into the table. "If you'll excuse me, it's time to pretend I have something useful to do. You don't need me to show you out, I'm sure."
He made his way up to his room and closed the door, leaning his forehead against it as he collected himself. Before, he would have gone straight to his bookshelves and chosen something to lose himself in for a few hours until the churning in his stomach subsided and he felt composed again. With that avenue closed to him, he was left with nothing to soothe his restless mind, and he paced for a few minutes before opening the window and forcing himself to sit still and listen to the world outside.
He could hear car engines as Muggles drove by, and off in the distance, a dog barked. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the back of the chair and folded his hands in his lap, weariness stealing over him and washing away the restlessness. For a moment, he had felt some of his old spirit return, rising to the bait of matching wits with Severus, but apathy overcame him once more, tinged with despair. Things were never going to get better for him as they had for Severus; he had no hope of recovery from either of his afflictions, and he would be useless and at the mercy of whoever was kind enough to take him in until his death.
In the meantime, he had precious little to do. He still had his wand, and he could still work magic as long as it wasn't a spell requiring sight to aim, which diminished his options considerably. He couldn't learn any new spells that might prove useful unless someone helped him look them up and read them to him, which no one had time to do.
Everything Remus wanted to do was either impossible or so difficult that just thinking about making the effort made him tired, and everyone had their own lives to get on with as the Wizarding World rebuilt and recovered from the war. His closest friends were dead, and he knew Harry had taken him in out of obligation because of his ties to James, Lily, and Sirius. Other than the times when Severus delivered the potion, he had no visitors, and he spent a great deal of time alone in his room, just sitting as he was doing now. He thought he had known loneliness before during those dark days following the end of the first war, but that had been a picnic compared to his current circumstances.
"Lumos." Harry's voice was soft, but it shattered the silence of the room, making Remus start at the unexpected intrusion; he didn't know how long he'd been there, lost in thought. "Are you all right? Lizzie said you had company. Snape didn't upset you, did he?"
"No." It wasn't a lie. Severus hadn't upset him, only forced him to face the comfortable illusion he had been hiding behind. "I'm fine."
"That's good." Harry trailed off, but after a moment, he spoke again. "I got good news," he said, although the lift in his voice was hesitant, as if he wasn't certain he ought to sound as happy as he was. "I got accepted. So did Ron. We're going to have a bit of training, and then we'll start work in a few weeks."
"Congratulations." Remus turned his head in the direction of Harry's voice and smiled. "I'm sure your parents and Sirius would be very proud."
"Thanks." Harry sounded bashful then. "Anyway, I thought it'd be nice have a party to celebrate. It'd be for Ron, too, of course. I don't think I could plan it myself, though. I've never thrown a party before."
"I'll take care of it," Remus said. "Just let me know how many people you want to invite."
"I'll write up a list and give it to Ethan. He can take care of the invitations; his handwriting is nicer than Lizzie's." Harry paused, and then he added, "Hermione said she'd come by in a day or two and take you shopping."
"For what?" Remus tilted his head, curious and questioning.
"For something to wear to the party," Harry explained in a patient tone. "You haven't bought any new robes since you've been working here, but you don't have to wear those old things anymore."
"It didn't occur to me," Remus said. He'd forgotten how patched and shabby his old clothes were now that he didn't have to see them growing more threadbare by the day, but even if he'd thought about it, he didn't want to bother anyone and ask them to take him. Besides, he didn't see the point in having new clothes when he never left the house and no one other than its residents saw him.
"If you don't want to throw everything away and start over, at least get something nice for the party."
"Why? What do you want me to do? Serve punch? Walk around with a plate of hor d'oeuvres?"
"No." Harry sounded as if Remus' words had stung him. "You'll be a guest like anyone else."
"Then you'll forgive me for extending my regrets. I'm not in the mood for a party."
"Remus, I want to celebrate with my friends. With the people who are most important to me. There are enough who won't be there as it is."
Remus closed his eyes and sighed, annoyed with himself for being so caught up in his own self-centered wallowing; it would be selfish of him to disappoint Harry after everything Harry had done for him. It would only last a few hours, after all.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Of course I'll be there."
"Thanks." Remus could hear him smiling. "This party means a lot to me."
"I'll make sure it's a special one, then."
Remus spent the next few days planning the event with Lizzie and Ethan: the ballroom would be decorated in Gryffindor colors; the food would be provided by Crepe and Flambé, the most prestigious catering company in wizarding London, who promised they could provide a four-tiered chocolate cake with two miniature Aurors - one dark-haired and one red-haired - battling a mountain troll on top; there would be live music and a small space cleared for dancing.
Hermione came by as promised and took Remus to Madam Malkin's, and he hated every minute of it. They took the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione insisting on going first so she could help him out of the fireplace if necessary. That part wasn't any trouble, but he didn't like being out in the open where he didn't know how far it was between one place and another, where there were so many people jostling against him, and where it was so loud that he could feel his head throbbing with the threat of a headache within ten minutes. Even with Hermione's hand on his elbow and his charmed cane to help, it took all his concentration to keep from tripping and falling flat on his face. It was the first time since he'd learned his way around Harry's house that he'd felt so helpless, and he didn't like it.
To make things worse, the actual shopping part took far longer than he expected. He thought they would go in the shop, she would pick something, he would pay for it, and that would be that, but Hermione had other ideas.
"Your eyes change color in different light," she remarked as she held up yet another set of robes in front of him. "I never noticed that before. Have they always?"
"Yes." Chameleon eyes, his mother had called them. Sometimes blue, sometimes green, but mostly a blend of both. He remembered they changed, but he could no longer clearly recall the exact hues.
"Your hair's gone more grey, too," she mused. "You should have something a little more colorful. Brown doesn't suit you."
"Hermione, I really don't care," he said in as patient a tone as he could manage. "Just choose something. Anything will do. It isn't as if I'll know the difference."
"But other people will see you," she said in a voice that implied she thought he was being obtuse for not realizing that.
"It doesn't matter. They won't care any more than I do."
"If you think that, you really are blind," she retorted. "Here, take this and try it on." She put something in his hands that felt heavy and soft, a far more expensive style of garment than he was accustomed to wearing. "It's a dark sapphire blue, which will bring out the blue in your eyes, and there's silver needlework along the cuffs, collar, and hem that will look nice with your hair."
When they finally found a set of robes that fit well and met with Hermione's approval, she guided him to the counter to pay for them, and that was that. He had something to wear for the party. He wished Harry had planned it for a night when he was either indisposed or could claim fatigue following the transformation, but the party was to be held three nights following the full moon, more than enough time for him to have recovered. In the meantime, Severus stopped by every day of the week prior to deliver the potion. He never stayed long, but he needled Remus the entire time he was there, and for a little while after he was gone, Remus felt more like his old self.
It was ironic and a bit sad, he thought, that obligatory visits from Severus were the only things he had to look forward to. But Lizzie and Ethan deflected his attempts to strike up a conversation with polite formality, and Harry missed meals more often than not while he enjoyed his last few days of freedom with his friends. It wasn't as if Harry was obliged to keep him company anyway; he was Harry's dependant, and while the war may have brought them together, he knew he wasn't one of Harry's friends. He'd always felt his outsider status, but now it was especially keen, the solitude and silence fueling his loneliness.
On the night of the transformation, he closed himself up in his room and asked Harry to lock him in from the outside. Harry had sheepishly told him that Lizzie was nervous about being in the house with him even though Harry had assured her the potion made him safe. Harry had offered to send her to the Leaky Cauldron for the night, but Remus had disagreed, saying that wasn't a practical solution for the long-term, and he had suggested Harry should lock him in instead.
He put up a sound-proofing charm as well before undressing and sitting on the rug in front of the hearth to wait for the transformation. He didn't know how long it would be; he didn't have a clock in his room to chime for him, which he supposed he ought to remedy. But soon he felt the first stirrings of the change beneath his skin, a prickling itch that grew more intense until it turned into spiking pain as his body contorted out of its natural shape.
After it was over, he still couldn't see, but it didn't matter as much in that form, because he could smell. He padded all over his room for hours with his nose pressed to the floor and on the furniture, breathing in each new scent and following its trail. Some were new and fresh, and some were old and fading, but they were still detectable to his sensitive nose. After he'd been over the entire room twice, he longed to explore the rest of the house, but that was impossible, so he curled up in front of the fire and slept instead.
In the morning, he crawled into bed, shivering and aching in the aftermath of the transformation, and the world seemed emptier with the loss of his keen sense of smell. It was yet another indication of how topsy-turvy his life had become that he had any reason, however slight, to look forward to the transformation.
At noon, Lizzie brought him some broth and tea, but otherwise, he was left alone all day. He slept, and by late afternoon, he was rested enough to bathe and go downstairs for dinner. Harry was home, and he asked if Remus was all right, and if there was anything he needed to make things better the next month. Remus said that he was fine. He didn't mention the scents.
On the night of the party, Remus put off getting ready until the last minute, using overseeing the preparations as an excuse. But everything was running smoothly; no one needed his help or his reminders, and so he went upstairs to bathe and dress in his new robes, dawdling as long as he could and dreading the moment when he could delay no longer.
The party was in full swing when he arrived. He could sense the maze of bodies; there were voices nearby and far away, throwing off his sense of perspective, and he froze, not knowing how to proceed. He didn't want to bang the shins of everyone in his path with his cane, nor did he want to embarrass himself by trying to feel his way to a secluded corner and end up bumping into people or accidentally groping them in inappropriate places. Besides, he knew the room had been rearranged to suit the needs of the party, and he couldn't remember what had been moved where. He didn't know what to do, and he was on the verge of turning around and going back upstairs when he felt a hand close around his elbow.
"There's an empty chair near the hearth, Mr. Lupin," Lizzie murmured, and he smiled at her, hoping she could see his gratitude in it.
"That would be fine, thank you."
He heard the buzz of conversation diminish as they passed by, but he ignored it, holding his head up high as he let Lizzie guide him to the chair. A fire crackled merrily, warming him as he settled in the chair, resting his cane between his knees. "Lizzie, would you come and get me in about an hour, please?" he asked. He didn't want to be stuck waiting there like a lump until the party was over so he could make his way across the room safely by himself again.
"Of course."
He turned his gaze towards the fireplace and sat quietly, listening. He could identify the voices of people he knew mingled with the voices of strangers, wizards and witches whom Harry had met through the Ministry perhaps, or friends from school whom Remus hadn't met or had forgotten. He had hoped perhaps Andromeda would come and bring Teddy, but when he asked, Harry had reluctantly admitted she had refused the invitation. Remus hated being stuck there, unable to get up and walk out whenever he pleased; he hated not being able to wander through the crowd and talk to people, but he kept a pleasant expression fixed on his face and hoped no one could tell how miserable he was.
"Hullo, Remus. It's good to see you."
Instinctively, he lifted his face up toward the person who had addressed him and smiled, pleased by the unexpected distraction. "Hello, Bill. I'd say the same, but..." He shrugged and forced himself to laugh lightly.
"Well, I'm glad you're here, even if you can't see," Bill replied. "When you went down, I thought we'd lost you."
"Everyone says I was lucky."
"I agree. We've suffered enough losses." Bill's voice was soft and wistful, and Remus knew he was probably thinking of Fred.
"I'm sorry about your brother. I wanted to send my condolences to your family when I heard, but-" He broke off, not knowing how to finish without sounding self-pitying.
"I understand. We all do, and I thank you for the thought on behalf of the family." He paused, falling silent for a moment before asking, "How are you doing?"
"I'm fine." Remus smiled and shrugged again. "I can get around the house on my own. I haven't knocked anything over in weeks," he added, widening his smile so Bill would know it was all right to laugh, and Bill did chuckle.
"You seem to have a good attitude about it. That helps, I'm sure."
"Sink or swim," he said, his smile taking more effort to maintain. "I don't have any other options. But that's true of anyone who has suffered a loss. How are your parents?"
"Bearing up. Sink or swim, like you said, and they have five other children who still need them. Dad's thrown himself into helping clean up the Ministry to get through, and Mum is channeling her energy into pestering the rest of us to get married - or in my case, to start having babies. I think she hopes having a new child in the family will help fill the void, and it might at that, but Fleur and I aren't in any hurry."
"Ah." Remus didn't know what to say to that since his first thought - at least your child won't be taken away because you're deemed unfit to raise him - was unfair and inappropriate, and a silence fell, not quite awkward, but not quite comfortable either.
"Did you want anything?" Bill asked suddenly. "Something to drink or some cake?"
"No, thank you." Remus shook his head. "I'm fine."
"I think I'm going to graze the table, then," Bill said. "I'll talk to you soon."
Remus nodded; a moment later, he heard Bill's footsteps fading away, and he was alone again - but not for long.
"Ah-ha, so this is where the life of the party is."
"Hello, Severus." Remus turned to face him. "I'm surprised you're here."
"That I was invited or that I accepted?"
"I knew about the invitation. Harry's opinion of you has risen considerably of late. I'm surprised you decided to attend."
"I could say the same of you," Severus replied. "Did Potter give you the night off?"
"He invited me."
"Ah, Cinderella received her invitation and sneaked out of the scullery to attend the ball. Funny, I don't see anyone coming along to sweep you off your feet."
"No, it appears I'm stuck with one of the evil stepsisters instead."
"It's unfortunate that your party finery is being wasted," Severus replied, and Remus was surprised anew; he expected Severus to grow angry after that blatant jibe, but Severus was holding his temper remarkably well these days. Perhaps being free for the first time in twenty years had mellowed him, perhaps nearly dying had given him a different perspective on things, or perhaps it was because he enjoyed seeing Remus brought so low. "What happened - did your fairy godmother pay a call?"
"Hermione picked it out," Remus said, plucking at one sleeve listlessly. He felt out of place for more reasons than he could count, and he felt ridiculous wearing new robes paid for with money he hadn't earned. It was all a sham, and he wanted to leave before anyone else aside from Severus realized how foolish he looked. "Harry insisted."
"Of course he did," Severus drawled, his tone scathing and condescending. "He couldn't have you making him a laughingstock by showing up in your real clothes. They're fit for the bin."
"I didn't want to be here in the first place." Remus' voice was low and tight as he clutched his cane and stood up quickly. "Excuse me."
It didn't matter if he stumbled clumsily through the crowd now; he wanted to escape, wanted to stop pretending everything was fine even if it meant stepping on toes and whacking legs with his cane. He murmured a litany of "excuse me"s, and the crowd parted for him; he imagined them seeing him coming and stepping aside, looks of pity on their faces, or perhaps they didn't notice, and someone they were talking to tugged their arm, alerting them to get out of the way before they were run over by a blind werewolf desperate to escape.
A hand on his arm stopped him abruptly. "Professor, are you all right? You don't look well." Neville's voice was full of earnest concern.
"I've got a bit of a headache, that's all." He mustered a wan smile. "It's the noise and the heat, I think. I just need some air, and I'll be fine."
"Can I get you anything? Send for somebody?"
"There's no need. I'm going to step outside for a moment."
Neville let him go, and he made his way to the door without stumbling or falling, breathing easier once the party was behind him.
He paused at the foot of the stairs and rested one hand on the post, debating. He could take a few moments to compose himself and go back in; he didn't want even the slightest mar on Harry's evening. But the thought of going back in there was unbearable. If Harry noticed his absence and asked about it in the morning, he would say he'd developed a headache from all the noise, blame it on his more acute hearing, and leave it at that.
Lost in thought with the sounds of the party still loud and clear, he didn't hear anyone approach until someone's hand fell on his shoulder, and he jumped, startled. "Lizzie?"
There was no answer, but the hand slid down his back to rest at his waist, offering him the assistance of a supporting arm.
"I can manage the stairs on my own," he said, trying to move away, but whoever-it-was held him fast. Not Lizzie, then. She wouldn't have put her arm around him this way in the first place, and if she had, she would have removed it at the first sign of resistance."Ethan, is that you? You'd probably best go and see if Harry needs anything. I'll be fine."
But the hand merely gave him a little squeeze and remained where it was, and Remus didn't bother pushing it away; he couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him like that, and it felt good, the reassuring contact helping him to calm his jangled nerves more quickly. He didn't know whom his mysterious helper was, but it was someone who wasn't afraid or disgusted by doing more than grasping his elbow to help him along. They ascended the stairs in silence, and he expected his helper to leave once they reached his bedroom, but to his surprise, the arm didn't fall away from his waist until they were inside.
"Thank you," he said. "I appreciate your assistance."
There was no answer, and for a moment, he thought his helper had gone until he heard the rustle of sheets and the soft tread of footsteps muffled by the rug.
"What are you doing?"
But still there was no response. His cane was plucked from his hand, and he was guided to sit down on the edge of the bed; sliding his hand along as far as he could reach, he realized that his helper had turned back the covers, and he frowned, confused. What was going on here?
His confusion doubled and became mixed with alarm when he felt this mysterious someone removing his shoes and socks, and he groped for his wand, but not quickly enough; fingers closed around his wrist, but their grip was only tight enough to hold, not to hurt, and as soon as Remus withdrew his hand from his wand, they let go.
"Answer me," he demanded. "What are you doing?"
But he was ignored, and once his shoes and socks were off, whoever-it-was moved away from him; he could hear the drawers of his dresser being opened one by one until the person found whatever they were looking for. Then they returned to the bed, and something was dropped in Remus' lap; when he ran his hand across it, he recognized the unmistakable feel of his thin flannel nightshirt.
The person grasped his arms, helping him up, and a flare of panic shot through him; he grabbed for the person's hands, trying to push them away. In the back of his mind, it disturbed him that he didn't know whether he was more afraid that this person was trying to take advantage of him, thinking him weak and defenseless, or that this person was trying to help him in ways that he wasn't prepared to deal with.
"Stop it! I'm not helpless!"
The person went still and then pulled free of his grasp; he thought that was the end of it, and the next thing he heard would be retreating footsteps and his bedroom door closing, but instead, he felt a hand resting - just resting - on his shoulder, and his chest tightened, his throat closing up.
"You don't have to do this," he whispered hoarsely, clenching his fists tightly in the folds of his nightshirt so that whoever-it-was might not notice they were shaking; he was no longer afraid, for if this stranger wanted to hurt or overpower him, he knew they could have taken his wand and done so by now, but he was unnerved. "I can take care of myself."
The hands returned to his arms, urging him to his feet, and this time he didn't protest, letting the person lead him down the corridor to the loo, but the tightness in his chest constricted until he could barely breathe. He didn't want this kind of help - this kindness. He was afraid of it, afraid of how easily it could strip away his defenses and make him vulnerable. He didn't know how to cope with someone taking care of him, not because they had to, but because they wanted to. It wasn't something that happened to him, not since his parents' deaths; it was pushing him to the edge of panic now, yet he didn't protest, a small, lonely part of him needing more.
He changed into his nightshirt and performed his evening ablutions while the person waited outside the door; he hoped his silent helper would go away before his mind began taunting him with the knowledge that this kind of care was a luxury he wouldn't experience after this night, but he felt a hand on his elbow as soon as he emerged.
They returned to his bedroom, and the hands took his dress robes, guided him into bed and pulled the covers snugly around him, tucking him in. They smoothed his hair away from his face, and then they were gone. He heard footsteps moving away from him, towards the wardrobe; the wardrobe door creaked as it was opened, and Remus listened to the rustle of fabric as the person hung up his robes and then closed the wardrobe and headed to the door.
"Thank you," he said, hoping for a response, but the only answer he received was the sound of his bedroom door closing.
Puzzled and intrigued, he turned over the encounter in his mind, trying to figure out who it could have been. He was reasonably certain his helper was male, or a woman with hands at least as large as his own. Beyond that, he'd been too distracted to pay attention to details. Harry, perhaps? But then why hadn't he said anything? The silence was confusing. Why didn't whoever it was want him to know about it?
Perhaps they thought he would accept help from an anonymous stranger more easily than from a friend. Perhaps it was Harry after all, not wanting Remus to feel guilty for taking him away from the party. The more he thought about it, the more he decided that was the most likely answer, and he resolved to say a proper thank you in the morning. Satisfied at having solved the mystery, he settled in and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep far more quickly than usual.
The next morning over breakfast, Remus affected a casual tone as he spooned scrambled eggs onto his plate. "Thank you for your help last night, Harry. I'm sorry to have taken you away from the party, though. I would have been fine on my own, you know."
There was a moment of silence, and when he spoke, Harry's voice was filled with bewilderment. "What are you talking about?"
Remus smiled. "Come now, Harry, there's no need to continue the ruse. I know you didn't want to say anything last night, but I figured out it must have been you."
"Must have been me for what?"
Setting down the bowl of eggs carefully, Remus turned to face him. "You're serious. You've no idea what I'm talking about."
"None at all, I'm afraid." He heard the clinking of Harry's silverware as he picked up his fork. "I noticed you were gone and asked if anyone had seen you. Neville said you had a headache and were going out for air." He paused before adding, "You never came back, though."
"I did have a headache. The noise was too much for me, I'm afraid," Remus said slowly, puzzled anew now that he knew his deduction had been wrong. "I was going upstairs, and someone came along and helped me. I thought it was you."
"You don't know who it was?" Harry was curious now, sounding as intrigued as Remus felt.
"No, they didn't say anything."
"Are you all right? They didn't hurt you, did they?"
"No, I'm fine. I was a little rattled at first, but I assumed it was a party guest, which means it was likely someone I know. I can't imagine a stranger doing that."
"There were a few people there you don't know. Everyone else was connected to Hogwarts or the Order."
Remus nodded. "That's what I thought. But still, it's odd they didn't want to identify themselves."
"They didn't... you know... try anything?" A hint of worry had crept into Harry's voice, and Remus hastened to assure him.
"No, they didn't try anything, and they didn't force me into anything. I could have put up a fight and stopped them, if I'd wanted to." But I didn't, he added silently. As unexpected and unsettling as the experience had been, he hadn't felt in danger, not after the stranger had simply prevented him from using his wand rather than taking it away from him and then touched his shoulder as if to assure him that he was safe. "I think they - he - wanted to help, for some reason."
And I wanted to let him. The thought popped in his mind before he could squelch it, but he pushed it aside; he couldn't afford to think about letting someone take care of him. He'd never fully relied on anyone else; the conditions of his life had forced him into independence, especially emotional independence. As much as he wanted to be a normal person, he wasn't; that meant some roads were permanently closed to him, and he had learned at a young age which ones they were.
"You're sure it was a he?" Harry asked, no longer sounding worried but curious.
"Well, either it was a man or a rather masculine woman if their hands were anything to go by," Remus conceded wryly. "It couldn't have been Hermione or Ginny, because they don't have mannish hands, and it wasn't you. Beyond that, my suspect list is wide open."
"Huh. That's weird."
"Very."
They ate in silence for a while, and then Harry spoke again, his tone casual. "Oh, by the way, Neville's coming over tomorrow afternoon. I asked him to fix up the conservatory, and I thought maybe you could give him a hand."
"Certainly."
"Thanks." Harry fell silent, and Remus heard him pushing his food around on his plate. "I also thought you could be in charge of it once it's finished. Neville said all you'd have to do is water the plants. You can let Ethan know if they seem to be dying or need pruning."
Busy work, Remus thought, but at least it would give him something to do, and it would be nice to have the conservatory habitable again. Right now, the room reeked with the fetid stench of rotted plants, mold, and dead earth. There was nothing dangerous in it, thanks to the thorough cleansing the house had received, but it was unpleasant, to say the least.
"Of course. I'd be happy to," he said.
"Brilliant." There was relief in Harry's voice, which Remus didn't understand. Did he think Remus would refuse to do something he asked? How could he, when he knew he wasn't doing nearly enough to justify the salary Harry gave him? But he said nothing, and Harry began talking about the up-coming match between Puddlemere and the Cannons, which was causing him to squabble with Ron every time they got together. Remus listened and smiled in the right places, but his mind was elsewhere.
The unsolved mystery from the night before gave Remus something to think about for the rest of the day, but he had to concede that he didn't have enough information to hazard another guess. He disliked not knowing, but he resigned himself to letting it go and forgetting about it. Unless his helper came forward and confessed, he would never know, and it wouldn't happen again.
The following afternoon passed quickly while he helped Neville clean up the conservatory. Neville cleared out the old, dead plants and let Remus cast the cleaning charms while he levitated the garbage out, since scourfigying a large area didn't require precise aim. He missed a few spots which Neville took care of when he returned, and then Neville checked the old pots for damage. Most were in good condition now that they were clean, and the few that weren't were easily repaired.
"I brought a lot of green plants," Neville said, once everything was ready. "But I have some flowers, too. I chose things that would create a nice scent together, since they're going to be in a confined area. I didn't want them to overpower anyone who comes in here."
Remus remembered a little from his Herbology classes, but it had been a long time since he'd worked with plants. He'd forgotten how good it felt to plunge his fingers into rich, moist dirt, and he enjoyed the work; it took him longer to re-pot a plant than it did Neville, but he wanted to be careful and not damage anything, which meant a lot of groping of the pot and the soil to make sure he had everything in the right place.
He was filthy by the time they were finished, having managed to smudge dirt on his face in addition to getting it all over his robes and hands and under his fingernails. He was tired, but satisfied with the afternoon's work. Neville had been patient with him and good company too, a bit shy at first, but gradually relaxing and chatting with him. When they were finished, he guided Remus over to a wrought iron rack near the door and helped Remus explore the rack with his hands to figure out where the watering can was and which shelf the plant food was on.
"It's a self-filling can," Neville explained. "All you have to do is tap it with your wand, and it'll fill up with water. Then add a pinch of the food and water all the plants every two days or so, although you can cut back if the soil still feels moist, because you don't want to over-water them. If it gets really hot, check the leaves to make sure they're not drying up, but they should be all right in here."
It was an easy task, one that Remus was content to take care of, and he began spending more time in the conservatory. Harry preferred the parlor, but Remus found the quiet breathing life of the plants relaxing, and Neville had indeed chosen blooming flowers that were pleasantly scented without being overwhelming. He could feel the light and life in the room even if he couldn't see it, and he found it more enjoyable to sit there rather than in his room. It wasn't long before Harry, Lizzie, and Ethan learned to look for him there before checking anywhere else.
It was there where his mysterious helper found him again as well, some two weeks after Harry's party. He had finished watering the plants and put the watering can and plant food on the shelf where they belonged before taking a seat on one of the wrought iron benches. It was near the roses, and he could smell their delicate scent more than anything else when he sat there. He was lost in thought, but not so deeply that he didn't hear the footsteps - someone taking long strides and who wasn't attempting to hide their approach. Remus glanced in the direction of the sound. Harry wasn't due home for hours yet, and Lizzie had a far softer gait. "Ethan?"
The footsteps stopped near his bench, followed by a rustle of fabric and a stirring of air near him, and he felt the tingle of another living presence overlapping his own, letting him know that someone had sat down beside him.
"It's you, I suppose," Remus said, turning his sightless gaze to the floor again.
He sat on one end of the bench with his knees together and his hands folded in his lap, his shoulders rounded, his head bent; it was a posture of weariness and defeat, but for some reason, he didn't bother to straighten up and give the illusion of composure as he usually did when he was in the presence of others. He supposed he ought to have felt curious or perhaps worried that his silent helper had returned, but he couldn't muster the energy to care.
He'd been feeling increasingly listless over the past week or so; forcing himself to do his usual tasks around the house left him drained, his appetite had decreased, and he was sleeping more. He went to bed early and slept for ten to twelve hours each night, yet still he took long naps in the afternoon. The day before, Harry mentioned bringing in a Healer to examine him if his energy didn't return soon, but Remus doubted a Healer would do him any good; his lethargy didn't stem from a physical ailment, but from a growing sense of apathy which no Healer could cure.
"I wasn't expecting you again," he added.
He waited for a moment, but only silence greeted his remark, and he began to wonder if perhaps his imagination was playing tricks on him. "I don't know why you came if you aren't going to say anything. I feel silly talking to myself." He sighed and shook his head. "Perhaps I am talking to myself. No one is real to me anymore. They're just voices. If they don't speak, I don't know they're there. If they don't touch me, I don't know they're there. But no one touches me unless they have to. I'm alone in the dark."
He fell silent, more than half convinced that he'd imagined someone being there - and then he felt warm fingers wrapping around his left hand, pulling it away from his lap and encircling it in a tight, reassuring grip. Remus felt his mouth fall open, but he closed it again quickly and reached out with his free hand, feeling his way along the stranger's arm from wrist to elbow.
"So you are there after all." He got a little answering squeeze of his fingers in response. "But you won't talk to me. I assume you don't want me to know who you are, although I can't imagine why not."
More silence, and Remus frowned, annoyance flaring - the first break in his lassitude that he'd felt in days. "This is ridiculous. I don't know what sort of game you're playing, but I want no part of it. I won't be made a fool of."
He yanked his hand free, grasped his cane and rose to his feet, but the stranger stood and moved in front of him, resting both hands on his shoulders to halt his progress, and Remus knocked the stranger's arms away, glaring. "I told you I'm not playing your games! I-"
A finger pressed against his lips, halting the flow of words, but as soon as he stopped talking, the finger was removed, and both hands rested on his shoulders again.
"Why are you doing this?" Remus' voice was a ragged whisper, and he clasped his hands tightly, as if holding himself together through sheer force of will. "You must stop. I can't let you do this."
The hands fell away, and Remus breathed a sigh of relief, hoping the stranger would back off and give him a chance to compose himself. He reached out with his cane to find the way around the person blocking his path. He had to get away; he couldn't give in to the false hope this stranger was offering; it was an illusion, and if he revealed his vulnerability even a little bit, he knew he would regret it once the illusion ended and the stranger disappeared, never to return.
But the hands grasped his shoulders again and guided him with a firm touch to sit on the bench, and he reluctantly complied. Perhaps if he went along with whatever the stranger wanted, then the stranger would leave sooner. Once he was seated, the stranger released him, and a moment later, he felt the warmth of the stranger's presence beside him again as a pair of long-fingered hands caught his left hand, holding it between them, but that was all. He sat quiet and still, and the stranger simply held his hand.
"If it's scintillating conversation you're after, you've come to the wrong place. I don't have much to talk about," Remus said at last, hoping the stranger would take the hint and leave.
The stranger rapped the back of Remus' hand sharply with a flick of his fingers, and Remus turned his head, arching a questioning eyebrow. "You disagree?"
Another flick, but not as hard this time.
"I see. What is it that I'm meant to talk about, then? Shall I tell you the riveting tale of how I watered plants today? Or perhaps you'd like to hear of my morning adventure, when I dropped a new bar of soap I was taking to the bath with me."
He didn't intend to sound as sharp and bitter as he knew he did, but there was something different about talking to someone anonymous. He knew that his visitor was likely someone he knew, perhaps knew rather well, but he didn't know for certain; it was liberating in a way, and his usual diplomatic caution was slipping.
"I don't have anything to talk about," he continued, his voice sounding hard even to his own ears, "because I don't have anything to do, and if you expect me to blather on about my feelings, you can forget it. I'm fine, and that's all anyone needs to know."
A slap landed on the back of his hand, just hard enough to hurt. "What was that for?" he demanded. "I don't owe you anything. You won't speak to me, and you won't tell me who you are. I don't have to talk to you."
With a little huff, he faced forward, letting the stranger keep possession of his hand but otherwise ignoring the other person's presence entirely.
"I know you, don't I?" he asked at last, unable to resist poking at the mystery of his visitor's identity despite his resolve not to speak. "I must, or I doubt you'd be doing this, but I can't think of anyone who would. Do I know you?" He paused, realizing the futility of trying to communicate with someone who wouldn't speak unless they had a code. "Squeeze my hand once for yes and twice for no," he added, and he immediately felt a single squeeze. Yes. "Do I know you well?"
There was a moment's hesitation, as if whoever-it-was was debating on whether to answer, and then Remus felt another gentle yes-squeeze.
"That narrows it down a bit, then," he said, already turning over the possibilities in his mind. "The question now is, where do I know you from? Hogwarts or the Order?" Remus mused. "There aren't that many people whom I would say I know well, but then again, 'well' is a relative term. You could also be deceiving me about how well we know each other to throw me off-track."
There was no response to that, although Remus didn't really expect one since he hadn't asked yes or no questions, and if the stranger didn't want to give away his identity, it was unlikely he would reveal more clues even if Remus pressed for more information. He mulled over the situation in silence while the stranger sat beside him and held his hand; after a while, the stranger released his hand, and he could hear the rustle of fabric that signaled movement, and he knew the stranger was standing to leave.
"Are you planning to come back?" he blurted out, scarcely aware of his intention to ask before the question was out of his mouth, and he shook his head, wishing he could call it back.
But the stranger captured his hand again and gave it a little squeeze. Yes.
As the stranger's footsteps receded, Remus remained where he was, stunned into immobility. He had too many questions, precious few answers, and the hope of another visit - another chance to unravel this mystery. All in all, it was one of the most bizarre afternoons Remus had spent in a long time, but he was already looking forward to the stranger's return.