The Marauders - Order of the Phoenix - Part Two

XXXVI: 6 January, 1994

Remus paced in his office, his palms sweaty and his tweed suitcoat jacket unbuttoned. He was limping - full moon only a few days away, but the wolfsbane was keeping him from being a complete mess of achy bones, and he was thankful for it. The last thing he wanted was to look old and lame tonight. Not tonight. 

But honestly the limp was the least of his worries.

He paused walking. "Expecto patronum!" he tried. Nothing.

"C'mon," he begged his wand, and he cleared his throat and tried at at again. "Expecto patronum!" 

Years ago, he'd been able to conjure a patronus with the flick of the wrist, not even a spoken word. They'd used them as communication back in the day, sending messages between the Order members, and he'd gotten very good at setting his patronus off. But things had changed since the days of the Order and these days it was harder to get the spell right, and even when he did the form of the wolf wasn't as crisp and detailed as it used to be. Once, the wolf that rushed about as his first line of defense had been so detailed it looked like an actual wolf made of pure white starlight... but now. Well. Now, he couldn't even get it to come off the wand. 

He grit his teeth. "C'mon, how am I supposed to teach the bleedin' spell to Harry if I can't even do it myself?" He took a deep breath, "Expecto patronum!" 

Thing was, and Remus knew it as good as he knew his own name, the happiest memories he had were linked irrevocably with the saddest ones, and the closer it was to a full moon... well, the harder it was for him to overcome those sadder memories to produce his patronus. He tried so many different memories but each one came with it's own heavy weight.

Remus tilted his head in frustration, cracking his neck loudly (all his bones were cracking it seemed), and releasing some of the tension that he'd built up. 

The closest he came to producing one came just before the clock struck eight, when he tried remembering the feeling of the surf on his feet and the soft beach sand of Costa Rica between his toes. The problem was that the memory of Costa Rica inevitably came attached to the memory of why he was there - of whose hand he had held, whose mouth he had been kissing... and kissing. Oh the kissing was what got him because the mere fact that had thought of kissing Sirius Black conjured thoughts of the most recent kiss - his palms pressed against the stone wall of his office and Sirius's body pressed against his spine, nose to his cheek... and the feeling of his kiss, when Remus had turned about to face him -- 

The smallest bit of smoke had fallen from his wand, like a spent chimney. It was pathetic, it had no corporeal form, but it was a start and Remus shivered as the thought dissipated and along with it the sad excuse of a patronus. 

A clock chimed and Remus realized he was late. "Blast!" he cursed and hastened to grab the box containing the boggart and set off down the corridor, headed forwards the History of Magic classroom..

It was five past when Remus arrived at the classroom, having gone as quick as he could through the castle to get there. He heaved the container onto the desk that Professor Binns haunted during school days, pausing to catch his breath as he busied himself with the packing case. Harry had already lit the lamps and the classroom glowed. Remus steeled himself for the feeling of shock that he always got in the pit of his stomach when he saw Harry - the shock of seeing James again.

"I am sorry that I'm late," Remus said, turning around to face Harry. 

The shock was no less this night. Harry had his school uniform still on, but the long day had made the hem of his shirt come untucked - something that, for Harry was an accident but for James was a fashion choice worked quite hard to achieve every morning. He had sudden flashes of James standing in front of the mirror stretching his arms up over his head trying to get the stupid thing to fall out of his trouser waistband in a natural way.