Terminus
Author's Notes:
This is a sequel to Charon's Train. It simply would not have existed without the help of mergle who isn't in the HP fandom but talked me through writing this story, line by line. She wields the Socratic method like a broadsword. rev02a performed surgical grade beta, then zapped this baby with those electric paddle thingies until it leapt up and gasped for air. forestrose, Brit-picker extraordinaire, coaxed it to stand on its own two feet. Without these wonderful people, there would be no story.
~R~
I had thought death would come as a relief, but it treats me as callously as life did and I cannot be surprised. There are waiting rooms at the gates of eternity and they smell of cigarette tar and empty crisp packets. I can sense the presence of others, and I am certain they are aware of me, but we are as shadows to one another, granted a certain privacy in our mutual shame of non-existence. Some leave on occasion and others arrive; they could be one and the same, but there seems no point in that. Unless that is the point, and hell for us is a never-ending parade of anticipation and disappointments. I wonder what sins brought the others here.
I know which sins I carry. We are old friends, my guilt and I, growing together and shaping each other. If only I hadn’t wandered out that moonlit night, if only I had noticed Sirius’ treachery, no - if only I had kept faith in him… I hadn’t even begun to make my peace with that mistake when I mucked things up even further. A forgotten potion goblet, a dead lover, a neglected wife, an orphaned son. My litany has lulled me to sleep many a night, passing through my mind like beads on a rosary.
An attendant beckons me and I wonder how I will be judged. Muggle eschatologists and magical theorists have written tomes on what awaits us after death, but it is generally accepted that out fates hinge upon our actions during life. What I find is unexpected. There is no field of judgment, no weighing of sins against a feather. There is a ticket counter where an agent stamps a paper and points me towards a train. On my seat in the train is a booklet titled “Your Options” and I snatch it up. The train begins to move.
~S~
The trains are running late today. I should be afraid for the living, waiting to hear the news he brings as much as I await him. But I have a one-track mind and this, heh heh, is a one-track platform. His train will come and he will be here.
Does my hair look alright? Does he expect flowers? Maybe I shouldn’t have told Prongs and Lils to stay away. Maybe I should have invited his parents. Oh shove it, what’s taking him so long?
It’s a rhetorical question. There is a battle going on. The bodies are rolling in like knuts off the presses, and there’s supposed to be a line at the entry station a mile long. Hope they’ve been offered tea. The attendants don’t usually think about things like that but it would be a nice gesture, something to take the edge off the trauma.
I look around for wildflowers to pick but, unlike Tonks’ platform, this one is floating in the middle of nowhere. Night cloaks the edges and I try to stay away from them. Bits of fog roll across the floor, sometimes reaching waist high. But the worst thing about it is the sterility, the lack of anything Remus might find comforting. What they suggest about Remus’ state of mind is unnerving - as if nothing could comfort him at this point. As if there’s nothing to keep him here...
~R~
The booklet lays out my choices: either remain in this strange Afterlife, or proceed to a state of Inexistence. I could eke out some kind of half-existence, spending eternity reminded of my failings every sensible moment. Or I could relinquish my burden, finally attain the peace that was denied to me in my lifetime. I make the obvious decision and, per instructions, I inform the Conductor.
I have become accustomed to powers changing their minds on a whim, so I should not be surprised by what transpires now. I am told that I must first speak to my Greeter, an acquaintance from my own life, before I commit to the everlasting sleep. The bureaucracy irks me but it is no worse than the Ministry’s convoluted rules, and I sigh in relief. One more hurdle to overcome before I may rest. I can do this much.
My relief lasts until the train pulls in to a dimly lit platform. Against the flare of a lamp I see a figure that has, in turns, given purpose to my days and haunted my sleep. All the joy and grief and guilt he has ever stirred in me come flooding back and I am numbed. This, then, is my final trial. I must face my deepest regrets before I move on. Death is crueler than its counterpart.
~S~
There is a whistle and a muffled churning, and eventually an engine arrives pulling a lonely carriage into the station. For long minutes it just stands there, and I want to bang the door down and pull out the Remus it maliciously holds hostage.
Then the door opens and he appears. Grey hair, grey cloak and grey lips. For a moment I think there is a mix up and they brought the corpse instead of the soul, idiots, but the grey creature steps slowly out onto the platform and hugs itself.
“M - Remus?” I ask stupidly, as if it could be someone else.
The figure looks up and nods, “Sirius.”
I don’t know what I expected. Maybe one of those film scenes about the soldier returned from the war front, where he leans out from the doorway and calls to his love, and then he dashes out of the carriage and they run to each other while violins swell, and he sweeps her into his arms and they gaze into each others eyes before their lips meet passionately. Something like that. Maybe Moony could be the girl, I dunno.
But he isn’t moving. Well, he’s rocking gently as if testing the ground and the bloody platform is creaking back at him. He’s communing with rotting planks of wood instead of looking at me. And for the first time, I am afraid I might lose him for good.
~R~
“They told me…they said I have to talk to you first,” I avoid Sirius’ stare. “I’m so tired Pads. I want to sleep.”
“C’mere. I’ll take you home and put you to bed. We can talk later if you…Moony?”
My knees have given way and I am on the cold ground, not sure how to make him understand. “I just want to sleep,” I try to explain, “And not wake up.”
He is kneeling in front of me. “No, you don’t know what you’re saying, love.” Sirius touches my shoulder for the first time in two years, and I flinch from him. He stiffens but keeps his hand where it is. I try not to feel it.
“There is so much death, Sirius. All I can smell is charred wands and burning skin. We are losing,” I explain desperately. How can Sirius expect me to stay and face this knowledge every day?
~S~
I’m pants at this sort of thing. James gives the good pep talks. Lily is all tea and sympathy. Even Reggie has a knack for telling the unvarnished truth without letting it sting. Me, I make inappropriate jokes until Lily sends me to get more biscuits. I need to persuade Remus that there is still a future, for the people he left living and for him, right here. Moony is a stubborn git, and I’m half convinced he’d get back on that train and fade out of existence just to prove a point. What made me think I could do this alone, with stakes this high?
“Even…even if our side loses the battle,” I try, “There will be other days to fight. The world will get all better. Soon, I swear it,” I rub his shoulder with my thumb. “And those who die will come here to the Afterlife and be safe. There’s no place safer, Moony!” He does not stir. I realize that reason won’t get through to him. He has been through so much that he cannot bear to remain aware long enough to heal. It is tempting, I know, to let go of the pain and rest unconscious forever. But then he’d be giving up the chance to be happy.
All I can think to do now is offer him comfort. “Come to me,” I coax. I put my arm around his waist and tug him into my lap. He leans against me stiffly but he doesn’t pull away and I hold him, gratefully.
“Prongsie’s here, and Lily, did you know? They live in a pretty little cottage close to me. I’ve got my own place; it can be ours if you like. It’s got a study with all your books in it already.,” I tell him. “Dorcas and Marley live the next town over, remember them? They run a kneazle circus!” I rack my brain for a laundry list of incentives for him. He can have an orchard of Elizabethan sonnets if that’s what floats his barge; he just has to want something. More than that insufferable capitalized Sleep.
~R~
Sirius offers me temptations to stay here, and they would be so much easier to resist without his scent invading my nostrils. What right have I to an idyllic retirement, to this, if our efforts fail and Voldemort is triumphant?
I lick my lips with my tongue. It leaves no moisture. “I left everyone and they say I can’t go back,” I try to explain. “Harry needs me and I left him and all the children, all the children. It’s all I had left to live for, and I’ve lived too long already. I’ve earned my rest. Let me be."
“No. No you don’t,” he flicks my cheek. “Wakey-wakey! French toast for breakfast, Moony….”
~S~
I’m desperate for a response, for any sign that Remus will stay with me. If he drifts away while his train still waits for him, I will lose him utterly. I cradle the back of his head with my free hand. He smells of ashes rather than parchment, blood instead of ink. A memory sears my vision, of the first time I held him like this. It was the morning following his first transformation after we learned he was a werewolf. The Beast had turned on him viciously that night; his anxiety over our discovery channeled into self-recrimination, and claw-marks had raked across his face. James and Pete and I had wrenched Remus’ little secret from him out of a clumsy sense of camaraderie, and this was the consequence. Three scars, one for each of us. I’d quietly claimed the one that almost took his eye.
But back then he was safe in the infirmary with Pomfrey and soon better, laughing and pranking and hopeful. This time there is just me, and a Remus who’s had the Mickey taken out of him by life. There is nothing else I know to do, so I press my lips against his forehead and murmur nonsense to him. Lullabies, quidditch stats, whatever it takes to keep him listening to my voice, to stay beside me.
~R~
I could drown myself in the comfort he offers me, if not for the nagging sense that I have to atone. My life has not been a blameless one and my sins, both the deliberate and the heedless, weigh on me. I will follow you, I think I hear him say, and I pull back to look at him.
“What?” he says. His smile is timid, like the first thaw of spring.
I hesitate. “You would…come with me?” The answer, either answer, would be terrifying, but I have to ask.
He blinks a few times, and looks like Dora does when she tells me I’m being a noble prat.
“Whither thou goest, love,” he tells me.
I cannot suppress a shudder. “Why?”
“Why?”
“I left you, Sirius.”
“Huh?” he blinks as if hit by a Confundus charm.
“I left you to rot for twelve years…should’ve known better but I did it anyway,” my mouth is dry, but I try to keep my voice steady… “When I got you back, I let them bury you alive in that house. And then you fell through the veil… and I didn’t try to find you… didn’t follow you. Three times I had the chance to save you, and I failed you time and again.”
“Arse,” he says, and looks dumbfounded. “Just…stupid arse.”
I bark a laugh and he looks disconcertingly pleased at the sound. Bending close he whispers, “I mean what I said.” His voice is intense, and his gaze so fierce I am unable to look away. “If you do decide to go for the big sleep, I’m going with you. I’m not leaving you alone again.”
Something shakes inside me, like a beached sea creature feeling the stir of the oncoming tide. I grab onto his hand to keep me grounded. There was a time when I fixated on his palm, its smooth surface defined by proud, determined creases. Mine always looked like wrinkled parchment in comparison and even James gave up trying to read it for his Divination homework. I tried to forget how perfect Sirius’ hands were, I almost succeeded, but familial resemblances tend to take one unprepared.
“My son has your finger nails,” I tell him.
He does not say anything, but his grip tightens on my shoulder. I am struck anew by his semblance to Dora, or is it hers to him? Both are aggressively cheerful when they try to raise my spirits, both give of themselves until they bleed. Both are stung by my affection for the other, and both try their utmost to hide it.
I wish I could love them both as much as they deserve, but I have always fallen short. Dora tried so hard to make me see the world wasn’t wilting that I almost believed her; let her persuade me that there would be an end to the madness, that it wasn’t yet time to abandon hope. I trusted her to lead me out of it, and when our son was born - Teddy with his perfect smile and his god-awful timing - I thought it was a sign that spring was coming.
I swore I would do it right this time, and true to form I’ve managed to let them down. My son is fatherless, and I hope against all reason that he is not motherless as well.
~S~
I am fixated on our twining fingers, our knuckles knotted against each other’s. “Teddy?” I finally manage.
I feel him nod. Things inside me sway off kilter. I thought I was fine when I saw Tonks. I’d hugged my little cousin, told her it was grand that she’d married the love of my life, and sent her on her way to greener pastures. Now I’m glad she isn’t here to hear me rail, How dare she? How dare she? She got to play house with him after knowing him for two years, made the whole thing all official when I’m the one…
But this isn’t about me, I remind myself. This is about Remus and, heck, his posthumous fate. And what right do I have to complain that he found some happiness after I went and got myself killed? What about his worries about leaving his son behind?
“Will you tell me about him?” I ask.
He nods shakily, “I will. Not yet. But I will.”
I feel relief that he is thinking in terms of “yet” and “will”. Surely that’s a good sign? When Remus lifts his hand to brush his cheek, I wrap my arms around him. He feels much the same, bony angles and skin as soft as worn flannel. There were parts of me that had been empty since the first time I lost him. Now the healing of my last two years, coupled with his presence, is mending the wounds that I’d forgotten I have. I just want to return the favour.
“Sirius?” he says softly.
“Mmhm?”
He hesitates. “I need to talk, about Dora.”
I try to nod reassuringly. “Go on,” I tell him, “you can tell me anything.”
When I say it, I know it to be true.
~R~
There is no sensible reason why I should be able to hear his heartbeat. He is as dead as I am, with no need for his blood to circulate or his cells to respire. Nonetheless, I am glad to find it against my ear while I wonder what to say to him.
“When you died,” I begin, and start laughing.
“Moony?...”
I cough, “Forgive me. This conversation is surreal.”
“It is,” he grins. “Take it at face value - Two dead people having a chat next to a mythical locomotive.” That is strangely reassuring. It makes my own salvation seems like a rather mundane possibility.
I begin, “When you fell… I was convinced that I no longer had a personal reason to live. There was Harry to look after. But the Weasleys were taking better care of him than I could, and he certainly didn’t need to see my grief.” I wonder how to phrase the next part. “Moody partnered me with Tonks, but she ended up having to look after me…”
Sirius snorts, and when I pause he manages to looks contrite and mischievous at once, “Sorry. I was remembering when Andi asked me to look after her when she was a demonic toddler. I hope you gave her her comeuppance.”
I cannot resist a smile, “I promise you, Pads, she did nothing to you compared to what I put her through.”
It is difficult to remember the precise details of those days. Every memory is awash in a stark metallic flavour, like silver drowned in cheap liquor. The only constant was Dora, Tonks then, badgering me to eat, yelling at me when I wouldn’t communicate, immobilizing me when I’d start howling and ripping down the curtains. Maybe Moody thought of it as some sort of intensive training session for her, managing an uncontrollable prisoner who needed to be made functional.
“I was…ineffectual…for a while, a liability when they needed me in top form. Tonks put in…she tried to bring me to my senses.” I shake my head, “I don’t know how it came about, but despite seeing me at my worst she…grew fond of me. I was desperate for companionship, and I think I encouraged her more than I should have.”
~S~
I’d often wondered how exactly Tonks seduced my boyfriend so soon after my little gymnastics act through the Veil. I knew, from what Ted told me, that Remus had been in bad shape and that Tonks was the only person who could get through to him. But an ugly part of me wondered if perhaps a vial of Amortentia had been involved. I guess I was avoiding the obvious explanation. Accepting that would mean thinking about Remus in pain, something I wasn’t prepared to do. I don’t know if I’m ready now. The thought of Remus’ suffering makes me want to howl, but I force myself to stay calm for his sake.
He continues his story, of how Dumbledore wanted him to infiltrate a werewolf pack, and Tonks threw a fit and said he wasn’t ready to go undercover. Moody overruled her and sent him out anyway.
“All those months I lived away from anyone I cared for, they were turning me into someone - something - that terrified me.” Remus’ voice is eerily toneless. “I realized then that…what distinguishes us from the Death Eaters is not some intrinsic goodness, but…the ability to see goodness in others, the ability to love and care for other people. And I was terribly close to losing that ability.”
I can’t listen to this, I want to tell him, I can’t deal with you having felt like that. But I need to. Maybe by listening I can take half his burden from him, shoulder my share for abandoning him to a life like that. I rock him gently, as if lulling him after a brutal transformation.
He continued, “By the time I got back, the world was going to hell. It made little sense to have a relationship, but it made no sense not to. We both…needed something - someone - to fight for. She’d already chosen me as hers. It was a feeble reason for getting married, the kind that only works during wartime, but it made things better.”
“You did love her?”
“As well as I was capable. Far less than she deserved for putting up with my sorry arse.”
“Remus,” I say into his hair, “She would tell you otherwise, I know.”
He scoffs, “Why are you defending me?”
“Because Tonks isn’t here to knock sense into you, and I promised her I’d look after you.”
He pulls away and looks at me sharply, “Where is she?”
“Um…” I say dumbly, “When they gave you that pamphlet on the train, did it say anything about reincarnation?”
“No, it only…Holy Mother of Mordred, she went back?”
I grin weakly at his disbelief, “Yeah, she said she hadn’t lived enough. Oh, and she said to give you her love.”
“Some days,” says Remus, pressing his brow, “Some days that woman makes no sense whatsoever.”
~R~
As if fearing for the life and safety of one infant weren’t enough, now I have Dora to worry about as well. Sirius, for some reason finds this inordinately funny.
“Remus, I think they’ll be alright. Andi is going to look after your son, and she’ll never let anyone hurt him. She’s like a mother dragon. As for Tonks, odds are she’ll be born into a Muggle family, far from any Death Eaters. Will her luck, the parents will be rock musicians who name her Space Cadet.”
“Sirius!” I beg him. “Stop making me laugh when I’m supposed to be doing penance.”
I brace myself for the innuendo that would customarily follow, but Sirius surprises me. “Penance for what, love?” he asks softly. “What have you done that you need to punish yourself for?”
“I have killed people…”
“They attacked you first!”
“…I betrayed the people I claimed to love…”
“It was never betrayal. You never tried to hurt anyone.”
“…I broke promises…”
“You did not.”
“Will you stop arguing like a child?”
“Will you stop wallowing in self-pity and look around you?”
Self-pity? I want to smack him for that. He’ll probably tell me I hit like a girl, the chauvinist git.
I try to answer him as calmly as I can, “Sirius, you dismiss the gravity of my mistakes when you call this self-pity.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not trying to be dismissive. I’m just trying to tell you that you’re punishing yourself for things you wouldn’t think of punishing others for. You forgave me for every horrid thing I ever did to you. Remus…”
His hands are on either side of my face and I am forced to meet his eyes. They are shining, almost green in the shifting light.
“…Moony, I just want you to hold yourself to the same standards that you hold others to. If anyone else - if I had done all you’re blaming yourself for, and I’ll bet I’ve done much the same, would you think I need punishment?”
Damn you, Padfoot, must you be so sensible every now and then?
“Fine,” I tell him, “I’ll stay for now. At least until Dora comes back and I can shout at her properly.”
“Hey! I’ll kick your arse if you yell at my cousin,” he says, pulling me back into a hug, “Even if she did shag you.” That deserves a retort but I’m too worn to say anything more. I bury my face, and my exhaustion, in his shoulder.
I’m staying here, I think to myself. Almost immediately, I hear giant wheels turn. The train is pulling away from the platform, leaving me behind. A part of me is still afraid, and wants the peace that last train ride would give me, but I hold on to Sirius and try to relax. The choice is made. Now I must make it the right one.
A moment later I feel Sirius pulling away. “Hey! This is your Safe Place, Moony?” I look up to see Sirius looking around us in delight.
Instead of a train platform, we are on the floor in a room with a crackling fireplace. The air smells rich and woody. The furnishings are worn, but they look comfortable and very familiar. Near us is a sturdy old four-poster, not decayed and termite-ridden as it was the last time we saw it, but freshly made as it was every month, once upon a time.
~S~
Moony does the slow half-smile that means he’s surprised and delighted by the aftermath of a perfectly executed prank. It’s the expression that first made me fall hard for him, back when we were more hormones than sense, and tragedy meant two straight weeks of separate detentions. I hope it means there’s still traces of that carefree boy in him, inasmuch as the word “carefree” every applied to Remus Lupin. If he’s in there, I’ll find him.
It’ll be easier if he loses that god-awful moustache. His fashion sense was clearly the first casualty of my jaunt in Azkaban.
“Sirius?” he says to me softly.
“Yes, Moony?”
“I think I’m in desperate need of a nap.” His eyes are half closed and his limbs are losing the tautness they’ve had since he arrived.
“D’you mean nap, nap? Or is this some kind of euphemism for the Eternal Sleep thing?”
“I mean nap. Temporary thing. So I can get up and worry properly tomorrow.”
I stick my tongue at him. Then, as long as it is out, I lick his ear.
“Ew! Down, boy!” he laughs, and I want to seize him and cry into his shoulder because it sounds so good. Instead, I help him to his feet and walk him to the bed. My favourite quilt is folded up at the foot. I unfold it, tuck it around him like a chrysalis, and squeeze in alongside him.
He looks at me for a minute. “Hello,” he says.
“Hello,” I say back.
“I’m scared. About Teddy, about the war…about this.”
I wrap my arms around his body and he does the same to me. Our noses are already touching.
“It’s okay to be scared,” I tell him. “I’m scared too.”
“Good,” he says, “I’m going to sleep now.”
“I’ll be here.”
His breath slows, and soon his eyes are doing the twitchy thing that means he’s dreaming. I slip my mind close to his. He’s dreaming of himself in wolf form, exploring a patch of sprouting toadstools in the Forbidden Forest. He senses me, walks over and sniffs my mind. Satisfied, he licks my muzzle, granting permission to join him. I jump into his dream, wagging my tail at his benediction. The smells are loud and pleasant, bursting with life. There is much to explore, and Moony is home.
