Disclaimer: J.K Rowling and her minions own Harry Potter--I don't. If I did, Remus Lupin would never have died. And while I want to kick her in the shins for killing off Remus, I do thank Ms Rowling for her forbearance in letting me play with her literary characters.

Author's Note: Love and thanks of all kinds to badmum for her support, beta-skills and Brit-picking. Love and adoration to remuslives23 for reading my stuff over and over until she's sick of it--and for always making me reach higher and dig deeper and write better!

Wind-borne pellets of icy rain stung his face when he turned the corner and he clutched at the hood of his cloak, trying to shield himself from the worst of it.

He cursed inwardly for the twentieth time since he'd left his flat that he'd had to come out in this miserable weather, but, even more so that he'd agreed to this meeting in the first place. What did he hope to accomplish? Nothing, really. Everything that could be said had been said. The worst had already been done.

The golden light spilling from the pub's large window was like a beacon of comfort, but the young man saw no one else as he hurried toward the building.

As he reached for the door handle, the first memory rose from the shallow grave in which he'd hastily buried it:

"You know we won't be able to do this as often once you're married, Prongs."

"Merlin, Padfoot! You make it sound as if I'm dying!"

"It's about as fun as death. Lily will make you stay home all the time..."

"Moony, talk some bloody sense into him!"

As soon as he had agreed to meet here, he had known it was a bad idea, but he hadn't been able to find Moody again to reschedule. He'd had a good dose of Firewhiskey before he'd left the flat, trying to stiffen his spine and bolster his courage—and to try to prevent those ghosts from rising.

"Should have had the entire bloody bottle," he mumbled as he pushed the door open.

The pub was more crowded than he had expected. The wall of heat, sound, and the various scents assailed him as he closed the door behind him and he winced slightly, remembering that he and his friends had once been part of this:

"Come on, Moony! You're not going to let a Ravenclaw outdrink you, are you?"

"Pa'foot, I don' know 'f I c'n—"

"Yes, you can! One more! That's it—just one more!"

"C'mon, Remus! It's ten Galleons, for Merlin's sake!"

"Listen to Wormtail. Just one more..."

He pushed his hood back and, after running his fingers quickly through his prematurely greying hair, started to unfasten the clasp of his cloak.

It was then he heard the first whisper, coming from a table to his left: "That's Lupin."

"Haven't seen him here since —"

"—Ministry said he had nothing to do with it..."

He spotted Moody at a table at the far end of the room and groaned. Of course Moody would choose to have his back to the wall and no one behind him. But did it have to be that table?

The whispers followed him through the room like a breeze flitting through leaves:

"— Black, but the Ministry didn't —"

"— He was a good friend of theirs, and –"

"— found Pettigrew first —"

He could have sworn he saw Peter out of the corner of his eye, but he resisted the urge to look. Every time he looked to find one of his friends, they were never there.

Moody's magical eye was whirling madly in its socket and Remus found himself slightly nauseated by its gyrations. He focused on the man's other eye as he sat down and asked, "What's so important that you had to see me tonight?"

The Auror snorted. "Full moon's coming on, is it?"

"I'm frozen through, I'm tired, and I've just lost my job," Remus snarled. "Not every bad mood of mine revolves around the bloody damned moon."

Moody picked up his bottle of Butterbeer and tipped it in salute toward Remus. "My apologies, Lupin."

"Sorry, Moony. I didn't think he was going to try to hex me."

"You were flirting with his fiancée, Sirius! What else could you expect?"

Remus shook his head. "Doesn't matter." He took a deep breath and tried again. "Why did you need to see me?"

Moody suddenly glared at someone over Remus' left shoulder and the younger man glanced back. One of the pub's patrons ducked his head hurriedly, but not before Remus saw the suspicion in the man's eyes.

He cursed under his breath and Moody raised an eyebrow at his choice of words. "I thought you lot were regulars here," the grizzled man said.

"We were." The Auror was smart, Remus thought. Let him figure it out.

Moody sipped thoughtfully at his Butterbeer and his magical eye stilled as he looked Remus over appraisingly. "Do you get this reaction everywhere you go?"

Remus shrugged. His fingers traced an entangled 'J' and 'L' that had been carved into the side of the table.

The older man harrumphed and banged the bottle down on the table. "Guilt by association. Bastards don't stop to think that you could have been dead instead of Pettigrew."

It was all he could do to keep from reaching across the table and strangling Moody. Instead, he hunched his shoulders and tightly entwined his fingers until he feared his knuckles would break.

"They'll get over it, you know," Moody said, surprising Remus with a gruffness that was unusually gentle. "They'll forget."

"Forget that my best friends were James Potter and Peter Pettigrew? And that my other best friend, Sirius Black, killed them both? And that I was suspected to be in collusion with him?" There was a hint of hysteria clinging to Remus' dry chuckle. "Yes, I can see where they'd forget that."

"Oh, gods. I can't believe Regulus is dead."

"Here, Padfoot. Drink this."

"I should have tried harder. I should have —"

"You can't second-guess yourself, Sirius."

"But he was my brother! How will I ever forget that I let him down?"

"Keep drinking, Padfoot. Keep drinking..."

Moody looked uncomfortable at the younger man's sudden reverie, which made Remus want to laugh even harder. The Auror was never uncomfortable, never unsure of himself. That he seemed to be now, at this moment, was laughable.

"Do you want to go somewhere else?" the older man asked. "The Leaky Cauldron, maybe?"

"Gods, it's worse there than it is here," Remus said, the volume of his voice rising slightly. "They just see a murderer's accomplice, not another victim."

He was satisfied to see that the people at the two tables on either side of them seemed to freeze with shock.

"Someplace Muggle?" Moody suggested.

"Don't you know any Muggle drinking games, Moony?"

"Sorry, Padfoot. My drinking seems to be limited to be wherever you and James happen to drag me. And whatever drinking we've done in Muggle bars has never involved any games."

"Then we've been severely limiting you."

"I'll drink to that."

"You'll drink to anything."

"So, you've made me into a drunken lush."

"One of my greatest accomplishments..."

"Lupin?"

He shook his head to clear it. "Can we just discuss why I'm here?"

Moody reached into his pocket and pushed a piece of parchment across the table.

Remus stared at it for a long minute and then at the Auror. "What is it?"

"Well, it's not going to bite you."

Remus picked it up and began to unfold it. Familiar handwriting made him stop and drop the parchment as if it had burned his fingers. Uncertainty and fear set fire to his lungs, stealing the breath from his body and searing his heart.

"Recognise the writing, do you?"

Remus dropped his hands into his lap, refusing to reach for the parchment. "What does he want with me?"

"Read it and find out."

"Does he offer an explanation? Does he apologise?" Remus demanded, his anger rising.

"Lupin, calm yourself."

Remus slapped his hand onto the parchment and shoved it viciously back toward the Auror. "I'm not reading it. If you want me to know what it says, tell me."

Moody's hand went back into his pocket and pulled out a key on a simple metal ring. It dangled from his fingers, catching the light with a nearly hypnotising effect. Remus stared at it with trepidation. He knew that key.

"Where the hell's my key?"

"Isn't it in your pocket?"

"No! Where did it go?"

"Gods, Padfoot, how did you lose your key?"

"It must have been when you hit me with that damned Levicorpus!"

"Which you deserved..."

"His things need to be packed up."

"And he expects me to do it?"

Moody motioned to the letter. "He explains."

"He explains? How in the bloody hell can he possibly explain?" Not only was the volume of his voice rising, so was the pitch.

"Just read the bloody letter, Lupin."

It was a wonder that the parchment didn't rip as Remus opened it and forced himself to take in the words written in that angular, sharp script that he knew as well as his own.

"Remus: I don't expect you to understand if only because I don't fully understand it myself. Things aren't what they seem, though. I made a horrible mistake in judgment and I don't blame you if you never forgive me. What's mine is now yours. Save the pictures for Harry, though. Sirius."

Astonished, Remus read the missive through once more. He was starting through it a third time when he realised Moody was speaking to him.

"He also sent a letter to the Aurors saying that, while he knows his opinion means very little, you had nothing to do with anything that happened on that night."

Remus raised his eyes to meet the Auror's. "That was nothing that three days of interrogation couldn't settle."

Moody actually looked unhappy at the memory of the part that he himself had played in Remus' questioning. "No one knew what to think in those days following the Potters' deaths. You can't blame us for wanting to make sure that everyone who needed to be punished was found."

"Of course not." Remus' voice was silkily smooth and deceptively calm.

Moody's eyebrows lowered and he glared at the younger man. "You think I wanted to be there for that? You think I wanted to do that to you?"

"Yes!" Remus hissed. "Did you think I couldn't sense your anger and your suspicions before they died? Did you think I didn't feel how shocked you were when I said I didn't know what he was planning—even after you overdosed me with Veritaserum? Oh, yes, you most definitely wanted to break me down into little pieces to find out just how guilty I was. And don't bloody tell me you didn't." He took a deep breath and then snarled, "Are we done here?"

Moody blinked, caught off-guard by Remus' question. "I suppose we are," he said gruffly. He tossed the key so that it landed on the table in front of the younger man. "If you find anything that would help our case..."

"Does it matter? He's not getting a trial anyhow," Remus pointed out.

"We can't take a chance on some bloody lawyer getting him off on a technicality," Moody countered. "Would you want that?"

"Why don't you want to tell us what you're doing?"

"I can't, James. Dumbledore made me promise to keep this to myself."

"Bugger Dumbledore. Padfoot and I are really worried about you."

"I'm fine."

"We're not going to have to try to break you out of Azkaban, are we?"

Remus drew in a shuddering breath. "No." He regarded the key with loathing. "Isn't there anyone else to do this?"

"He asked for you. But if you want the Aurors to do it, we will."

A sense of unexpected indignation rose up within Remus. The thought of the Aurors—bloody bastards—pawing through Sirius' things, touching things that he'd — the bloody bastard — treasured, touching gifts that the Marauders had given him when they had cared for one another...

"Fine. I'll do it," he snapped.

Moody seemed to hesitate for a moment before admitting, "The Aurors have already been through the flat a couple of times, looking for clues."

"And I don't suppose they thought to clean up, did they?"

"It's not that bad, Lupin."

"It's not that bad, Moony."

"We're losing. Y' know tha' we are."

"Humping Hippogriffs! How many has he had to drink?"

"Too damn many, obviously. Moony, where's your Gryffindor-ness?"

"Tha's not even a word, Pa'foot."

"If you find anything, though, something that we missed, you'll let us know, right?"

Remus stood up and shoved the key in his pocket, and his eyes went to the black scorch mark in front of where Peter used to sit. "Another nail for his coffin," he mumbled.

"Another bar for his cell," Moody corrected. "Wait a minute, because I've got something else for you," he said, reaching into his pocket.

"What? A vial of silver nitrate?" Remus didn't bother to hide his bitterness or sarcasm anymore. There was too much anger and depression festering within him to bother with trying to be nice.

"No." Moody had apparently realised there was no point in calling him on his attitude or trying to ease him out of it. "I got this from the Minister today."

'This' was a small scroll with a wax seal embossed with the Minister's official stamp. Remus cocked his head slightly to the side as he looked at it, but made no attempt to take it from Moody's hand.

"What is it?"

"You know, Lupin, I'm not in the habit of reading other people's letters... Do you question the bloody owls that bring you your mail?"

"I don't get any letters from anyone anymore," Remus snapped, "seeing that all my former friends are either dead or in Azkaban."

The people sitting at the table to his left suddenly got up and scurried away.

Moody tossed the scroll down on the table. "It's your official pardon. The Minister thought he should make it clear that you have been cleared completely."

Fury rose from Remus' belly along with bile, burning his throat. "A pardon implies I've done something wrong and they're forgiving me," he protested loudly. "What about a bloody apology for the three days of hell that they put me through? What about an apology for the overdose of Veritaserum?" He leaned closer and extended his arms so that his sleeves slid up his wrists, revealing ropey, pink scars. "What about an apology for the silver?" he hissed.

"Damn it, Lupin!" Fire blazed in Moody's eyes.

"Keep your bloody pardon," Remus growled. "It's not going to change what I already know and it's sure as hell not going to change what everybody thinks they know about me."

He pivoted and walked out of the building, his long strides helping him to get out of the building before Moody could form a sentence to stop him.

The freezing rain was still falling and the shock of it made him gasp. The heat from the pub and his anger melted away almost instantly, leaving the depression and despondency that seemed to be the only thing left to him these days.

He began to walk in the direction of his flat, not bothering to pull the hood of his cloak over his head.

"Where do you want to go now?"

"Padfoot, we've closed the pubs down. It's time to go home."

"But I'm not ready to go home yet!"

"Stop whining, Sirius."

"You're no fun, Moony. Prongs, where —"

"I've got a redhead at home waiting for me, Padfoot. I'm done."

"Gah! What has happened to you two? I expected Prongs' marriage to kill his sense of fun, but damn it, Moony, you're letting me down!"

Remus halted and, suddenly weak-kneed, braced himself against the nearest building with a shaking hand. "You let me down, too, Sirius," he whispered into the darkness.

Only the sound of icy pellets skittering across the pavement answered him.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Won't you let me know if you did? (If you tell me you didn't, it'll only serve to depress me--and isn't there enough sadness in the world?)