Harry Potter – Missing You

Title: Missing You
Author: Atra Materia
Fandom/Characters: Harry Potter – Remus; allusions to Sirius/Remus.
Rating/Warnings: 13+ – Light slashiness.
Summary: Remus reminisces.
Disclaimer: All content relating directly to Harry Potter, including but not limited to its characters, events, and places, is the property of its original creators.

They are alone, all of them, in their own way.

It is perhaps the most obvious with Harry – he is, after all, the Boy Who Lived (Several Times). His mother is dead, as is his father, and the Dursleys certainly cannot be considered any sort of real family. The staff at Hogwart’s – some of them – are fond of him, but they are just that – staff; teachers and groundskeepers and ghosts. He has his friends, to be sure; but they are latecomers to his life, and there is a rift between them carved by experiences the others have not had and cannot truly understand.

In stark contrast, there is Percy, who gave up his family of his own will. How alien a concept this must be for Harry, whose deepest desire is to know for a second what Percy could have had for a lifetime.

There is Hermione, the only witch in her family.

There is Draco, the little prince. Malfoy, Slytherin; his companions keep to him not for who he is, but what.

There is Severus, despised and mistrusted by all sides.

There is Someone, who Best Not Be Named, who brought it upon himself.

Then there is Remus.

He fancies, sometimes, that he might understand Harry better than anyone else, for he is surrounded himself with stigma and death. James is gone, and with him sweet Lily, and the Peter he knew as a boy… Well, that Peter is dead to him; replaced by a stranger with nine fingers and a naked tail.

And now without Sirius, he is the only one left. He is the Marauder That Lived, and he is alone. There is no one to comfort him now in his time of need; no one to sacrifice their shape and keep watch over him in his madness. There is only a man who hates him with every fiber of his being for what he is and was and might have done, who brings him the foulest of potions and pretends that he is at all concerned with Lupin’s well-being.

Bleeding and sore, he emerges from the roots of the Willow; the carpet of snow beyond its trunk left with brilliant, blotchy stains in his wake. The early-morning fall is heavy, and covers them swiftly with fresh pile. Soon, there will be nothing left to evidence his visit to the Shrieking Shack save the stories of new howls being passed from Muggle to Muggle, and even those may well be attributed to the storm by the more skeptical among them.

Wolfsbane may serve to defeat dementia, but it can do nothing for pain and grief, and the wolf knows but one way to express itself.

He is cautious as he crawls away, knowing that it will do him little good to be found skulking about the school without permission, now that he is no longer a resident. Dumbledore would understand, of course, but others would not, and he has no desire to fuel the rumours spread by serpent-tongues or feed the fires set under the Ministry by the Headmaster’s detractors. The students ought all be in bed at this hour, though, and most of the professors as well, and Filch no doubt has better people to harass. He makes for the forest, though he does not enter it; instead sticking close to the treeline for cover as he creeps away.

The holidays are coming. Below him, Hogsmeade twinkles invitingly. Hogwart’s will be emptying any day, and though he has not yet heard from Harry regarding the boy’s plans, he intends to go on and pick up a gift. If James’ son comes to Grimmauld Place, as he has been invited to do, Remus will be able to present it himself – and if not, he will simply have it sent. Either way, he plans to sign Sirius’ name to it as well. Sirius would have wanted it that way.

As he meanders into Hogsmeade, the cheer in the village streets envelopes him like a blast from an opened door with the hearth blazing inside. Those wizards who fail to recognize him all give him a bright smile and a warm greeting, and even some who remember him from his time at Hogwart’s offer him a nod, if nothing more. One young witch goes so far as to clasp his hand between both of hers, her eyes alight. “Professor Lupin,” she says, beaming at him. “It’s so good to see you again.”

Politely, he spends a moment making small talk with her. She was a student during his brief stint as a teacher, a sixth-year, and training now to become an Auror. He was the best instructor she ever had, no matter what anyone else may say about him. He smiles and nods and tells her how proud he is, then excuses himself. He is proud of her, and wishes her the best, but he finds himself unable to share in her happiness. As contagious as the emotion is in those surrounding him, he cannot seem to catch it. He cannot make himself feel. Something is missing.

Perhaps this was not the best day to go shopping. He is cold, and sore, and the hangover from the wolfsbane has not left him yet. The sparkle of shop windows and the voices of the carollers outside them seem fuzzy and far away. He turns to take his leave of the village, mumbling an apology to the portly wizard who stumbles over him on his way out of Gladrag’s.

As he wanders down High Street, he becomes lost – not in Hogsmeade, with its sensible layout, but in his mind. He imagines coming home to a warm house and the smell of holiday ham wafting through the door as he opens it; the lamps bright stars through the frosted windows to either side. He wipes off his boots and shakes the snow from his cloak before hanging it on the hook by the door, and steps inside. There is a tree in the corner, and packages beneath it; a fire in the hearth and who beside it but Harry, who glances up with a grin and gives Remus a wave as he heads for the kitchen.

There are strong arms around him before he even reaches it, and Sirius’ voice in his ear – “You’re home at last. I’ve been missing you.”

And then the village is behind him and the Shrieking Shack looms large in his eyes, and he is alone once more.

He stands for a moment beyond the rickety fence that protects the shack from the world – and the world from the shack – and simply gazes into the snow, the dark shape beyond. The storm has let up some, and the fat white flakes that swirl around him seem to glow softly as the sunlight strikes them. The haze over his eyes makes them take on strange shapes; wobbling rings, amorphous beasts, flickering ghosts.

Perhaps the Shack really is haunted.

Chill arms embrace him as the wind rushes by, and amidst the low howls, there comes from frozen lips a familiar whisper.

“I’ve been missing you.”

Author’s Notes: Inspired by Ponderosa’s fanart ‘Missing You’.

‘Missing’ was originally written pre-HBP, and is compliant with the canon Potterverse only through OotP. In it’s own universe, ‘Missing’ is set during a sixth year in which Lupin has continued living at Number Twelve Grimmaud Place.