Now that Eliot was petrified, Remus's life was much emptier. An empty feeling constantly gnawed at his chest, threatening to consume him entirely. He was used to Eliot's physical absence, but the lack of correspondence was distressing. Eliot was the only person who wrote to Remus, and he had written at least once a week for the entire time he had been at Hogwarts. Now, the only letters Remus received were bills and disappointing updates from Madam Pomfrey: he should be healed in time to come home for the summer. Remus didn't care about Eliot coming home nearly as much as he cared about the boy being able to live his life. He cared about hearing that Eliot had a nice day with his friends, passed an exam, learned something new today. Hell, he even wanted to hear that he got detention. Anything was better than this. Eli might miss his fourteenth birthday in early May. It was like his son had died. Eliot wasn't his son, and he certainly wasn't dead, he reminded himself. It just felt like his son had died.
Only one decent thing came out of Eliot's petrification. Remus had been working at a Muggle bookshop for several months and was quickly running out of excuses for his monthly disappearances. He hated to use Eliot as an excuse, but it was quite a good one. "I'm sick again" always sounded like a lie, but "My son is very ill, he's in hospital" garnered plenty of sympathy from his boss and coworkers. He felt nauseous every time he lied to them, as they'd been good enough to give him a job, but it was necessary. There was just no other way at this point. As soon as Eliot was healed, he'd go back to his regular excuses.
"What's your son ill with, if you don't mind me asking?" One woman asked.
"The, er, doctors aren't sure yet," Remus muttered.
"Oh, poor thing!" She said, putting her hand to her heart. "Is his mum around to help with everything?"
Remus felt a twinge of grief. Eliot's poor mother was brutally murdered by Death Eaters nearly fourteen years ago now. He barely knew the woman — he had met her once during her brief courtship with Sirius, and again on the day of Eliot's birth. And then, mere weeks later, she was killed in a terrible fashion. It was the type of thing that was horrific to even think about, the sort of thing where the Order just stood around in shock not knowing what to say for several hours when Remus and Sirius discovered her body and broke the news. He had never explained the gory details to Eliot. He was too young; he would always be too young. Remus wouldn't be the one to ruin Eliot's innocence with a graphic description of the way his mother was killed. He wouldn't ruin this poor woman's day by telling her about Eliot's dead parent, either.
"I adopted him, actually." Remus sighed. A scrap of truth in a sea of lies.
Though work was a small distraction from Remus's woes, as soon as he came home, he was constantly reminded of Eliot. He would walk past the boy's room, still exactly the way he left it: bed hastily made, crumpled parchment in the wastebasket, a half-written letter to Fred that he never got around to sending still on the desk, photographs of his friends that he hadn't intended to leave behind still affixed to the walls, door ajar after being swung open in the rush to leave for the train station. A photograph of Eliot, six years old and giggling in Lyall's lap, was hung in the kitchen. Next to the couch, a stoic photograph of Eliot in his Quidditch robes that would make faces when he thought Remus wasn't looking. Remus's bedroom was no escape, either. Another framed photograph of a young Eliot sat on his bedside table, he and Remus reading on the couch together, though Eliot often looked up from his book and smiled up at Remus when he looked at the picture. He easily could have moved it, but as depressed as it made him, he needed to see the boy's face. A stack of letters from Eliot sat on Remus's desk, dating back to when Eliot first left for Hogwarts. He reread them often, and he tried his best not to cry at snippets like:
I love you, Moony, and I can't wait to come home, or
Sometimes I look up at the moon and I worry about you. I hope you're alright. I'm alright, but I miss you. or even
Did you know that chocolate helps after dementor attacks!? Isn't it funny that we eat it when we're sad, too?, and of course Remus knew, but wasn't it sweet that Eli thought of him? Of course he was going to tear up at that.
And some of the things he wrote sounded like they came straight from Sirius, overly dramatic and flowery to poke fun at Remus, which for some reason made Remus even more upset: Remus, I hope you and your furry little problem are doing well. Things are dire here, I am afraid. I received a grade of Poor on my Herbology exam and will be passing away promptly. Do not cry too much for me; surely I would never have succeeded in this world as I am inept at plants. Professor Sprout tells me this is odd for a Hufflepuff. Dare I say she is the odd one, thinking I need plants to function in society? AnywayIhavedetentionwithhernowsogoodbye.
Next to them lay a dozen letters Remus had started to write in the time since Eliot had been petrified and then felt too stupid to finish. They said things like:
Eli, I know you are petrified but I am unsure what to do with myself if not writing to you, and that was true but it felt wrong to say, so he wrote
If you ever wanted to stay home instead of going to Hogwarts after this, I would love that, no, appreciate it,no, that wasn't right either, perhaps understand. Never mind, instead he scrapped the entire thing and simply wrote,
I am so sorry. I tried so hard and yet I still failed you. And then he did not send it because Eliot could not read it, so what was the point in even writing it?
Eliot obviously didn't come home for the Easter holidays. For the first time since the day Eliot first left for Hogwarts, Remus felt utterly alone in the world.
Eliot's fourteenth birthday came and went without incident nor celebration. Remus sent him a birthday card and a bar of chocolate as he did every year, with a note attached for Madam Pomfrey, asking her to leave it by Eliot's bed for when he woke up. He didn't know why he sent it, but he felt much worse not doing it.
Two days after a particularly rough full moon in early June, Remus returned to work and was called into his boss's office before he could even clock in. He'd held the job for over six months and called in sick every month. Even in the Muggle world, it was unacceptable. He knew exactly what was happening; he'd experienced it more than perhaps anyone had. Sure enough, he was correct.
"Remus, you're a fine employee, but you're always calling in. I hate to do this, I really do, especially with your son, but we just can't tolerate this. We're going to have to let you go."
"No, it's alright, I understand." Remus sighed. "I completely understand."
He left the building feeling completely crushed. That job was the last thing he had in the world, and now he would have to sit at home and worry about Eliot all the time instead of just some of the time. However, his dread was short-lived. He arrived home to find a letter which read:
Eliot will be cured by tomorrow morning. -Madame Pomfrey
It felt like a lie. Something else must go wrong, it couldn't possibly all be over, could it? He refused to get his hopes up. He would look for another job tomorrow, and he would not think about Eliot being cured. He was still too exhausted from the recent full moon; perhaps this was all a dream.