Chapter Text
November 3rd, 1981
The first sensation to jolt him awake is an icy-cold burning in his extremities. Remus blinks his eyes open as gentle snow flakes float down onto his nose. Miles of snow stretch out before him, his cottage a small speck in the distance. Lying on his bare stomach in the snow, he becomes suddenly aware of the fact that he isn’t wearing anything but his boxers, the burning from the snow getting steadily stronger. He hisses and stands up, clutching his upper arms, feeling fresh scar tissue as he does so.
He begins to slowly limp towards the cottage, swearing under his breath. His skin is raw and red from the snow, his back a patchwork of red scratches and cuts. The snow continues to fall around him, ever so peacefully, as if mocking him. Once he finally does reach his door, he leans against it and the weak hinges give in immediately and he collapses to the floor, making no effort to brace himself.
Empty bottles of rum and vodka are scattered around him on the floor, the stench of alcohol invading everyone of his senses. He groans, shakily rising up, and reaches for a coat hanging off a nearby chair. He wraps the itchy, brown material around him, feeling his poor stitchwork around him as he does so. Except that can’t be right, because Remus can’t sew. He looks down at a slightly off-color patch on the elbow of the coat, and sees Lily’s bright pink face smiling back up at him. He remembers how happy she was to stitch his coat back together, insisting there was no need to buy a new one.
He throws the coat across the room, howling in rage. He pants for a few seconds, shivering, and kneels over his cot to find something to cover himself with. Remus grabs a handful of plaid blankets off of it, and wraps them around himself. Stumbling to the bathroom, he knocks against chairs and counters, trying to steady light body on nearby walls. Inside, he looks in the mirror, hardly able to recognize the man in front of him. His pale face was gaunt, shadows creeping up under his eyes and cheek bones. This was only worsened by the messy stubble that had grown out over the past few days, and the unkempt light brown hair that fell just over his eyes.
He sees the calendar hanging next to his mirror, the current date circled with sharp blank ink. The words, “Sirius Birthday! ” scribbled over it, with another small reminder under it to buy presents.
***
The office he steps into is small and cold. Black marble walls surround him, along with columns which had serpents wrapped around them that seemed to be looking directly at him. The employees that walk past him are all dressed exactly the same, a black suit with white stripes. They all shuffle to wherever they need to go, not paying any attention to him, the occasional sharp clicking of heels worsening his coming headache.
He walks over to the counter, where he is greeted by a bleach-blonde woman with a pointy face and tiny sharp teeth. Her dark black eyes look him up and down, almost with disdain.
“Name?” She drawls, looking at him over her glasses.
“Lupin. Remus Lupin.” He replies, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“Ah,” She says, a horrible grin contorting her face. “Right this way, Mr. Lupin.”
She leads him down a narrow hallway, identical dark oak doors to each side of him. Sometimes, a woman’s scream or a man’s yell would startle Remus, causing a giggle from the blonde. She opens one with a golden placard reading Grimshaw .
An older man with black and white hair is inside, sitting at a desk. He smiles warmly at Remus, dismissing the woman rather quickly.
“Mr. Lupin, we’ve been expecting you.” Grimshaw says gently.
Remus shrugs, not bothering to sit down in the chair in front of the man. “When can you do it, exactly?”
“Patience, Mr. Lupin.” He replies, meeting his eyes. “I need to ask you a few questions first.”
Remus nods, crossing his arms and looking away.
“I understand this isn't easy–”
Remus snorts.
“However,” Grimshaw goes on, ignoring him. “This information is so that we can make sure the spell is executed correctly.” He sits at his desk, pulling out a few rolls of parchment paper and dipping his quill in the fresh ink. “Full name of the one you wish to erase?”
“Sirius Orion Black.” Remus responds, chewing on the inside of his lip.
“Hm.” Grimshaw says. “Yes, it’s very awful what happened to the Potters. When I saw your name, I was worried it might be something like this. Mr. Lupin, I’m afraid your memories with Black are so intertwined with your memories with the Potters and Peter Pettigrew that it may be difficult to erase him without erasing everything else.”
“Aren’t you guys supposed to be the experts on this?” Remus snaps, sinking his nails into his palm.
“Yes.” He says. “We cannot completely erase Black. But maybe we can erase the true nature of your relationship with him.”
“I don’t understand.” Remus replies, uneasy.
“Mr. Lupin,” the older man responded, his eyes widening with pity. “I know you must be suffering an incredible loss. But I can’t help you unless you’re honest with me. What was your relationship to Sirius Black?”
“What?” Remus says, looking at Grimshaw. He sees the man’s large black eyes, remembers the blonde woman’s giggles, and clenches his jaw. “You’re a Legilimens.”
“I’m afraid I have to be,” he says softly. “in this profession. Now, if you would be honest with me, maybe we could figure out a way to lessen your painful memories.”
“Stop.” Remus says, feeling his ears grow hot.
“Your relationship with Black–”
“Stop it.”
“There could be a way to erase the parts that would, well, hurt more than a normal friendship–”
“We were friends.” Remus hisses.
“What day is it today, Mr. Lupin?” Grimshaw says, narrowing his eyes.
“Get out of my head.” Remus snaps, rubbing his temples which grew more pained by the minute. His ears are ringing now, the thoughts in his head becoming more vivid by the second. The faces, their faces, all of which he can’t stop seeing.
“Let me help you.” says Grimshaw, standing to put a hand on Remus’s shoulder. “I’ll ask you again. What was your relationship to Sirius Black?”
***
Remus stuffed a couple rings on his nightstand into a pillowcase. Those had been his instructions, to get rid of any trace of Sirius before Grimshaw and his assistants arrived tonight. He went throughout his small cottage, collecting anything that had been Sirius’s. There had been plenty to collect too, considering how many nights they had spent at Remus’s cottage together. The odd strand of black hair on a pillowcase, a forgotten button up which had been gathering dust, or the letters. The letters had been one of the last things he had tossed. They all sat, as they had been since his sixth year at Hogwarts, in a shoebox in his closet.
When he reached them in the middle of his cleaning spree, he lingered with his hand on the lid for several moments. Even if he had wanted to open the box for a last look, the overwhelming nausea that took hold of him said otherwise. So he grabbed the entire box and threw it in the pillowcase, feeling something inside him harden. After that, he made a couple rounds to make sure nothing had been forgotten. He did all of this quickly, but with remarkable calm and determination. There was a numbness inside him, a numbness that continued to spread and fester the more articles were written, the more reporters he had to dodge, the more people celebrated the end of the war in the streets.
The last instruction he was given; when everything has been cleaned and out of sight, fall asleep. Grimshaw ensured he would know how to get in, which was frankly quite disconcerting. Remus laid on his back, exhaustion spreading across his body the second his head hit the soft pillow. As his mind grew fuzzy, and his eyes heavy, he thought of a rugged black dog. He drifted off, chasing this black dog, unable to catch it no matter how fast he ran.
A few hours later, two men and a woman unlocked the door to Remus’s apartment, Grimshaw among them. They surrounded his bed, muttering to each other about the circumstances of this particular patient. Then they all fell silent, closing their eyes and focusing on the body before them. Grimshaw took out his wand, pointing it at Remus’s forehead and whispered, “Obliviate. ”