A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. Other prompts are listed below. :)

Magical and Mundane Literature Task 9: Alt: Use the dialogue "You only get one life. It's actually your duty to live it as fully as possible."

PLEASE NOTE: This is a Ghost/Muggle!AU

WARNINGS: Graphic violence, references to historical violence, in-detail character death.

Word Count: 8324

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling.

Enjoy!

As James Potter's parents pulled into the driveway of their new house, he couldn't help but wish he'd begged his parents to stay in London instead. Durham was nice and all, but it was hardly the place James wanted to spend the next few years of his life. The house, over a century old and still standing, was a two-story building made mostly of stone, with large windows and a dark roof. James' hazel eyes glanced disinterestedly at it, even though his parents' smiles were wide.

He climbed out of the car, tuning out his mother's excited retelling of all the history in the area. He stuffed his hands in his sweatshirt pocket and stalked up to the front door, waiting moodily for his father to pull out the key.

Fleamont Potter noticed his son's annoyance and frowned. "This is a new start," he reminded him softly, adjusting the spectacles perched on his nose. "Who knows? Maybe you'll like it better than London. It's still England, after all!" he added, trying to lighten the mood.

James sighed, but he tried to smile; he knew how much this move meant to his parents. "Yeah, maybe."

Before his father could say another word, James slid past him through the now open door and went to search for his room. His mother had shown him a map of the house a few weeks prior, and it hadn't been too difficult to memorize. He didn't pause to take in the other rooms as he walked up the stairwell, heading straight to his bedroom. His father had driven out there the previous week to set up some of the furniture, so James was able to sit down on his bed.

James stared out of the window, taking in the green lawn and the thick trees surrounding the property. Way off in the distance he could see the dark blur of a house's silhouette in the dying sun. In London, the houses were always right on top of each other; here, the nearest neighbors were a long walk away.

James sighed and laid down on his bed, removing his glasses and closing his eyes. He wasn't optimistic about the move, but he hoped that the next day might bring him some peace.

A week passed, spent mostly unpacking boxes and making a list of all the repairs the house needed. Today was the first day James was free to do as he pleased, and he was itching to get outside.

The morning was chilly and damp, but he didn't let that deter him. He walked along the property, exploring the forest surrounding it while he thought to himself, the leaves crunching underfoot. He could hear the wind whistling through the trees and shivered, drawing his coat closer to his body. As he walked along, something about the place felt off; it took him a moment to realize that it was because he couldn't hear any animals, birds or otherwise. Slightly disturbed, he shrugged it off, trying to convince himself that it was too early for anything but him to be up yet.

He walked around for a while, going farther than he had intended to. He was just beginning to grow bored when the neighboring house caught his eye. His curiosity spiked; even in the bright light of late morning, the crumbling building looked spooky. James wandered closer, curiously eyeing the abandoned building. He shook off his discomfort and approached it.

Ivy had long since choked the frame of the house, poking out of the roof and walls; the paint had been so worn and weathered that it now resembled a dark grey color. The door was hanging off its hinges, and the glass windows were too dirty to see through. James looked around, but he didn't see a sign warning against trespassers; he climbed up the rickety porch and walked through the door.

It was nearly completely black inside; the only light came through the open doorway. After a few moments, James' eyes adjusted to the dim light, and he fearlessly made his way forward.

Most of the wood in the house had rotted. James glanced distrustfully at the stairwell, doubtful it could hold his weight; the wood was cracked, and part of the banister had fallen down. He decided against climbing the stairs just then, and explored the rest of the ground floor. A thrill of excitement coursed through him; this was the most interesting thing to happen to him since he moved to Durham.

James surveyed the contents of the house carefully. He'd assumed that it would be empty, but it was as though the last owners of the house had just left in the middle of the day and never come back. One of the chairs at the kitchen table was slightly askew, the pantry door was still open, and there were dishes still out. In the sitting room, a large armchair was weighed down by many bookmarked journals, and the floor was littered with paper; it was eerie.

There was a sudden creak from above him, and James whipped around, his heart in his throat.

"Who's there?" he demanded, wincing at the volume of his voice compared to the silence of the house. He put on a brave face, refusing to let whoever was there know how fast his heart was pounding.

He listened for another moment, but his ears didn't pick up another sound. James wasn't fooled though—he knew what he'd heard, and he was sure there was another person in the house.

He made his way back into the main hallway, then put his weight on the first step. The floorboards creaked under him, but they didn't give, so James made his way cautiously up the stairs. He coughed a bit when he reached the second floor, choking slightly from the dust. Chills raced down his spine; the rooms seemed almost sinister, like something terrible had happened within these walls.

"I know you're here," James called, sounding braver than he felt. "I won't hurt you."

He only hoped that whoever was there wouldn't hurt him.

Creeping forward slowly and wishing that he had more light, James surveyed one of the rooms on his right. The door was open, so he peeked inside. There was a bed in the far corner, right next to a boarded-up window that was letting a small sliver of sunlight through. James was about to search a different room when he heard a small gasp from his right.

He turned and jumped backwards, hitting his elbow against the door frame. A mere three feet away was a boy about his age, peering at him through wide amber eyes.

"Hey—hey, you scared me!" James gasped. Looking at the other boy's thin frame made him feel ridiculous for fearing him; he looked like he couldn't hurt a fly. He grinned. "Did your curiosity get the better of you too? Mighty creepy in here, isn't it?"

The boy's startled expression didn't change, and James thought he detected a hint of fear in the boy's eyes. The boy ran his pale hands through his shaggy brown hair nervously. "Er, sort of," he mumbled; it sounded as though he hadn't spoken in a long time. "I'm here a lot. Why are you?"

James shrugged. He was glad the boy had continued the conversation; he still had adrenaline running through him, and he tended to talk more when he was nervous. "Moved in next door and wanted to check the place out. What do you think of it here?"

The boy looked around the bedroom, a small sigh escaping his lips. "It's a nightmare, isn't it? The things that happened here… no one knows."

James frowned. It was almost as though his companion had forgotten that he was talking to someone other than himself, judging by the distant look in his eyes. "Do you know a lot about this place, then?"

The boy jumped, startled. His gaze landed on James, and he shrugged, trying to feign nonchalance. "Some things," he answered evasively. "I know both more than most… and less than all. I guess it depends on the day."

It was an odd answer, but James had always enjoyed hanging around odd blokes. "I'm James," he introduced, sticking out his hand. "James Potter. Nice to meet you."

The boy looked surprised, and James wondered if he'd had much experience socializing with people. "I'm Remus," he whispered. "Lupin. It's, er… it's nice to meet you, too."

James beamed as they shook hands. "Listen, Remus, you seem like an all right bloke. I've got to go now, but I'll see you later, yeah?"

A small smile flickered across Remus' face. "Yes. You can always find me here."

The next day, James eagerly went back to the house. "Remus, I'm here!" he called, moving quickly up the stairs. He headed into the same bedroom he'd found the other boy in before, and wasn't disappointed—Remus was sitting on the bed.

He looked up, surprised, as James walked in. "I didn't think you'd be back so soon," he admitted.

James shrugged, slightly bothered by the fact that Remus seemed to be so expectant of loneliness. "Why wouldn't I?"

Remus' gaze dropped to the floorboards. "I don't usually get visitors, is all."

James sat on the floor at Remus' feet, still slightly wary, but intrigued. "I'm no visitor, mate. I'm here to stay."

Remus rubbed the back of his neck. "Why, though?"

James looked around, considering how to answer. He'd always loved a good mystery, and this boy was nothing if not mysterious—but there was another reason that James had come back, though he couldn't quite but his finger on it yet.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. He looked at the other boy through narrowed eyes. "Why do you keep coming back here?"

"Me? I… I just can't leave."

James gave him a little grin. "There is some sort of supernatural force that draws you back here, isn't there? Like the house itself is screaming at you to uncover its secrets."

Remus hesitantly returned his smile; it filled James with determination to bring the other boy out of his shell. "You… you have no idea."

"So," James began after an awkward moment of silence, fishing for a topic that Remus might be willing to open up about. He could tell the other boy was very reserved. "What do you know about this place?"

Remus frowned slightly. "The house?"

James shrugged. "Sure. Or just Durham in general."

A wry smile formed on the other boy's lips. "I don't know much about Durham nowadays. But I know about the house."

James looked at him eagerly. "Could you tell me?"

After a moment of indecision, Remus nodded. "The last time someone occupied this house was in 1876."

James raised an eyebrow. "It's 1976 now, so… one hundred years ago?"

Remus nodded, a distant look in his eye. "It's hard to believe, isn't it? That so much time has passed... " Remus suddenly shook himself out of his reverie. "Anyway, no one in town comes near here. The man who lived here before wasn't popular in the community, and when he disappeared, he was victim to all sorts of rumors. Some of the people today still believe it; that's why no one comes here. They assumed he died, but no one knows for sure."

James leaned forward. He knew that he wouldn't like what he heard, and couldn't help his nerves as he waited for Remus to finish. In this house, hearing about its history… it all seemed very real.

"Everyone in town assumed the man lived alone, you see. But when he disappeared, they found evidence that someone else had lived in the house—a young boy." Remus paused for a second, and James waved him on. "The house was searched, but the boy's body couldn't be found—"

"How do you know he died?" James interrupted. "What if he just disappeared like the man—and why did the man disappear?"

Remus' face was curiously blank as he answered. "If you had seen the blood, you would think he was dead, too."

James swallowed, his mouth dry. He looked around nervously, wondering which room of the house the boy had died in. "Oh."

Remus nodded slowly. "The police suspected that the man had killed the boy and run—but no one knows for sure what happened, or why the boy was even there. As far as they could tell, the two had no connection whatsoever."

Remus paused again, and James shivered. No wonder he'd had such chills about coming upstairs the previous day; something truly sinister had happened within those walls. "Was the man… did they ever find him?"

Remus shook his head. "Not that I know of. But I don't know much after the murder."

"Where…?" James trailed off, but Remus understood what he meant.

Those amber eyes regarded him curiously. He stood up and walked over to the bed, then pushed it away from the wall. James cringed at the scraping sound, but when he saw what was under it his stomach dropped. It was barely visible in the dim light, and James now realized that it had extended out from under where the bed was before, though he hadn't recognized it then.

A dark brown stain, splattered all over the floor and lower walls; it was clearly blood.

Bile rose up James' throat as Remus shoved the bed back in place. He fought his churning stomach and choked out, "We… we're in the room where that kid was murdered?"

Remus tilted his head to the side, considering the question. "Perhaps," he finally answered in his soft voice. "He got hurt here, at the very least."

James shuddered slightly. "Why did you come in here if… Why this room?"

Remus frowned. "I—I've always been here. I never thought about leaving. Why haven't I…?"

It was happening again; Remus was slipping back inside himself. James didn't know much about the other boy yet, but he had an odd feeling that this wasn't supposed to be happening. He frowned, worried, as he waited for Remus to pull himself out of wherever he had disappeared to.

After about a minute, James stood up and put a hand on the other boy's shoulder. "Remus? Are you all right?"

Remus looked at him, but didn't seem able to focus on him. "Yes," he murmured, "I think so. It's just… why haven't I ever thought to…"

It took a while for Remus to come back to his old self, and James was careful not to mention the house's history again.

James walked stiffly behind his parents as they toured the town, his hands deep in his pockets. His mother and father had insisted on coming out there to learn more about the town's history, though James had already learned enough of it in his opinion. He hadn't told his parents about Remus or the murder; he knew they would forbid him from going to the house again, and he couldn't risk being separated from Remus. The two had grown exceptionally close over the past two weeks, and James' fondness and curiosity for the boy had grown greatly.

After the family had taken a tour of the old church, his mother and father excitedly discussing the notable events that had taken place there oh-so-long ago, James slipped into the cemetery in the back. There were many important figures buried there, and as his parents went to find those memorials, James turned in the other direction, hoping to have a moment alone to think. He had grown worried about Remus recently; his friend always seemed to be in that house, no matter what time James got there. Once, he'd even gone at two in the morning (something he'd never do again; the darkness had made every creak of the floorboards seem terrifying, and ghostly screams had sounded repeatedly in his head) and Remus had still been there. He was afraid that the other boy didn't have anywhere to go—or maybe he didn't feel safe going home.

James sighed and ran a hand through his thick, unruly hair and sighed. He wondered if he should just confront Remus about it. Then again, the last thing he wanted was to scare him away; it'd make life all the more lonely for both of them.

James' worn shoes dug into the soft earth of the cemetery as he walked, glancing at the gravestones he walked by. Some were new with clear carvings; others seemed ancient, with large cracks down the sides and nearly indistinguishable letters. After a few minutes of walking, a small headstone caught his eye. It wasn't anything special; in fact, it might have been the simplest thing in the graveyard. He approached it, wondering how old the crumbling stone was and who was buried under it. He crouched next to it, swiping his thumb gently across the carved letters, trying to remove some of the dirt. He was able to make out a date—1860–1876.

James froze, his hand hovering over the numbers. Whoever's grave this was, they had been the same age he was when they had died. Sadness filled him; he couldn't imagine having to leave the world with so much life left to live. He debated whether or not to uncover the name, but then reasoned that it couldn't affect him too badly—he'd never known them.

James rubbed at the small stone until he could make out what was written on it, then leaned back to read.

Here lies Remus John Lupin,

Dead due to mysterious circumstances.

James stood in the doorway of the abandoned house, biting his lip. So many emotions were coursing through him. He was confused, frustrated, angry, afraid—could Remus really be dead? As mad as it seemed, it answered some of his questions, but it also brought up new ones.

James wondered briefly if he was losing his mind. Ghosts, the undead, the supernatural—they didn't exist. But what other explanation could there be? James highly doubted that this was a coincidence. Too many things matched up—why Remus was always at the house, why he didn't always seem to focus on the present, how he knew so much about the history of the place.

A million questions were going through James' brain as he stared through the open door. He steeled his resolve; he was going to get answers.

James marched up the stairs, heading into the bedroom Remus was always waiting in. He threw open the door, hazel eyes blazing.

"You lied to me."

Remus frowned, his brow furrowing. He looked a little afraid, which just enraged James even further; he was the only one who should be afraid. "What do you mean, James? I never lied to you."

James crossed his arms, avoiding the bloodstain on the floor as he always did; it had always been unsettling, but knowing there was a chance that it was Remus' made him want to be sick. "I saw your name on a headstone in the cemetery. That alone might have been a coincidence, but the date matched the one in the story about the boy who died in this house. And you know so much about this place; with all this evidence, is it really so hard to believe that you're the same person?"

He hoped Remus would laugh, assuming it was a joke, or call him barking—but he didn't. His gaze dropped to the floor, and he wrapped his arms around himself. "I did live in this house," he confirmed quietly. "But… it's not as simple as you think."

James' stomach dropped. "So you… you are a ghost?"

Remus hesitated. "Sort of? I'm not quite dead… but I'm definitely not alive."

James threaded his fingers through his hair, letting out a strangled laugh. It was bizarre. A ghost. Remus was a ghost. He was talking to something that wasn't supposed to exist, and yet, he knew it was real. This was the craziest thing to ever have happened to him, and it took a long moment for his heart to stop pounding. He straightened back up and peered at the nervous-looking boy on the bed. He couldn't help but see Remus in a new light, but he didn't feel afraid of him, exactly. After all, he knew Remus well; why should a heartbeat—or lack thereof—change that? "How do you mean? And how are you a ghost? I can touch you, and you make noise when you walk."

Remus looked miserable. "That's the thing. I'm stuck in this house, completely solid but without a heartbeat… that's how I know how far away I am from moving on."

James sat on the floor, surveying Remus closely. "Explain."

Remus looked away. "If a person doesn't move on right away, it means they don't know the truth about their death. The more solid they are, the farther away from eternal rest they are. The more I know, the more spirit-like I'll be. But that's the problem, isn't it? I've been here for over a century, but I'm no closer to discovering the truth than the day I died."

It was a lot to take in. All James' brain could focus on was one thought: I'm talking to a ghost. Luckily, James had always been a loyal friend, and his habit of lending strength and support was guiding him through his confusion. "I don't understand. How could you not know about your own death? Doesn't it… make an impact?"

Remus laughed hollowly. "I think it might have made too much of an impact. People suppress traumatic memories, right? I think that's what I did right before—you know. That, or I hit my head really hard." Remus sighed, his brown locks falling over his eyes. "Er, you can… you don't have to stay."

James leaned back, pulling a face. "Why should I go? Do you want me to?"

"No," Remus admitted embarrassedly, "but you must want to go home before you think you're completely mad."

James grinned. "We all go a little mad sometimes. Haven't you? The point is, I'm not going anywhere. I can help!"

Remus looked up sharply, his amber eyes wide. "You want to help me? But you were just…"

James shrugged, slightly ashamed. "Listen, mate, I want to help you. I was surprised before, yeah… still am in shock, really. But I know myself well enough to know that after I've had a long think, I'll reach the same conclusion. You can't be a hallucination—you've been here way too much, and you only show up in the house. And if there's such thing as life and death, why shouldn't there be an in-between too?"

A startled laugh escaped from Remus' lips. "You're an odd one, all right."

"Ah, you mean one of a kind," James winked. "Tell me everything I have to know. We'll get you home." His eyes softened. "I bet there are some people up there who miss you an awful lot."

Remus' hopeful smile made all of James' befuddlement worth it.

"It's simple, really. I just need to know how I died, who did it, and why it happened."

"So what do you know already?"

Remus gave him a pointed look, raising an eyebrow. "Almost nothing."

James blew his hair out of his face. "Right then. Start from the beginning."

Through the evening and into the night, Remus told James the tale of his life. James could see the images so clearly in his head; a young boy helping out his parents on their farm, grateful he'd escaped the coal mines; limited schooling for a family who loved to learn; low wages and a house full of love. Then things grew darker. A terrible accident on the streets, resulting in the death of the parents; living on the streets for a year; a man offering food, shelter, and safety.

"He locked you in here," James guessed, disgusted. "Like you were some sort of prisoner."

Remus nodded, his face pale. "I was brought here when I was twelve. The doors and windows were always locked; he had me work around the house sometimes, but I spent most of my time in here."

James balled his hands into fists. "But that's not right! Why did you stay here? Why didn't you try to escape?"

Remus smiled a bit, looking at James like he thought he was naive. "Times were hard back then. Death was common, crime was at its peak—mine was hardly the most terrible of lives."

James rubbed the back of his neck, trying to channel his frustration into something that wasn't destructive. "You still shouldn't have had to live that way."

Remus was quiet for a moment, before he softly said, "No, I suppose I shouldn't have."

James pushed aside the indignation bubbling in his chest and locked eyes with Remus. "So why did he just kill you all of a sudden? You'd been living with him for years."

Remus cast him an admonishing look. "I don't know if he was the one who killed me. For all we know, he could have been innocent in all this."

James scoffed, and he could tell that Remus didn't completely believe himself either. Still, he humored his friend. "Okay, fine. Why would you die then? Who had you offended?"

Remus' shoulders slumped, and he dug his fingers into the old duvet of the bed he was perched upon. "That's what I have to find out."

James lips were pressed in a thin line. "That's what we have to find out."

The search in the house began. James and Remus started on the lowest floor, in what must have been the master bedroom. James walked right in, but Remus lingered in the doorway.

James frowned, concerned. "Is everything all right?"

Remus shivered, and James suddenly felt very guilty; of course this house would hold bad memories for the other boy.

"Yes, I'm fine. I just… I was never allowed in here. I never thought to look."

James put a hand on the other boy's shoulder. His flesh was soft and warm, making it hard to believe that he was actually dead. Sadness overwhelmed James when he thought about how much Remus' family must miss him. His resolve to help his friend home strengthened. "We have to do this, Remus. I can't put the clues together, and you can't find them all. And really, at the end of the day, no matter what happened before… now this is just a room."

Remus smiled weakly, his face white. "You're right. I'm coming."

James walked over to the bed, the floorboards groaning under his weight. He knelt on the ground to look under it and heard Remus open the closet door. James squinted into the darkness, wishing he had light. After a moment's hesitation, he took his hand and began groping blindly, hoping to find something of use. Suddenly, his fingers brushed against something cold and soft. James pulled it out eagerly, excited to see what it was. When he looked down at it though, he was disappointed; it was just an ordinary journal.

He opened it up to a random page, coughing when the dust billowed up. He scanned the sloppily-written words before shutting the book. It was only a list of finances; nothing to allude to the mystery surrounding Remus' death. James tossed it aside, then went to help Remus rummage around in the closet.

"Find anything yet?" he asked quietly. Now that Remus had brought up such a reluctance to enter the room, James was beginning to feel anxious himself.

Remus shook his head, obviously concentrating hard. "Nothing yet. Just… his clothes."

James hummed in acknowledgement, glancing at Remus out of the corner of his eye. He didn't know why Remus' voice sounded so strained, but he knew better than to push right then; Remus' limits had been tested enough that night.

Several minutes of looking through moth-eaten coats and dusty shirts later, James broke the silence.

"What happens after we solve this? Is there somewhere for you to go, or will you just… disappear?"

He hadn't wanted to voice his fears before, but this was getting more real by the minute. He hadn't known Remus long, but he already knew that he'd sorely miss him when he moved on. If Remus was going to a better place, well, he could handle that. Knowing Remus was happier—and, if James was being honest with himself, knowing that he'd one day see his friend again—would make it easier to let him go. But if there was nothing waiting for him, if he was just going to vanish… James wondered if leaving was the best thing.

Remus seemed to pick up on his feelings. "I don't know what lies ahead," he answered carefully, "but I do know that everyone was meant to leave this place. I've prolonged my stay enough."

James nodded mutely, not happy with the answer but satisfied. "I'll, uh." He cleared his throat, avoiding Remus' gaze. "I'll miss you."

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up in surprise; this was the first time Remus had initiated any physical contact between them. "James," he said seriously, "I won't forget you. No matter what happens, just know that you… you're the best friend I've ever had."

James laughed a bit weakly, trying for a smile. "In life or death?"

Remus grinned. "In life or death," he confirmed.

The atmosphere a little brighter, the boys got back to work. James pulled out a coat and rifled through the pockets, looking for something that might aid their search. Remus caught sight of it and dropped the shirt he was holding.

James looked at him in alarm. "What? What is it?"

With shaking hands, Remus took the coat from James. His slim fingers ran over the coarse fabric, his eyes far away. "He wore this a lot," he murmured. "I used to mend it often. He'd split the seams by… by…" Remus' hand balled into a fist. "I forget."

James clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll remember soon."

"Why are you helping me?" Remus asked suddenly. "This doesn't… it doesn't have anything to do with you, and the story won't be pleasant." Remus' voice was bitter, and James turned to him, surprised. Before he could say anything, however, Remus continued. "I just don't understand why you would help someone who shouldn't even be in your life."

Remus' anger and hopeless tone surprised him. He hadn't sensed any of the other boy's insecurities before, and he supposed it was a fair question to ask. Still, he thought that his answer should have been obvious.

"It's not your problem anymore. It became mine the moment I saw your name on that gravestone. You can't do this alone, and I want to be there."

Remus carefully hung the coat back up, dusting off the front. The action seemed odd to James, since the man it had belonged to had been so terrible, but he guessed that it was left over from the days when Remus had been tasked with caring for it.

"Let's keep looking," Remus finally said, his voice thick. "And James? Thank you."

James smiled, then walked out of the closet, Remus on his heels.

They searched for hours, uncovering books and paper, maps and compasses, and many more odd objects. None of them stuck out to Remus, and none hinted at his demise.

James ran a hand through his hair agitatedly, messing it up even more. He had to constantly keep reminding himself that this wasn't like a novel—there weren't any heroes to save the day, or warriors to fight an enemy. Good people got hurt, and not everyone could be saved—Remus was proof of that. Still, James was impatient to find a solution to the problem, before he lost his courage again and selfishly made Remus stay.

The books always left out how hard it was to do the right thing.

Remus slammed down the book he was holding. "It's no use," he said angrily, unknowingly echoing James' thoughts. "There's nothing here. It's all a dead end."

Remus dropped down on the bed in defeat, and put his head in his hands. "Why are all the monsters here?" he asked miserably.

James paused, unsure how to respond. "What do you mean?"

Remus hugged himself, looking like James imagined he must have in the last few years of his life—exhausted and terrified. "I mean here, in this world. There are so many terrible people… Why can't they be somewhere else? Away from here—"

"Away from you," James summed up.

Remus winced. "It sounds so selfish that way. But… yes."

James sighed, sitting next to Remus. "Mate, I don't know. I don't know why all those things happened to you, but I do know that they can't hurt you anymore."

Remus took a shaky breath. "You're right."

James hesitated a moment, then admitted, "I don't know how you did it—survive alone in here, I mean. In such a short time, you did so much. I feel… what if I've wasted my life?"

Remus looked at him, surprised. "You haven't. You've changed my life—well, afterlife, I suppose."

James bit his lips, hazel eyes worried behind his glasses. "Maybe. But I just don't know how I'll know when I've served my purpose."

Remus stood in front of James and gripped his shoulders, looking into the boy's eyes seriously. "You only get one life. It's actually your duty to live it as fully as possible. When you've done that—when you've done all you can and have as few regrets as possible—then you'll know that you've done what you're here for. But you can't waste time; life is short. Believe me, I know."

James nodded numbly, a lump in his throat. "Right," he croaked. "Thanks, Remus."

Remus smiled and nodded, looking at James a little wistfully. The black-haired boy stood up and clapped his hands together. "Now. Back to work."

A couple more hours passed before either of them spoke again. The person to break the silence was Remus, who was staring at the journal James had discarded earlier. James glanced over, a small frown on his face.

"Just a finance log. Nothing interesting."

He turned back to the desk he'd been rummaging through, and saw Remus pick the book up out of the corner of his eye.

"I don't want to help you with this. It's wrong."

The man in front of Remus turned, his cold eyes boring into the sixteen-year-old boy. "What are you afraid of? It's not like you're risking your neck. You're just handling the paperwork." The man laughed gruffly, and Remus' eyes narrowed in anger.

"This isn't right! If you don't stop, I'll turn you in."

Quick as a flash, Remus was pinned to the wall of his bedroom, the man's strong hands wrapped around his neck. "Listen here, boy," the man whispered dangerously. "This money is sustaining your life as well. If you don't want to end up back on the streets, you won't complain."

He dropped Remus, and the boy landed on his side, gasping for breath. Remus heard his captor stride away and lock the bedroom door behind him. He let himself recover for a few minutes, then pulled himself to his feet. In pain and sick with fear, he went over to the desk on the far side of the room and looked at the papers in front of him; a list of all the recent deaths in the area. His job was to find a body that would be ripe and profitable. Sick to his stomach, Remus turned the newspaper clippings over. Remus didn't want any part of the business, but he knew that the alternative would mean almost certain death. Winter was approaching fast, and he wouldn't be able to make enough money for food and shelter. Still, he sometimes wondered if death was better than the half-life he was currently living.

Remus walked over to his bed, curling up on it. His shoulders shook as he tried to reign in his emotions. When he looked back on the last few years of his life, all he could feel was shame. He used to dream about making a name for himself—about becoming more than what people had always viewed him as—but by working with the man here, however reluctantly, contradicted all that. His parents would be disappointed, he knew, and that was enough to solidify his resolve.

Remus didn't know many of the man's secrets, but he did know that not all the bodies had been cold when he'd come across them. The records of all these murders were written down in a book of some sort, but Remus didn't know where. He decided it didn't matter; if he could alert the authorities, they could do a thorough search of the house and bring the man to justice.

All he had to do was escape.

He tried the window first. It had been boarded up upon his arrival, so no one could see in, and he couldn't see out. There was a tiny gap in between two of the boards, and Remus dug his fingers into the crack, scraping his knuckles in the process. He yanked with all his might, but the boards didn't give way.

Remus wiped his bleeding hands on his pants and looked around, hoping to find another way out. The only other exit was the door. Remus looked around for something heavy enough to break the doorknob, then settled with prying a leg from a chair. His heart beat painfully in his chest as he slowly approached the door, trying to master his courage. Remus pressed his ear against the cold, rough wood of the door. He couldn't hear any movement within the house, and guessed that the man had already fallen asleep.

For a moment he just stood there, his forehead pressed against the door. For so long, he'd been trapped in that house, forced to help do terrible things in order to survive. But he was ready escape this place.

Body trembling but hands oddly steadily, Remus lifted the chair leg above his head. He brought it down on the doorknob with all this might, flinching at the loud crack of the wood splintering. Remus stood there silently, the broken doorknob at his feet and the ruined chair leg in his hands, staring petrified at the door.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Fifteen. By some miracle, the man hadn't woken. Remus shoulders' sagged in relief. He let out a weak laugh, then pushed the door open. He crept downstairs, every sense on high alert. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, and it was difficult to keep himself from bolting out the front door. He knew that he needed proof of his captor's foul play, and headed into where he knew the man's log to be. If he could show it to the police, then he could make up for all the lives he'd ruined. Well. The bodies, anyway.

Remus glanced around the main hallway, looking for any sign that the man had awoken, but the house seemed empty. He walked silently into the sitting room, looking for the journal that Remus knew held a record of every grave that'd been dug up. He found it on the bookshelf by the fireplace, disguised as just another book. Remus slid it from the shelf and placed it under his arm, looking around anxiously. He felt as though he'd be caught any minute.

He crept out of the room and tested the handle of the front door; it was unlocked. An elated grin lit up the boy's face—he was finally leaving!

Remus slipped outside and stumbled onto the lawn, his wide eyes taking in the full moon hanging overhead, surrounded by a million twinkling stars. The journal still tucked safely against him, Remus crouched down, pulling up a fistful of grass and letting the blades fall through his fingers as he watched in awe. A soft laugh escaped him. He hadn't been outside in the past four years.

Remus looked out at the horizon, feeling truly alive for the first time in years. A thousand opportunities were now open to him, but he had a job to do first. Clutching the journal tightly in his hands, Remus began jogging away from the house, going faster with every step. The night was cool against his face, and excitement mounted inside him. His feet were pounding against the soft earth, the wind was pulling his hair off his face, he could practically taste his freedom—

"Did you really think it would be so easy?"

Remus' head jerked around, only to see the man a little ways to his left, grinning evilly. Remus faltered in surprise, cursing himself for not thinking to check the outside of the house. The man's eyes glittered dangerously in the moonlight, and Remus felt a thrill of fear race through him—it hadn't occurred to him until then just how terrifying the darkness was.

The man walked forwards, and Remus didn't think—he just ran.

He heard the man following him as sprinted away, desperate to escape. His knuckles were white from gripping the journal. He couldn't lose it now; it was his ticket to freedom, his lifeline. He felt as though it was his heart he held in his hands.

Remus may have been fast, but he had a huge disadvantage—he hadn't touched the ground in years, and he didn't know the terrain. Mere seconds into the chase Remus' foot caught on a tree branch and he fell to the ground. His chin hit the ground hard, and he could feel warm blood trickling down his neck. He pushed himself up, preparing to continue running, but something heavy slammed into his back. His face was pushed into the dirt again, and he felt hot, sour breath against his ear.

"Did you really think you could escape me?"

Remus spat out blood, positioning himself as best he could over the journal. "You can't keep me here forever," he gasped out. "I'm not your prisoner."

The man leaned down so his cheek was pressed against Remus', his dark hair tickling the boy's neck. "Yes, you are."

Remus gasped in pain as the man shoved his hand beneath him, roughly extracting the journal. His laughter rang through the night, and Remus groaned. He'd failed. He'd almost made it out, but he'd been bested yet again. He couldn't win in this world, not as long as Fenrir Greyback was there. His fear got the better of him and he let loose a soft sob, hoping Greyback hadn't heard—but he had.

"Am I scaring you tonight?" he whispered. "Do I frighten you, Lupin?"

"Just let me go," Remus begged. He was exhausted of this life—of the lies, the pain, the punishment. All he wanted was to feel safe again. "You can hunt through those newspapers yourself, you don't need me! Those graves you dig up—I want no part of it, I've told you a million times."

Greyback pushed his head to the side so Remus had no choice but to look at his face. Greyback's muscular fingers held the young boy's chin in a bruising grip. "We're assisting the scientists, boy. It's not my fault those doctors pay so much for a fresh body to dissect." A wolfish grin split the older man's scarred face. "If I let you go, what do you plan to do to my business—my life?"

Remus closed his eyes, taking in a shuddering breath. This went beyond terror—he simply couldn't be any more afraid than he already was. Bubbling up inside him, overpowering his fear was anger. He was tired of being treated like he was less than human. It was time to get out of there, one way or another.

"I intend to destroy it as soon as I can," he growled. "I'm through with you. You're wrong about me—the only person here who is worthless is you."

Greyback's hand closed around Remus' throat, cutting off his oxygen. Remus choked, trying to get some air as Greyback roughly yanked him to his feet. "I've had enough of you. Lupin, and your misplaced morals. They have no place in this world, and your little stunt has cost me my pay for tonight—" He stopped suddenly, and the look he gave Remus nearly stopped the boy's heart. "Or maybe…" Greyback eyed Remus carefully, a new hunger illuminating his features. "Maybe I have my fresh meat after all."

Remus' eyes widened in horror as he realized what Greyback meant. He screamed and fought and might have even cried as the man dragged him back to the house, but it was no use; Greyback was older and better nourished than Remus, and was much stronger after years of using a shovel. He forced Remus back into his room, that hated room, and threw him against the wall. Remus tried to scramble up, using the bed for purchase, but was knocked back down again.

The next few hours were all a blur. He was beat again and again, blood spurting everywhere and dark bruises staining his pale skin. There was a point when he could no longer resist, but Greyback didn't slow his assault. Every pore of his being was on fire, and as Remus' eyes closed, the last thing he saw was Greyback's deranged smile glowing in the sliver of moonlight shining through the boarded-up window.

James called Remus' name a fifth time, seriously worried. He didn't know why the journal had affected his friend so deeply, and it was scaring him.

"Remus! Remus, what's wrong? Remus!"

"What?" Remus turned to him, dazed. "I—I think…"

"You think what?" James asked, slightly hysterical. He went to grab the other boy's arm, but his hand passed right through.

They both stared in shock, James' hand still in Remus' shoulder.

"Wow," Remus breathed softly. "I guess… I guess that's it."

"What do you know?" James asked shakily. "Remus, what does that book have to do with anything?"

"I was holding it when I tried to escape," Remus murmured. "I… James, I remember."

He told James everything he knew; the living boy had to sit down halfway through. The horror of the tale was overwhelming, but even more so was the knowledge that it had all happened to his friend. He'd never known that such malice existed in the world, and it shook him to the core to hear the first-hand account.

James took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt, then cleared his throat. "Did… did they get your body? How did they know how to mark the gravestone?"

Remus shivered. "My guess is that Greyback dug that grave. He was mad, but he was thorough—he always covered his tracks and made sure that the doctors knew exactly who they'd brought into their laboratories."

James closed his eyes. "You think they did get your body."

Remus sighed heavily. "I think they must have. But I didn't feel it, James. I couldn't, at that point."

James ignored the words meant for comfort. "Then why did he run? No one could have known."

"I think they did," Remus responded. He lifted up the journal and opened it to the back cover. "He put a list of all his victims in here—and their information. Let's see if he added any new additions, shall we?"

Remus pulled up the paper glued to the back, revealing tiny pieces of folded yellowed paper. Remus sorted through them, his eyes quickly scanning the pages. James took the discarded journal and turned to the back page. He went to tap Remus on the shoulder, but called his name instead.

Remus tried to take the journal back, but it fell through his fingers; he'd been holding it while he was still solid, but he couldn't pick it up again now that he wasn't substantial. James held it up for him to see. "I think he wrote it in here."

4 September, 1876

The doctors were careless. I've been listed as a suspect. All evidence of him must be gone.

"I guess…" James swallowed. "He must have run when he couldn't get the blood off the floor."

Remus nodded slowly, still staring at the written words. "His name was Fenrir Greyback. He… I guess he's dead now."

James looked at the floor. "You know the truth now."

He heard Remus gasp. "I know the truth now." Remus laughed with elation. "I know the truth now! I can go home, I can see Mum and Dad—" He broke off when he saw the dejected look on his friend's face.

James tried to smile. "That's great, Remus. Brilliant. I'm happy for you."

And he was. He just didn't want to say goodbye.

Remus smiled gently. He was beginning to become transparent; James' chest tightened. "James, you've done more for me than anyone else. Without you, I'd be stuck here for eternity." His amber eyes glowed with both happiness and sadness as he continued. "I have to go now. But I'll see you again someday." His smile widened. "And I can't wait for that day to arrive."

"Until next time," James whispered. A moment later, the last traces of Remus had faded away, leaving James alone in an empty house, occupied only by memories.

Three years later, James stood in front of the small headstone that marked Remus' final place of rest. He came to the graveyard every year on the anniversary of Remus' passing, no matter how many things he had to cancel for the day.

James looked up at the clear blue sky as he recalled his close friend. He knew it would be many years until he saw him again, but he was content to wait.

After all, he only had one life—he had to live it as fully as possible.

A gentle wind blew James' dark hair from his face, ruffling it affectionately as though in agreement.

A/N: Prompts:

Writing Club:

Character Appreciation: 15. (dialogue) "I intend to destroy it as soon as I can."

Disney Challenge: Characters 1. Jack Skellington — Alt. Write about someone losing inspiration for something.

Cookie's Crafty Corner: 2. Write about someone tied literally or metaphorically.

Showtime: 6. A Penny for a Tale — (word) beg

Amber's Attic: 20. Fright Night — (relationship) neighbors

Count Your Buttons: AU: 3. Ghost; Dialogue: 1. "Stop it, you're scaring me."; Characters: 3. Fenrir Greyback; Words: 1. Spooky

Lyric Alley: 12. I don't belong here

Ami's Audio Admirations: 10. Queens Speech #6 - Lady Leshurr — Alt. Write about someone opinionated

Sophie's Shelf: 2. (dialogue) "We all go a little mad sometimes. Haven't you?"

Em's Emporium: 1. Alt. (dialogue) "Why are all the monsters here?"

Angel's Arcade: 3. Jago — (word) warrior, (genre) mystery, (trait) quiet, (color) dark grey

Lo's Lowdown: Characters 1. Sam Winchester — Write about someone cursed

Bex's Basement: 7. Disturbia, by Rihanna — Alt. (dialogue) "Am I scaring you tonight?"

Film Festival: 4. (plot point) falling over while being chased

Autumn Funfair:

Bingo: 69. Eerie (2)

Gris-Gris Bag:

"I never lied to you."