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Remus woke up in the woods, laying on his back in the brush. He sat up, and felt the stretch of raw flesh on the side of his neck. He winced and gingerly moved to inspect the rest of himself. He had a good deal of scrapes and scratches and a couple large bruises all along his side, places he wasn’t sure how he could’ve reached to have done it to himself. Something must’ve been fighting with him… He closed his eyes, trying to speed up the memories… but they didn’t come. He looked around himself, at the trees and fallen leaves that he was surrounded by, and he ddn’t recognize a thing. Of course, a forest is a forest and pretty much all looks the same. He had to figure out where he was.

He pushed himself up from the ground and walked gingerly a little way from where he’d woken up, listening for something, anything, that might indicate where he was. He pulled his wand out and lay it across his palm. “Point me,” he commanded, and the wand spun about in his hand until it pointed true north - directly in front of him. He hesitated. Having that information was great and all, except he had no idea if Hogwarts was to his north, south, east, or west from where he was, so it was sort of useless.

Finally, he just picked a direction and started walking. What else was he supposed to do? But he carefully stayed going in one direction - West - so that if he had to he could turn around and go back to where he’d started. At least in theory.

As he walked, he tried to reason out how he could possibly have gotten out there, to the middle of the woods. He’d been in the Shrieking Shack. He remembered sitting on the couch after Lily had left and drawing for a few minutes… he’d been working on a picture of a flying motorbike with Sirius riding upon it. It was intended to be a part of Sirius’s birthday present, since he liked Remus’s drawings and the idea of flying motorbikes so much… but he couldn’t remember anything after the transformation - he just knew he’d been alone in the Shrieking Shack.

How had he ended up outside?

He walked and walked and started getting thirsty and feeling more lost than before. He did an aquamenti charm and sipped the water flowing from his wand tip like he was drinking from a fountain. He decided to turn back East and try that direction… but as he walked and walked, he couldn’t figure out when he’d reached where he’d started and begun going more east than he’d been before and he started feeling a bit sick to his stomach because he couldn’t think of a single spell that could help him get to Hogwarts.

For the sheer desperation of it, he tried, “Accio Dumbledore.” But of course nothing happened.

Finally, Remus sat down on a log hopelessly, remembering the thing that his mum used to say when he was little. If you’re lost, stay in one place so that anyone who is trying to find you can find you. So he sat and he waited.

It seemed like hours later when there indeed did come a sound from among the trees…

Remus…

He looked around, but he couldn’t see anybody in the trees. The voice had been high and low at exactly the same time… a chilling sort of voice. Not the sort of voice one wants to hear when they’re alone and lost in the woods at all.

Remus…

He drew his wand, clutching it in his hand tightly.

“Who’s there?” he called out into the trees, “Who is it? Show yourself.”

But there was no response, no answer, no movement. Why did the voice know his name? Who was it? Could it be the Slytherins playing a joke? He wished so very fiercely that Sirius was there. If only he hadn’t told him to go to that stupid Halloween feast, he wouldn’t be in this stupid situation, he wouldn’t be lost, he wouldn’t be alone, he wouldn’t be facing some mysterious, horrible voice in the midst of the woods.

Suddenly there was a cracking, crunching - footsteps among the trees, breaking the bracken, - and Remus felt a terrific jolt of fear as it neared. He aimed the wand in the direction it was coming from… and then from among the trees… the last person in the would have ever expected… the milky-eyed Professor Mopsus, swaying his cane back and forth over the fallen leaves and twigs that lined the ground. The old man came to a stop just a few feet away from Remus, resting both palms across the top of his cane.

Remus stared in disbelief at the old man and lowered his wand slowly. “Professor,” he said.

“Remus Lupin,” Mopsus replied.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, confused.

“I’ve come to fetch you,” Mopsus replied. “Are you not lost?”

Remus said, “Well, I am, but… I mean, i didn’t expect… of all the people to be looking for me…” What he meant was why the bloody hell would Dumbledore send a blind guy to come find me?

“Because Mopsus sees all,” Mopsus murmured. “I have come of my own accord to find you.”

Remus stared at the old man, a funny sort of feeling coming over him, and for some reason that he could not explain, he felt as though he should run away… as fast as he could… in any direction. His muscles tightened as he resisted the urge.

Mopsus held out his hand. “Come.”

Remus had to force his legs to move… to carry him closer to the old seer. His stomach twisted inside of him as he held out a shaking hand. The old man’s hand closed around Remus’s forearm the moment he was close enough and disapparated with a CRACK and a twist that felt to Remus as though he were being gutted, or like his innards were being tied into a great thick knot and pulled tight, squeezing, and then they were on the edge of the grounds of Hogwarts.

He’d never been so bloody relieved to see that castle in all of his life.

Mopsus waved his wand and a large, elegant swan erupted from the tip of it, as milky white as the old man’s eyes, and the swan seemed to hover there before them. Remus stared up at it in awe. “Go to Dumbledore,” Mopsus said lowly, “And tell him the boy is at the house.” And he waved it off and the swan swept across the grounds, blurring until it’d become nothing but a wisp of smoke that swept toward the spire that Dumbledore’s office was in.

Mopsus leaned against his cane and though his eyes were blank, Remus got the feeling he was staring at him. He hesitated. “Sir?”

“Breathe deeply, boy,” Mopsus commanded him, “Take in a moment of seeing… look around you, see the colors? Do you see the peacefulness?”

Remus glanced about, “Yeah. Are we going inside?”

Mopsus held out his hand, “No. I simply needed to send that patronus to Dumbledore.”

“Where are we going?” Remus asked.

Mopsus jerked his hand insistently.

Remus looked longingly at the castle. He much would’ve rathered to go inside and see Sirius and James and Peter and eat - he was so bloody hungry and weak. All the walking had really done him in… he felt like crying at the thought of not going inside to lay down. All he wanted in the world was rest… peace and rest.

Mopsus stepped forward and grabbed his arm without Remus offering it up and they disapparated again with a twist and a crack and there they were, on the lane out front of the Lupin house.

Remus saw the house, “No. Take me back to Hogwarts. I want to go back - I don’t want to see my father! He hates me, he’s going to say terrible things to me! I don’t want to see him!”

Mopsus’s voice was cold, “Good. For you won’t be seeing him.” And he reached for the gate latch and stepped through.

Remus stood still. “What do you mean I won’t be seeing him?” he asked, “Why did you say it like that?”

Mopsus waited, silent, staring at Remus expectantly.

“What do you mean I won’t be seeing him?” Remus demanded, his voice trembling over the words as a sinking, horrid feeling began to fill him up, as though foreboding were being poured into him like cold water into a cup.

There were two great cracks right beside him and suddenly Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster were there on the lane and the sinking feeling only deepened in Remus’s stomach at the sight of them. He shook his head, feeling a bit ambushed, and looked back at the blind seer holding open the gate, at the house and the dark windows and the stillness of it all.

“No,” he said, shaking his head, for suddenly just knew what he was about to be told and he ran for the door, falling against it as he opened it, going into the dark house… The pub wrappers had been completely cleared away, the house was spotless, too clean, cleaner than it had been since Hope Lupin had died. The living room smelled funny, the whole house did, for Lyall’s scent wasn’t on the air, and Remus ran through the living room to the kitchen, stopped, turned back, and went up the stairs, panicked. He pushed open his parents bedroom door, but it was as empty as the downstairs, the bed made and neat. “DAD!” he shouted, “DAD!” He ran back down the stairs and Dumbledore was at the bottom, catching him as Remus plowed into him, running full force. He slammed into Dumbledore’s arm and Dumbledore caught him up, pulling him close to his chest… Somehow the feeling of being hugged by Albus Dumbledore was enough to shatter Remus. “NO! NO!... NO HE’S NOT GONE… HE’S HERE! HE’S HERE SOMEWHERE, YOU’RE HIDING HIM, WHERE IS HE?”

Remus fought his way out of Dumbledore’s grasp, but he found that his knees were weak and he fell to the floor instead of running off, kneeling in the center of the living room. Professor McGonagall hurried over and she knelt down and held out her arms, inviting Remus into them. “Come here, Remus,” she said gently, “I’m so, so very sorry.” Her accent was so thick with emotion. Remus felt himself collapse into her and closed his eyes as his cheek pressed to her shoulder. She closed her arms around him, her palm pressed gently to his face, covering him, giving him the privacy to cry.

As the boy cried into her shoulder, she looked up at the two men before her. “Albus,” she hissed, “This is not how he was meant to find out. This was cruel.” McGonagall glared at Mopsus, “How dare you do this to him?”

Mopsus whispered, “It was the best way.”

“No.” McGonagall’s voice was stone cold. “He ought not to have been brought here until he knew. He ought to have had a moment to rest… it shouldn’t have been now, so soon after --” she stopped and she looked at Dumbledore. “Albus!” she implored him, “Albus! This isn’t what we discussed! Do you see this? Do you see what this man has done to this poor boy?”

Dumbledore’s mouth was a straight line. He stared at Mopsus with an expression of betrayal.

“Albus,” the seer said lowly, “Mopsus sees all.”

Suddenly, into McGonagall’s shoulder, Remus moaned, “I’m alone… I’m an orphan… Everyone’s… everyone’s dying around me… Everyone’s leaving me… Everyone I love is dying... I’m going to be alone… I’m going to be the only one left…”

McGonagall clutched Remus as protectively as a mother, stroking his hair and she bent forward and whispered, “I’m so verra sorry, Remus… so verra sorry…”

“I don’t want to be alone… please, I don’t want anyone else to die… Please...”

Dumbledore said, “Mopsus, you can go back to the castle, please. I’ll request a meeting with you to discuss what has happened here today, but for now, please leave us.”

The seer nodded, “As you wish…” and he turned, disapparating away.

Dumbledore stared at the spot where he’d been for a long moment, then turned to Remus and McGonagall. “Mr. Lupin, I need to speak with you about this.”

“Albus, the boy is heartbroken, let him cry a mo’,” McGonagall said thickly.

“He needs to know,” Dumbledore replied, and he held out a hand to Remus, “Come. This is important.”

Remus very hesitantly pulled away from McGonagall, who was equally hesitant to let him go, and he grabbed onto Dumbledore’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled up to his feet, shakily. Dumbledore led him to the kitchen and waved a hand so that one of the table chairs pulled out and Remus collapsed into it. Dumbledore flicked his wand and a platter appeared - one of the plates from the Hogwarts kitchens, laden with leftovers from the Halloween feast.

Remus had never felt less like eating.

“Eat,” Dumbledore commanded. “You need your strength.”

Remus reached out a shaking hand and picked up the fork that had appeared with the plate and took up a piece of carrot and bit into it reluctantly. He could barely taste it, as though his senses had been turned off. He chewed it and swallowed and felt it all the way down to his belly… then he put the fork down. He couldn’t imagine continuing on.

McGonagall stood behind him, her hands on his shoulders comfortingly. Dumbledore sighed, watching Remus stare at the plate numbly, his face streaked with tears, his eyes still dark from the effects of the full moon…

Dumbledore reached into his pocket, withdrawing a parchment.. “Remus, your father was struck by the killing curse yesterday evening.”

Remus closed his eyes. In his mind he could see the flash of green light… and he imagined his father spinning with the strike, imagined him falling… he could hear the thump in his mind… could see his body prone on the floor… he fought very, very hard not to start crying again at the horrible mental image the words were giving him.

Dumbledore’s words were gentle, “We do not know who killed him, but every auror the Ministry can afford is working on finding out who has done it. We have our suspicions… but there is nothing confirmed. Whoever it is left no evidence behind.”

Remus was still seeing flashes of the green light in his mind’s eye.

“Your father was in the living room when it happened,” Dumbledore continued, “And he… he was writing a letter… His last words, written… He died with his quill in his hand…”

Remus heard Dumbledore put the parchment down on the table before him, and Remus drew a deep breath, then opened his eyes. The parchment curled slightly from having been rolled in the pocket. Remus reached up to smooth it…

Neatly written at the top were the words Dear Remus…

Below that, in jagged, desperate letters… much larger than the neat part… as though they’d been scrawled in a mad rush… and the tail of the Y stretching away… scraping right off the page so that it was easy to imagine that the quill his father had died holding had drawn even as his father fell…

I’m Sorry.

Remus squeezed his eyes shut once more.