Chapter Text
Remus Lupin opened his eyes to a blinding white light, blinking several times to try to adjust to it. There was no sound around him, and virtually no sensation. Was he real? He pinched himself—that was definitely a sensation, so he was probably real. He glanced down at his hands and was greeted with a sight he could not remember ever seeing before—his hands were completely unmarred. One disconcertingly smooth palm flew up to touch his least favorite scar, the largest one on his face, and was met only with more smooth skin.
What the hell?
“Remus,” said a familiar voice, one that often heralded more bad news than good. Remus spun to see Albus Dumbledore, in pure white robes, his familiar half-moon glasses perched on his nose. “It’s good to see you, my friend.”
Suddenly, it came rushing back to Remus. The Battle, Dora falling, his attempt to save her, a bolt of purple light hitting him at the same time a red one did. Harry...Harry had been in the forest, and so had Remus, and Sirius, and James, and Lily in some way or another.
“Is Harry dead?” He demanded urgently. Albus shook his head, a smile spreading across his face.
“No. But Voldemort is,” he said. Remus almost whooped before the conversation he was having hit him.
“And so am I, right? That’s what this means. Because you’re dead.” He wasn’t entirely upset about it. He regretted not being able to raise his son, but if Harry was alive, Teddy would be okay. He didn’t have anyone other than Teddy left.
“Almost.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled in the irritating way that he seemed to be able to control. “You will be dead in less than two minutes, certainly.”
“What?” Remus had no idea what he was talking about. “How can I be almost dead and be here talking to you?”
“Remus, where do you think you are?” Dumbledore asked, as frustratingly vague as always. Remus, knowing better than to try to get a straight answer out of the man before he was ready to give one, looked around. It was eerily familiar, although he had some difficulty with the sheer emptiness of it.
“Is this King’s Cross?” he asked, finally. Dumbledore nodded, giving him a pleased look as though he had done well on his O.W.L.s. Remus found it rather condescending.
“It’s a King’s Cross of a sort. You see, Remus, you are currently hovering on the edge of life and death. The curse that hit you kills you slowly. It’s supposed to be extremely painful, but you were hit by a Stunning spell at the same time. Thank heaven for small mercies, I suppose.”
“So this is...somewhere between?” Remus asked. Dumbledore nodded again, beaming at him proudly. Remus was trying not to be entirely ticked off by it. “But you’ve been dead for a year. How are you here?”
“Ah, yes, I was wondering when you would ask,” Dumbledore said, the infuriatingly smug beam still on his face. “You see, it seems as though there is occasionally a need for a...job replacement around here.”
“Here being death? Or kind-of death?” Remus clarified.
“And the job being Death,” Dumbledore added. “My, ah, predecessor was weary of his task. He offered me a choice: continue on, or replace him in watching the affairs of the world, ensuring that people cross to the other side, and, as a story or two has said, making deals when things go awry in order to ensure the balance between life and death.”
Remus gaped at the old headmaster. “Merlin. You’re telling me that you’re...Death? Like in the Tale of the Three Brothers?”
“Funny you should mention him, he actually was my predecessor.” Dumbledore said, chucking. “But...yes. I never was one to resist power, it would seem.”
“Do you have much power? Can you save people? Or bring people back?” Remus asked. His mind was spinning—if Dumbledore could have saved Tonks, or could bring back Sirius, and he didn’t...
“I’ve only been doing this for a year, so I cannot say for certain that I know all of the abilities of the position,” Dumbledore began. “But there is no bringing back people who are dead,” his tone shifted, gently scolding. “People who are not properly dead can stretch the rules a little, but only for good reason. The balance between life and death is entirely too fragile. Last time it was tilted too far, we got…” Dumbledore shuddered, a look of uncharacteristic fear flashing across his face. “Upsetting the balance leads to the rise of dark, almost demonic, magical forces. We were lucky with the first creatures of this kind, in that we can fight them, but I shudder to think of what else could happen.”
“You mean…” Remus could think of a few dark forces.
“The first recorded Dementors appeared just when Merlin took up the position of Death. He tried to resurrect King Arthur, you see,” Dumbledore explained. “It did not go well.”
“What do you do, then? When do things go awry?” he could barely fathom what was happening.
“If someone attempts to bring a loved one back from the dead, I am to ensure the veil remains in place, separating them from the world of the living, as in the Tale of the Three Brothers. In the rare cases, like Harry’s, where the individual has a choice to go on or return to the land of the living, I ask for their decision. In the unfortunately more common cases, where an individual has unfinished business on the earth, or is scared to move on, I ask if they prefer to return as a ghost and direct them to the appropriate train. If someone is stretching the boundaries of magic, as Voldemort did, in a hideous way to avoid death, I look on and must help the cycle right itself should there be an opportunity. If an individual who should, by all appearances in the mortal world, have moved on as they are neither alive, nor a ghost, does not do so, I am required to remedy that, and so on.” Dumbledore listed, suspiciously casual. Suddenly, the silence was split by a train whistle. An achingly familiar red train was pulling into the station.
“Is that for me?” Remus asked, smiling at the Hogwarts Express. It pulled to a stop in front of them and Remus almost sobbed out loud at the sight that greeted him. It seemed as though the Hogwarts Express contained everyone he had ever lost. James and Lily, vibrant and young, were hanging out the window, waving at him frantically. He saw Fred Weasley—oh, no, poor Molly—trading jokes with the Prewett twins, with Mad-Eye sitting nearby, less grizzled, shaking his head. They must be his uncles, after all. In Lily and James’s compartment, he saw Marlene and Dorcas McKinnon, sitting next to Dora. Dora’s hair was vibrant pink, and she was holding hands with Emmeline Vance. Remus was blinking back tears, when he realized his parents were a few compartments back, talking to Fleamont and Euphemia Potter.
“Remus!” Lily called at the same time that James said, “Moony!”
“Come on, it’s been too long,” James grinned at him, messing up his hair. Remus’s knees grew weak at the familiar sight. He spotted a familiar figure with dark hair a little further back—Snape was dead, then. In Snape’s compartment, he saw the figure of Regulus Black.
Wait. Where was Sirius?
“Where’s Sirius?” he asked. James and Lily merely shook their heads. He spun back to look at Dumbledore. “Where’s Sirius? He was in the forest with us, when Harry called us back.”
“As were you, my dear man,” Dumbledore pointed out. “Yet, you were not entirely dead. You will not be entirely dead until you step on the train, to go on.”
“But if he isn’t here—” Suddenly, Dumbledore’s strange nonchalant manner made more sense. What had he said? If an individual who should, by all appearances in the mortal world, have moved on as they are neither alive, nor a ghost, does not do so, I am required to remedy that.
“You were talking about Sirius,” he said. “Sirius is the individual who should have moved on but hasn’t.”
“Yes,” Dumbledore affirmed. “Sirius Black should be on that train and yet, he is nowhere to be found.”
Remus’s mind was racing. “So he isn’t dead?”
“Not quite. I think he hovers somewhere between life and death, but somewhere that neither life nor Death can find him,” Dumbledore’s voice was grave.
What else had he said? There was something he wasn’t saying, Remus was sure of it. He wouldn’t still be standing here otherwise. He wouldn’t be telling him this. Dumbledore always had operated on a need-to-know basis. People who are not properly dead can stretch the rules a little, but only for good reason. The edge of death. He wasn’t dead, not yet. He hadn’t boarded the train.
“Which is more dangerous to the balance of life and death, somebody existing somewhere neither can find them, or someone returning from the edge of death?” Remus edged, cautiously. Clearly, he had hit on the question Dumbledore had wanted him to ask, because the older man practically bounced.
“Certainly the former,” he said simply. “Without a doubt.”
“And if someone on the edge of death were to strike up a deal with Death—hardly the first time a mortal has done so—that they could return to life and try to find this person…”
“That is certainly a possibility. It will be incredibly dangerous. The person would be in great peril.”
“What’s the worst thing that could happen? They could die?” Remus asked, half rhetorically.
“There are things worse than death,” Dumbledore retorted. “There are entire realms of darkness that even I cannot fathom. It would not be a task to take lightly.” Remus shivered, almost despite himself.
“If...if a person was to do this. What would Death offer them? In return for helping avoid a rupture in the balance?” He asked, finally. Dumbledore fixed him with a piercing stare.
“Has the person not already gotten a second chance at life?”
“What about the person who is lost? Will Death want to claim him immediately? Or will he have a chance?”
“Ah. I see.” Dumbledore looked to the train, where Lily and James were clearly straining to hear the conversation. “Provided that the person who is lost is capable of life, and the person who saves them is successful, I should think that Death could guarantee them both a death of natural causes. They have, after all, more than earned it.”
“Capable of life?”
“There is a chance that whatever lies in the space beyond the veil has rendered Sirius Black in a state where there is no chance of him being able to actually live. The Dementor’s Kiss, for example, does the same. While it will be years until we see a Kiss victim here, their body is still...somewhere, usually Azkaban.”
“If that’s the case?”
“It would be prudent to ensure his death, rather than attempt to restore his life.” Remus flinched at the idea of killing Sirius, in any way, even if he was just a shell. Dumbledore seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. “At least then, he would have a hope of boarding that train.” Remus gave a reluctant nod of agreement.
“Moony? What’s going on?” Remus turned to James, who seemingly had given up any pretense of pretending he wasn’t listening in.
“I’m going back. To get Sirius,” he said. “I’m not coming here without him.”
“You finally told him!” Lily exclaimed. Remus nodded, warmth filling his chest at the familiar friendly interactions.
“Tell him…” James’s face was serious, as it had been the last few times Remus had seen him. “Tell him I love him. And tell Harry that too.” Lily nodded her agreement.
“Remus Lupin.” Dumbledore said, his voice reverberating with a new magical energy. “Do you swear to do everything within your power to help maintain the balance between life and death by finding Sirius Black in the space beyond the veil and bringing him back, to either life or death?”
“I swear it.” Remus felt an involuntary shudder run through his spine. “Do you, Albus Dumbledore, swear in return to both return me to life now and allow a natural death to both myself and Sirius Black, should I succeed?”
“I swear it.” The same shudder ran through the entirety of the station, and Remus knew instinctively that this was a deep and binding magic, as deep as an Unbreakable Vow. The Hogwarts Express let out a whistle and began moving forward. Remus waved at Lily and James, his parents, his dead wife, reunited with her lover, and the rest of his long-dead friends as they pulled away. He turned back to Dumbledore, choking on some unnameable emotion. He could swear his vision faltered.
“Remus, you must go back now, or the curse will finish and not even the powers of Death will be able to stop you from joining us permanently.” Remus nodded.
“Okay. I’m ready.”
“Good luck, Remus Lupin,” Dumbledore said, the same reverberations as the vow filling King’s Cross, growing stronger and stronger as everything, including Dumbledore himself shook and wavered and the floor of the station trembled as though a dozen trains were pulling in at once.
And then Remus’s vision went entirely dark.