Remus J Lupin (
onewizardwolfpack) wrote2012-01-23 09:16 pm
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everything looks different in the morning
Everything seemed familiar as Remus woke. His world was small and concentrated around the pain in his body, the stale metal taste in his mouth. His thoughts were sluggish and his senses felt incredibly dull. He was lying on his side, his shoulder wedged uncomfortably beneath his body, and as he clumsily pushed himself upright his blood started to move more freely, which made him grimace.
He'd made a mess of the floor.
With a rough sound he let his fingers hover over the deepest cut in his arm, and closed his eyes, willing the skin to knit, just enough where the bleeding would stop. Nothing happened. It had been a while since a transformation, even one as violent as this one had apparently been, had stopped him from doing nonverbal magic. If the burning pain in his legs and side were any indication, getting a hold of his wand was going to be a bitch. Gritting his teeth together, he started to his feet, tucking his arm tight against his stomach, and stumbled in the direction he'd left his clothing and wand, folded up and wedged tight between the crap old tool bench and cold masonry wall.
Only none of those things were there.
The room he was in was larger than the one he used for his transformations. There was a cluster of washers and dryers- was he in a laundry? Oh fuckssake, was this a laundry?- were set in the middle of the room. No, no windows, it couldn't have been a proper laundromat. It was some basement, someone's basement. He'd never seen it before. His brain struggled toward alertness, but sheer disbelief was making that difficult.
For the first time in a long time, Remus felt something like real, cold fear. He was injured, significantly, bleeding quite a lot. Wandless magic wasn't working and his wand was nowhere to be seen. He had no idea where he was.
Which meant he'd gotten out. How had he gotten out? How could the charms have failed? What if some of the blood on the floor- on him- wasn't his own?
“Ngh- no,” he said to himself, though it came out a rough, broken whisper. He turned, looking for an exit, and saw stairs leading up to a door. Unfamiliar stairs, and an unfamiliar door.
“Oh, please, no,” he whispered fervently, and lurched toward them, blood running to ice in his veins. He stumbled once, cracking his knee against the corner of a step, but pushed himself onward, and when he clumsily shouldered the door open, he fell onto a cold, plain floor. Not wood. Not his flat. Not even his building.
What had he done?
He'd made a mess of the floor.
With a rough sound he let his fingers hover over the deepest cut in his arm, and closed his eyes, willing the skin to knit, just enough where the bleeding would stop. Nothing happened. It had been a while since a transformation, even one as violent as this one had apparently been, had stopped him from doing nonverbal magic. If the burning pain in his legs and side were any indication, getting a hold of his wand was going to be a bitch. Gritting his teeth together, he started to his feet, tucking his arm tight against his stomach, and stumbled in the direction he'd left his clothing and wand, folded up and wedged tight between the crap old tool bench and cold masonry wall.
Only none of those things were there.
The room he was in was larger than the one he used for his transformations. There was a cluster of washers and dryers- was he in a laundry? Oh fuckssake, was this a laundry?- were set in the middle of the room. No, no windows, it couldn't have been a proper laundromat. It was some basement, someone's basement. He'd never seen it before. His brain struggled toward alertness, but sheer disbelief was making that difficult.
For the first time in a long time, Remus felt something like real, cold fear. He was injured, significantly, bleeding quite a lot. Wandless magic wasn't working and his wand was nowhere to be seen. He had no idea where he was.
Which meant he'd gotten out. How had he gotten out? How could the charms have failed? What if some of the blood on the floor- on him- wasn't his own?
“Ngh- no,” he said to himself, though it came out a rough, broken whisper. He turned, looking for an exit, and saw stairs leading up to a door. Unfamiliar stairs, and an unfamiliar door.
“Oh, please, no,” he whispered fervently, and lurched toward them, blood running to ice in his veins. He stumbled once, cracking his knee against the corner of a step, but pushed himself onward, and when he clumsily shouldered the door open, he fell onto a cold, plain floor. Not wood. Not his flat. Not even his building.
What had he done?
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He wished he had any idea of how long he'd been there. He straightened a little and cleared his throat.
"Harry. Thank you."
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Harry had also taken his time in hopes that Remus and Sirius would... be normal again. It was obvious to Harry, watching them from the doorway for all of twenty seconds, that they hadn't quite gotten there yet.
"You're welcome," he said. "I think they should fit."
He moved forward to hand the clothes over to Remus and strongly considered leaving them to it again.
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"I've done a poor job of filling him in, I'm afraid," he says, and pulls out a cigarette that trembles finely between his fingers, belying his casual tone. "It's got a bit close in here, I'm going out for a smoke."
He perches the cigarette between his lips, thinks better of it and pulls it free again so that he can lean in and drop a kiss to Remus' forehead. "You're gorgeous, stop sulking. I'll bring you some tea on my way back."
He turns then and marches out, pausing only to give Harry's arm a squeeze as he passes.
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He was shaking a little, and needed to stop. Harry was still there. After a moment of digging his fingertips against his scalp, he dropped his hands and straightened up, lifting the shirt and soft cotton trousers from his lap. He looked at Harry, took in the build and the hair. Sirius was right. He was the spitting image of his father. But there were things in his manner, in the way expressions formed and moved on his features, that reminded him powerfully of Lily.
And there was the scar.
He offered the young man a weak approximation of a smile. It was a bit grim, all told.
"I'm afraid I've made a terrible first impression."
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As he left, Harry glanced up to see Lupin shaking, just a little, and he realized that all that didn't matter. They had done so much for him -- died for him -- that a little, or even a lot, of uncomfortableness was a small price to pay.
But Merlin's saggy y-fronts, why did everything have to be so complicated?
He gave Remus a slight, thin smile and shook his head.
"No," he said. "Not to... sound weird or startle you, but this isn't the first time we've met. This isn't my first impression of you. And even if it were, it's not that bad."
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He couldn't find it in him to have an actual opinion on the matter, except that it didn't seem very likely.
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"You were the best one we ever had." Which said a lot about the other teachers as well as about Lupin.
Harry paused, his thin smile growing into something warmer.
"First time I met you, you saved me from a Dementor. That makes for an excellent first impression."
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"What? What the f- on earth was a Dementor doing anywhere near you?" he asked.
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"Sirius Black had just escaped from Azkaban," he explained quietly. "The idiots at the Ministry thought he'd be after me. I guess they had reason to, but they're still idiots and they sent a whole bunch of them to Hogwarts. To guard the school."
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"...What timing," he said eventually. He looked at Harry, eyebrows drawing faintly together, then realized he must look awfully disapproving, which wasn't his intent at all.
"The last time I saw you, you kept grabbing my nose."
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Harry smiled wryly and shrugged. "I ended up Seeker for Gryffindor House. Guess I was just showing my instincts early."
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"How long have you been here?"
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Afraid of what the next question might be -- When did you come from? and all the rest about Harry's life -- Harry carried on quickly.
"There's a lot of people here that you don't know that know you. They're.. going to be excited to see you. ...Sorry." It was nice to be missed and wanted, but when it came from people you didn't know, it was uncomfortable.
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"Really?" he mumbled, looking a little pained at the thought.
"People from home?"
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"My friends-- Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna-- we all had you as a teacher and... after." Harry had learned his lesson somewhat. He wouldn't be telling Lupin anything about the war, the return of Voldemort and Harry's place in all of it for a while yet, unless it became lying not to tell him. He wouldn't be able to keep himself from telling Remus his fate, and the fate of his son, and that had been a terrible shock when Harry had told the previous him.
There was enough confusion in dealing with the previous hims.
"Draco Malfoy, too. He was at Hogwarts with us. Bill Weasley's here, Mr. and-- Molly and Arthur Weasley's oldest son. He knows you. Oh, and--"
His voice dropped to a resigned, sullen mumble.
"Snape."
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"Severus," he said, blinking in surprise.
"...has been trapped here with Sirius and neither's managed to kill the other? How alarming."
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"And Sirius has gotten better, I think. Snape keeps to himself."
As he glanced anxiously to the doorway, hoping to see Sirius, Harry's face took on a slightly pained expression.
"There's something else even more alarming," he said. "If you're not tired of all this yet."
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"Go on, Harry," he said, barely managing to bite back a sigh, gaze attentive and focused.
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"You were here before," he said. "Another version of you, I mean. ..Two of you, I think, because one of you founded the school here. That happens. People disappear and appear... They never remember anything that happened on the island. No one should hold it against you. It happens too often. I don't know how many friends you-- they had."
He paused, looking slightly uncomfortable. "But at the very least, a lot of people will know your name."
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"....wonderful," he said.
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"There's people here you might recognize, too," he continued. "Not from home but from books and films." Like us, he thought.
"I don't know any myself. I never read a lot of books or watched films or telly. But they're out there so.. know that they're real. A lot of people have a lot of impossible sounding stories, but they really did live it."
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"Harry, last night I transformed into a werewolf in the basement of a building in London. This morning I woke up here, to... this. To you. To my dear friends' son all grown up when you shouldn't be more than six, by my count. I think I'm more or less ready to take anyone else's story at face value."
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"I know. There's just a lot of strange stuff around here," he explained. "I don't want to you to get blindsided because I assume you'll know what to do."
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"Thank you," he said, gaze slipping down and distant.
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