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"But first, let’s take a moment to report those deaths that the Wizarding Wireless Network News and Daily Prophet don’t think important enough to mention. It is with great regret that we inform our listeners of the murder of Remus Lupin." Lee's voice, which had been clear but a little tinny through the speakers of the wireless, seemed to fade and Harry barely heard him continue, "He leaves behind his wife, Tonks, who is eight months pregnant."
All at once, the sight of Lupin's pale, manic face on that evening in Grimmauld Place so many months ago rushed to the forefront of his mind. "And if, by some miracle, it is not like me, then it will be better off, a hundred times so, without a father of whom it must always be ashamed!”
"Harry?" Hermione said, and sound returned: the sound of the forest outside, and of Lee still talking on the wireless as if he hadn't just confirmed that the last connection Harry had to his father was gone.
"He did it on purpose," he said, dully, staring at his hands. "I guess it's — it's a wonder it took this long."
"What do you mean?" Ron said. When Harry finally looked up, Hermione and Ron were both ashen, but seemed more concerned about him than Lupin.
"At Grimmauld Place. He wanted to join us so he could die — you heard him, he wasn't going to return, he didn't want a child who would be ashamed of him."
"I'm sure you're misremembering, Harry," Hermione began, but she sounded a little uncertain.
"Yeah, mate, last I heard from Bill they were living together again! Tonks — he said Tonks was getting pretty big," Ron said, trailing off. “What’s she going to do now?”
“She has her mother, remember,” Harry said, bitterly. “It’ll be just like if Lupin had come with us.” He felt so powerless — his words hadn’t done anything; the way Lupin had looked at him meant nothing. Had Lupin used his memory of Harry’s dad to convince himself he was doing the right thing? Or was it actually about personal glory? Was it the memory of Sirius, the reckless daredevil, that spurred him on instead?
“Bill said they were going to cut down the number of dangerous missions he was doing — how could—” Ron said, but didn’t bother finishing his sentence.
“This is ridiculous, we have no idea how he died,” Hermione pointed out. “There’s a war on. He’s a known werewolf, a known member of the Order — it’s entirely possible he didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then why didn’t he fight back?” Harry asked, standing up. He wanted to get out of this tent, but there was no point in leaving just to stand right next to it within the boundaries Hermione had set up, so he just stood there.
“How do you know he didn’t? All we know is he’s been murdered,” Hermione said, looking at him as if he’d suggesting giving Voldemort a hug.
“If he had fought back he would’ve won!”
Harry imagined he could almost see the words as they hung in the air, everything completely still for an agonisingly long moment.
The silence in the tent was broken only by Lee saying, “Keep faith. Goodnight,” before the wireless powered down.
“You know that’s not true, Harry,” Hermione said at last. Her voice was gentle, as if he were some wild animal prone to spooking. “The Death Eaters can use all sorts of Dark Magic, and maybe they caught him by surprise.”
“Then he shouldn’t have put himself in a position to be surprised!” Harry said. He wanted to kick something, but Ron would probably kill him if he kicked the wireless. He kicked the armchair instead, which gave a satisfying thunk. “He knew he was going to be a father, and he left! He decided that he wanted to die in the war more than he wanted to live to see his own son!”
“Harry—” Ron said, the uncertainty in his voice matching the hesitance in the way he almost reached out to touch him, but drew back at the last moment. Harry was oddly pleased — he was furious and Ron and Hermione couldn’t understand it and he didn’t want them to because they still had fathers, didn’t they?
“I hope his kid hates him,” he said after pacing silently across the tent three times.
“Harry, you don’t mean th—” Hermione began, and she had the gall to sound scolding.
“I do!” he said, cutting her off. “I hope his kid knows that Lupin thought so little of him that he tried to come with us so he could feel good about throwing his life away and leaving a kid without a father. He was right, he is a monster.”
This time, Hermione stood up. Harry knew he’d gone too far — it was like he’d taken one too many steps off a pier, but he hadn’t noticed yet so gravity hadn’t had a chance to catch up with him. He’d crash into the sea at any moment, but in this moment he felt untouchable and weightless and right.
“What’s the point of fighting Vol—”
“Harry no!” Ron yelled, leaping up and Harry thought it was about Lupin, so he continued—
“—demort if—”
A crack sounded outside the tent.
They’d been found.