Carve Me Open / r.l. + s.b. /

Setting the Record

"How are you, Mr. Lupin," the man finally asked.

Remus, doing what he did best, avoided eye contact as he spoke, "Golden, thank you."

The man chortled, his laugh low and sarcastic at best. He wasn't amused; Remus winced at his own mouth.

"My name is Neil Varga, I'll be handling your case," he explained. "You got a lawyer, yet?"

"Didn't know I'd need one," Remus's eyes narrowed instinctively, the pleasantries forgotten.

"Mm," Neil grunted, a hint of disdain in his voice. It was meant to be sharp – to cut. "How about you start from the beginning, hm? Just go over the basics with me before we—"

Remus stared at the table before him, tuning out of every word. Neil had brought in a pen and a notepad, some notes already jotted down. He could make out the basics of his own life – where he'd lived, where he worked, who he mingled with. Neil had done his research, so why did Remus need to relive that horrid night?

"I," he stuttered, "I don't even know where to begin."

Neil, looking unsympathetic as ever, scowled harshly. It was clear there was no time for the melodramatics; he needed information, and he needed it quickly. Still, Remus found that the memories refused to leave the back of his throat; he was afraid of what he'd seen.

"Why don't you start with the spring of 1977."

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

"Well," James sighed, "we'd gone t-to the cinema in London. You know, the one on the corner of Heartsfield and Lancaster? The big one?"

Neil was busy writing down information, but granted the man a soft, "Mm."

James picked underneath the nail, removing excess dirt. He didn't really need to do that, but at least it distracted him from the events of that night.

"It was me, Remus, Sirius, and Peter," James said. "We'd seen this movie called –"

"For now, Mr. Potter, let's stick to the important details," Neil snapped. "Details about the attack or your... friends."

"Oh," James whispered. "The attack." Another pause. "My friends."

He hadn't thought about that in years; it seemed like a distant lighthouse miles away from the port. Every now and then, the light would burn through the fog – his memories hashing out vividly in his sleep. However, he'd done a good enough job of erasing that night for his own good. There was no need to think of it until that night. Even then, he didn't see its importance.

"We were on our way back to a flat my parents own," James continued, voice scarcely a whisper above the hum of fluorescent lights and his own pulse. "And then we walked into the attack. Dementors, I mean, they were everywhere. We couldn't get out. They were attacking everyone – even little children."

Neil gave James a once over, "They aren't particularly picky about whom they choose to assault."

"Right." James held a blank look, so vacant yet vast. Too vast for a boy so young.

"When did the Death Eaters arrive," Neil asked, crossing his legs beneath the table.

He reminded James a bit of Sirius when he did that.

Sirius.

James hadn't meant for it to happen that way. He only wanted to disarm Sirius, not injure him. But he was attacking Mrs. Malfoy – however guilty she might have been in hiding Peter! She was pregnant, damn it.

What if the roles had been reversed? What if it had been Lily under attack? James wouldn't have been able to live with himself knowing that his wife and unborn child were put through such turmoil, and no matter how horrible Narcissa had been to his brother, he couldn't bear to watch her die just because Sirius was having a tantrum.