The Art of Losing
a Harry Potter story
by sharondownonthefarm
The Art of Losing
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster
-Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.Remus Lupin snapped shut the volume of poems and breathed deeply. Elizabeth Bishop always discomposed him - he wasn't sure why he kept reading her, except that this poem in particular resonated. He read it because it was what he'd read in grief last time, and reading might help to remember the things he had told himself the first time, when he'd thought Sirius betrayed him, and everyone he'd loved had died. He'd had practice here, with the art of losing. But he could no longer remember how it was that he'd found himself at the end of his grief. The irony of the poem that struck him now was different than when he'd turned to it for an obscure form of comfort before - disasters happen to whole people, who live in whole worlds. When you've shattered into fragments, there's nothing another loss can take away. Oh, Remus had rebuilt, and the fragments, he shored (remembering Eliot, another favorite poet) against his ruin, but how and why and what to do when all was again broken was beyond him now.
Now, Remus thought, he wasn't so certain that there was anything left to build with. Oh, he would never again consider suicide. He had to live to fight for the Order, to be the last link between Harry and his parents, to remember Sirius. But now he had lost realms, continents, safety, love, home, everything for which he had lived and hoped, and he felt too old and tired to pursue those things again alone. He could go on without Sirius, but what a bleak continuance it seemed. The truth that the speaker of the poem is right washed over him. It was true, he reflected, he had become the master of loss, and there would be no further disasters, for he had nothing more to sacrifice. He might have hoped to die in the struggle, except that he feared to the depths of him that whatever heaven might be, it was not a place that welcomed werewolves. Hell, he suspected, was something like this.
The fit of melancholy was broken by a sudden, unexpected sneeze. He'd been sniffling all day, and he suspected (not for the first time) that he was taking ill again. He rubbed wearily at his nose with the back of his hand and rose. He was tired from the previous night's transformation, but recovered enough to stand painfully and do magic. His own mother's pocket watch was pulled from the depths of his worn robe, glanced at, and, with a shake of his head, Lupin apparated away from his cottage and back towards Hogwarts and the call of duty.
It was Hagrid who undid him. Remus was quietly shocked by that fact, not so much that he had finally broken down, but that it was Hagrid's generosity and gentle kindness that brought him to weeping. He had had ample opportunity for grief, but none of the others had engendered this stunning depth of response in him. Not Nymphadora or even Harry raging at him, both of whom had left him white and shaking. Not the letter he treasured from Hermione; the girl who knew everything had known too, as her friends had not, that he and Sirius were lovers. She had moved him deeply with her delicately worded and infinitely kind letter of condolence. Not Molly Weasley's apologetic gentleness or Minerva McGonagall's poorly restrained tears. Not even (although it was a near thing) Dumbledore, who had come to him with guilt on his aged face, and apologized (apologized!) to Remus for his failure to protect Sirius. No, it was not until Hagrid showed Remus his latest secret that Lupin broke.
When he'd initially proposed to Dumbledore that in order to keep the children and staff safe, it would be wisest for him to apparate back to Cornwall for each of his transformations, the headmaster had been reluctant. The cottage was nowhere near as safe as Hogwarts, and it was very public knowledge now that Remus Lupin, werewolf, was a member of the Order of the Pheonix. But Remus had insisted, demanding that either Dumbledore provide unbreakable chains for him and a magicked room in the dungeon, or that he be permitted to return home. He would not risk endangering anyone else ever again, and he made it a condition of taking the Dark Arts job.
He had assumed that he would quietly walk to Hogsmeade, apparate, and do the same on the way back. That first month, he had apparated in, and begun to limp back towards the castle, when he'd been hailed by Hagrid's enthusiastic voice. Dumbledore had deputized the groundskeeper to bring Remus back to school each month in the carriage, and Lupin had been quietly grateful to be spared the lengthy walk. This night was no different, Hagrid was waiting for him with one of Hogwarts' smaller carriages, pulled by a single Thestral.
"Ah, Perfesser! I'm glad ter see yeh!" Hagrid was unfailingly kind and concerned for him. "There'd be no rush tonight, dinner's already bin served, so if you'd like to have a nip o something at Rosmerta's, we've got time.
Hagrid made this offer unfailingly each month, and Remus had always declined, too tired from the transformation to accept. But the other man seemed genuinely disappointed when he refused, and on this night, Lupin was less inclined to be alone than in the past. A drink, something to cloud his constant memory and encourage a nightmare-free sleep, sounded extremely pleasant. He smiled at Hagrid and nodded, and followed the much larger man toward the Three Broomsticks.
The first drink turned to several, and in the warmth and light of the tavern Lupin felt no particular desire for restraint. He had held himself together so tightly for so long that by the third drink, weight simply seemed to be falling off of him. Hagrid told jokes and flirted with Rosmerta, clapped him on the back and talked about the heroism of the first war and about how fine a young man Harry was turning to. Several times it seemed that Hagrid wanted to say something in particular to him, but he always changed the subject and bought another round.
It was closing when they staggered out into the street, and Lupin realized he was well and truly drunk. It felt wonderful, as though he was free of pain for the first time in a thousand years. He could feel his head thickening both with drink and the cold he was developing, but he didn't care. He could feel the aching of his joints and imagine the pain he would be in tomorrow, since exertion and excess the day after the moon were always paid for hundred-fold, but he didn't care. In the haze of alcohol, with Hagrid's good company, life seemed bearable again for the first time since Sirius died. He didn't notice until they were barely there that the thestral was taking them not to the castle, but to Hagrid's cottage.
"I've something I think you ought to er, see." Hagrid looked rather nervous, under the boozey cheerfullness.
"Then lead on, Hagrid." Remus attempted an expansive wave, which made him slightly queasy. He was not a good drinker, never had been, and could feel the beginning of the end of his drunken sense of well- being.
Hagrid took him out to the shed behind his cottage, and pulled the doors open. And there was Sirius's motorcycle, the leather jacket he used to wear hanging on the handlebars.
"I didn't know what to do with it after Sirius gave it t'me. I used it to bring Harry to Dumbledore, after James and Lily died, when Sirius went looking fer that rat Pettigrew. For a long time I didn't want to look at it, bein' what we thought he done...but after I knew he wuz innocent, I started to fix it up a bit. I thought that I'd give it to him once he got out o'Headquarters. He loved that bike, you know, and I knew just a little about what it was like in Azkaban for him since I was there meself. I figgered that if Sirius could get out with the wind in his hair a bit...he'd be a bit more chipper.
Hagrid trailed off, seemingly embarassed. Remus simply stared at the bike, at his...their past. He'd never liked flying on the thing, but he used to ride with Sirius for the sheer joy of watching the other man's face. And the jacket. Mesmerized, he ran his hand over it. If only Sirius had known it was here, that this was waiting for him on the other side of survival...
"I know that Sirius left everything to Harry, but I don' want to be the one who gives the boy anythin' else to get him into trouble. I thought that you migh' want it...he tol' me once that he loved ridin' with you best of anything, that he liked havin' your arms wrapped aroun' him when he flew. He was a great flyer, that one." Hagrid's last words were said with surprising softness for the giant.
"Yes, he was a great flyer." And with those words, tears came. For the first time in a thousand years, since he was a boy, Remus wept. And the big shaggy man put his arms around him and held him for a long time, while sobs shook his smaller friend. It might have been the alcohol, but it wasn't. It might have been the kindness, but Remus had been resisting giving in to the kindness of others for years. It might have been a thousand things, but it wasn't, it was simply that Lupin had come to the end of himself and his strength to hide his mourning. It was Hagrid who undid him, in his capacity to see clearly the boy inside the Prisoner, something that Remus himself often had lost track of when looking at Sirius.
Remus wept a long, long time time, eventually quieting except for the occasional deep breath and finally fell asleep in Hagrid's arms. The bigger man effortless lifted Remus, marvelling at how little he weighed, although he was a reasonably tall man, and brought him back to the cabin and set him to sleep in Hagrid's own bed. The gameskeeper made himself a pallet on the floor, with Fang at his feet, and collapsed, both men snoring together in harmony, with Fang intermittently joining in.
There were pixies singing "The Anvil Chorus" on his sinuses. With real hammers. And Remus was pretty sure that some Death Eater, perhaps several Death Eaters, were performing cruciatus upon him. He opened his eyes, and immediately wished he hadn't. Nauseous, he barely made it outside before what remained of last night's firewhiskey came up again. Sirius had made fun of him endlessly for his inability to drink...Remus was always vomiting in the loo while Sirius was just getting started.
It was broad day, and Hagrid and Fang were gone, presumably off to teach or care for the school's creatures. Shakily, achily, he staggered off towards the castle. He had not felt this terrible in years. Every muscle and bone ached as though it had been ripped out and reconstructed. He had a vengeful hangover. And he was sick. The combination was not pleasing. He suspected that some of the aches were due to fever, and his throat was sore, but it was hard to distinguish the cold from the change from the hangover. He sneezed twice, each convulsion making his head throb so badly he nearly cried out, and he vowed to suppress any further sneezes until he could get his hands on several potions.
Worse, he was trying hard not to think too much about the previous night. Sirius would have told him that crying was good for him. In fact Sirius had told him that many times, trying to get him to open up a bit. His observation thus far was that weeping was mostly good for giving you an awful headache, and for breaking the habit of self- control, neither of which, in his estimation, were a good thing. Worst of all, he kept going back to the thought that if he'd stopped being so afraid that Sirius were going to be taken from him again, if he'd had the courage to face Dumbledore (wearily, he wondered, and not for the first time, why he'd been sorted into Gryffindor) down, if he'd just been able to put aside his own need to keep his lover safe, he could have given Sirius a happier, less lonely time at the end of his life. For that he was not certain he could forgive himself.
By the time he reached the castle he was shaking with pain, cold and fever. He was anxious to avoid seeing anyone - he suspected that even by his own rather low standards that he looked and sounded terrible and smelled even worse. He slipped unseen through a side entrance, and began to make his way towards his quarters, a bath, a pain potion and his bed. He suspected that he didn't own a hangover remedy, as his drinking days were so far past him, and the thought of asking Poppy Pomfrey for one was not enticing. The last time he'd gotten drunk was at Lily and James's wedding, he suspected, and that was by accident, since the "fruit drink" Sirius kept getting him had something called Amaretto in it.
Waiting in the corridor, outside his door, was the very last person he wanted to see. Severus Snape gave him a long, critical glance and a nastier than normal sneer.
"Lupin, have you forgotten than I require an account of the potion's side effects every month? I've been waiting for you, but I gather you have been drowning your considerable sorrows, too busy weeping to meet your responsibilities."
Remus found it hard to respond, in part due to the pounding in his head caused by that sibilant voice, and also because it was all true, of course. He simply waited, leaning on the door frame for support.
His silence enraged Snape. "I was under the impression that Professor Dumbledore allowed you time to recover from your ailment, not to engage in drunken self-indulgence in the gamekeepers cottage. I knew that hiring you again was a mistake, particularly after you lost your rat-eating companion."
Remus intended only to point out that he was tired and unwell and needed his bed, or to snap some reply about Sirius only eating rats because of Snape's inability to listen, but instead was struck by something.
"Severus, how did you know I was drinking with Hagrid?"
Snape opened his mouth and then shut it, with a sharp intake of breath.
"Hagrid does not breakfast in the great hall. Severus, were you making inquiries about me?' It might have been hysteria, but the pain behind his eyes had receded slightly. His nose tickled, and he bit his lip to suppress a sneeze.
"You were late for our meeting. I wished to know if you had been detained."
Remus pulled out his pocket watch. "Our meeting, Severus, began only 20 minutes ago, not enough time for you to walk down to Hagrid's cottage and back here. You sought Hagrid out, and asked about me. You were concerned."
"Hardly. Merely idly curious to see if your absence had anything to do with the Wolfsbane."
"Severus, I have known you twenty years and more, and you have never been idly curious in your life. Thank you for your concern." The sneeze he was determined to avoid was equally determined to come out, and he raised a finger and pressed it gently to his lip. He felt slightly mad, still in agony and shaking, but oddly alive again, and he thought fleetingly that Sirius would have been pleased to see him getting the better of Snape again.
Frustrated, the potions master glared at him. "I am not concerned for you. And if you wish to throw your life away weeping drunkenly that is your business, except to the degree that it impacts the Order.
Remus blushed slightly, a bit deflated to realize that Hagrid must have innocently given Snape an account of Remus's response last night. He felt weary again, not up to sparring with Snape. And he badly wanted to sneeze, so badly that it seemed that enduring the subsequent the pain in his head might be worthwhile for the simple pleasure of release.
"I'll try to keep my drunken sobbing to a minimum around you Severus. If you don't mind, however, I feel truly terrible. I need a hangover potion, and a hot bath for the cold I'm developing."
"You idiot, you can't take a hangover potion...the Wolfsbane is still in your system. Don't you know anything about potions interaction? You could poison yourself, and then I'd have to teach your class every day."
"Well, then a pain potion. Something....I....ehhh...ennnnhhh....Hitschooo! Nnnnnn... Oh dear... hahhh....Tschoooo!" He leaned harder against the doorframe, the world swimming in front of his eyes momentarily. It took a second to realize that Snape was guiding him into the room, and supporting most of his weight.
"I can walk, Severus," he exclaimed with a touch of irritation.
"I doubt it, Lupin." Snape lowered him gently into the armchair. Now sit here while I fetch potions you actually can take for the pain and nausea. Albus will be most displeased if I cost him his resident werewolf. And you will eat something."
"Not food, Severus."
"Food, Lupin. I imagine you have eaten nothing since the transformation Moreover, you cannot take my potions on an empty stomach.
Thinking back, Remus realized it was true that he had not eaten. Severus brought him a a heavy blanket, and disappeared. House elves arrived with a tray of food, most of which did not make his gorge rise, and hot tea. Severus returned with three potions, which he was ordered to drink in sequence. The pain in his limbs reduced to a tolerable degree, his head stopped throbbing, and his throat began to feel a bit better, although he was still very tired and weak, and his nose itched. Snape even nibbled at a dish of lentil curry, though he sat on the edge of his chair and seemed anxious to be off. He wondered how Snape knew that spicy food settled his stomach after a hangover. He asked.
"You aren't the only fool ever to get drunk, Lupin." Snape answered him with a dismissive wave of irritation.
"May I surmise, then, that you have also had occasion, to 'drown your considerable sorrows'?" Remus answered him with a bit of acid
"Yes."
The flat reply startled Remus.
"I'm sorry, Severus."
"What on earth for?"
"Because I think I forget how hard it must be for you, and how lucky I've been. And Sirius didn't make it easier on you."
"Don't get maudlin, Lupin. I didn't like the cur, but don't think I cared what he said or did."
"I think we both know I know better. Harry spoke to us after your occlumency lessons."
The potions master stiffened and his eyes reverted to their former icy hatred. He rose, clearly ready to depart.
"Sit, Severus. Please." The other man did not sit, but he didn't leave either. Again, Remus tried to suppress a rising sneeze, turning it into a harsh cough instead.
"I'm sorry. I wish I could say Sirius was sorry, but he at least had the grace to be embarassed by what a git he was. We were wrong, and I'm ashamed of it. Ashamed of my part. I could have stopped them."
There might have been a very slight softening of Snape's expression, or it could have been a trick of the light.
"You are probably still drunk, Lupin, and I have no idea what you are talking about. Stop babbling and go to bed." Snape turned to leave.
"I made terrible mistakes with both you and Sirius. Sirius was unhappy during the last part of his life because of me. You have been unhappy nearly your whole life, and I contributed to that." Damn, but he was on the edge of tears again. This was what came of loss of control. He hoped Snape couldn't tell.
Snape made no acknowledgement and walked towards the door. Remus stood up to go to bed, and the sneeze that had been waiting took him by surprise.
'Haaatcchhhhh! Ennnn....nnnn....Haschooooo!" He wiped his nose and eyes. "Pardon me."
Snape raised an eyebrow. "I will pardon you, at least for sneezing, if you will go to bed right now, Lupin. I have no intention of covering your classes again or racing around the grounds looking for you because you missed some essential event." Snape hesitated a moment, looking as though he were tasting something foul.
"Lupin...I do not believe that Black was entirely unhappy during the end of his life. Obnoxious, yes. Frustrated with the restrictions placed upon him, certainly. But during one of our...discussions...the mangy beast did note that your presence made his life not only bearable but worthwhile....Black always did have a nauseating turn of phrase."
This time Remus was fairly sure that Snape would be able to tell how close he was to weeping if he spoke, so he only nodded his gratitude. It was the cold, he felt sure, that caused him to sniff audibly.
"Merlin spare me weeping werewolves!" Snape rolled his eyes heavenward.
"Thank you, Severus," Remus almost smiled. "You always did have an elegant turn of phrase. And thank you again for the potions." He wondered if Snape realized how well his sarcasm helped him gain control of himself. Remus suspected the answer was yes.
"If I can return to my House, I might be able to get on with more important things than tending to sickly monsters."
Remus turned again towards his bed, only to turn at a sharp intake of breath. Again, Snape drew himelf up and with an expression of distaste addressed the werewolf.
"Lupin, grieve if you must, but don't allow it to overtake you. We both know you are stronger than that. You've proved yourself strong enough to endure...more than the rest of us...over and over again. Do not allow your emotions to make you truly ill." And with that astonishing statement and a departing glare for emphasis, Severus Snape slipped hurriedly out the door, clearly unwilling to hear any possible reply.
Remus Lupin frankly stared for a moment, and a hint of a smile rose to his lips. He still felt terrible. He was lonely and sad and in pain, hung over, sick and almost certainly going to sneeze again, probably often and profoundly. But he could begin to see an architecture for rebuilding himself, a fragment to hold on to. He could go on, at least as far as the bed.
I'm not JKR, so I own nothing. Nor do I own the rights to Elizabeth Bishop or TS Eliot.
I'm doing kind of a dump of all the bits and pieces I've written in the last months when I've been too busy to contribute here. In the story arc (all posted here, mostly WIPs), this come after "Anger" and before "Health and Hygeine" and refers obliquely back to "Control"(all WIPs, which is kind of unfair). I've wanted to write a post OOTP mourning story for Remus for quite a while, but haven't quite known how to shape it - I dislike the weak, soppy version of Remus one gets in a lot of fanfiction, although I may have fallen a bit that way this time - generally, though, I think he's very tough. I've also wanted to write Hagrid for a while, and I don't think I got it right - I need to read more of TGs stories, since she does such a nice Hagrid. This is part of a lengthy series of stories, all with at least a bit of sneezing in them (some quite a bit), that trace Remus and Sirius from PoA to OOtP, and then brings Remus and Severus together afterwards. I'm dragging it out quite a lot, since I really don't want it to be an easy transition.