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Disclimer:Everything belongs to JK Rowling. Many parts of this plot follow the line of JK Rowling's. Libby and the things that you don't recgonize belong to me and I have twisted JKR's genius story to fit my own, not as genius story.

Please, Remember Me
–Sequel to It Was Only A Kiss–
By Radcliffe_PotterFan319

Chapter One

I feel like I lost everything when you're gone
Left remembering what it's like to have you here with me
I thought you should know,
You're not making this easy

You're not making this easy
You're not making this easy
You're not making this easy
You're not making this easy

I'll fall asleep tonight, 'cause that brings me closer to you

---Matchbook Romance "Promise"


You never really think about your life. Things you lost, things you’ve gained. That is until you find yourself locked in a cold, dark place with nothing but thinking to do. That’s when you realized how much someone means to you, how much you loved life, how much you really liked desk work at your job when other Aurors were out fighting Death Eaters. . .things you complain and dread doing.

Then, it’s snatched from you. Taken away from someone you thought was close to you. Someone you trusted. And you know you’ll never get it back. You’ll never walk into your door, exhausted, after a long day of work. You’ll never smile at the one person you know you’ll ever love. It’s gone, just out of your grasp. But once you lose all you have, you begin to think. You realize little details of your life that you never really noticed before.

After what happened—being accused of using the Dark Arts and selling James and Lily, my best friends, out to the Dark Lord Voldemort and being thrown into the wizarding prison, Azkaban—I had done a lot of thinking. All starting with the man that is the reason why I’m in here.

No, not Voldemort. Peter Pettigrew.

Or Wormtail as I called him doing our school days. We were best friends. James, Remus, Peter, and I. We were called the Marauders and inseparable. Brothers, I liked to call them, seeing how my family would rather yell at me about being a ‘blood-traitor’. We were the jokesters of the school. Always pulling a prank on someone, especially the Slytherins. So, really, none of us ever though that one of us would betray us all. When I was thrown in Azkaban, I realized how much Peter always seemed to idolize James and me. Then I realized how I barely saw him after we graduated that year after we graduated from Hogwarts. I always sort of used the excuse of my marriage, saying that I was to busy with the love of my life and Peter might feel uncomfortable. But when he began to come over almost everyday for the past year, I should have had some sort of suspicion. He looked thinner, scared, distracted, now that I think about it. But I took no notice because I was to in love and had been to busy with starting a family to think about him.

Thinking about Peter, made me remember my other friend, Remus Lupin. He was always the quieter one of the group. And a werewolf. Everyone thought that he was the one who was working for Voldemort. I shut him out of my life because of it, when he was the innocent one. I regret that. The last month I could have spent with him was gone and now he thought I was the bad guy. I missed Remus. He always knew how to sort out a problem. I always thought that maybe he would be convinced enough to help me get out of here and clear my name. But he never came. No one did.

When I first was thrown into Azkaban, I remembered horrible memories I wanted to forget. The woman I’ve loved since I was 14 kissing someone else, the Dark Mark about Godric’s Hollow, my parents disappointment...and so on. That’s the effect the Dementors have on you. They suck every ounce of happiness out of you as possible. And yet, here I sit in the dark cell with the damp, cold walls. I’m thinking clearly and acting more sane then anyone else in the hell on earth.

Three things kept me sane since I’ve been here. Three things that helped me hang on to my sanity. Tristan, Libby, and my innocence.

Tristan is my son. My only son. He was only two months old when I was arrested. I had so many plans for him. He and Harry, James’s son, were going to be best friends and learn to fly as soon as they could walk. He would go to Hogwarts and be just like I was, having a great time. He would be happy. He’d grow to marry a beautiful girl and have great kids. I literally had his whole life planned, but I forgotten most of it. Though, I remember him and some memories, the Dementors presence had taken away a lot of them. I barely remember what color hair Tristan was born with. I can’t even remember his middle name. But I know I had a son. A beautiful boy that I know will grow healthy and as happy as he can.

This leads to Libby. My love, my wife, my life. The last time I saw her, she was looking at me frantically and telling an Auror that I was innocent. But no one believed her. If they did, I think I would have gotten out of here. But I never thought that Libby would give up so easily. I can’t believe she wouldn’t visit either. I know prisoners have visitors sometimes. It hurts that Libby wouldn’t come. She was my whole world. Just being near her would make me jittery. Of all the things in the outside world that I miss, it’s Libby I miss the most. She was always there. Always. My heart aches for her. But I try to remember all the happy memories. How she ran into the boys dormitory in our 6th year at school and kissed me, how she always snuggled close to me when settling down to sleep, her smile, her eyes, her bouncing brown curls, her laugh, the way she seemed to glow when I asked her to marry me. All that. I thought about Libby so much that I felt like it was yesterday I had kissed her good bye before tracking down Peter. I knew she would have struggled without me.

Those memories were easy to take away though. The main thing that kept me sane and my mind in tack, was the fact that I knew I was innocent. It’s not a happy thought, nor is it a sad thought. The Dementors can’t suck it away. Knowing it, somehow helps me able to think clearly. I can watch everything that goes on without going mad.

You get very bored that way. Yes, it’s interesting when a new prisoner arrives, but after two days, their yelling stops and the silence closes in on you. I had always been a very energetic person, so this gets me restless. I close my eyes and listen to the mutters of prisoners before falling to sleep myself. As far as I know, I don’t mutter in my sleep. Yet. I’m to sane for that.

This has become my life. A few times a day, Dementors will come into my cell with moldy, stale food and leave. I would pace my cell, eating the better looking parts of the meal and watching whatever is happening outside my cell. I usually never talk to people when they come by. Whether it’s prisoners or the Minister doing his yearly Azkaban inspection. I would completely ignore them, lost in my thoughts.

Depressing, I know, but that’s my life. I was trapped as a Black a kid, trapped with feelings in my school days, trapped in love afterwards, and now I’m trapped behind bars. I suppose it was to happen sooner or later. I think back on all the things I could have undone. The tiny mistakes I had done on the way. And now, here I sit. Taking the blame for something I never intended to happen.


A week into summer and I had already formed a pattern.

Every morning, I wake up before even my mum—the workaholic–-has shut off her alarm clock. You see, we live in a muggle area. When mum first moved here with my dad way before I was born, there were barely any Muggles. Maybe one or two, according to my mother. But now, we’re the only two wizards in the neighborhood. That makes me have to get up way early in the morning to sneak off into the woods behind my house to fly on my broomstick before the Muggles wake up.

I don’t mind waking up early, I never really have been able to sleep. My Uncle Scott(he’s really my great uncle) says it’s because I’m worried about my mother. She was in St. Mungo’s for a little more then a year after I was born. She went into a relapse when I was five, and it scared me. Luckily, mum had some friends over, so I didn’t have to deal with that crisis alone. But ever since then, I worried about my mum so much. She busies herself with work, knowing that it distracts her from any memories about my dad.

She never tried to hide the fact that my father was in Azkaban for killing 13 people, one being a close friend, in once curse. She tells me off his good side on the days she remembers, but never talks of the last years she spent with him. She got rid of every picture she could find of him in the house and took everything he owned and loved and stored it in the attic. Sometimes, I went up there, just to look at everything. Just because my dad is a crazed murdered, doesn’t mean I can’t learn things about him. Mum says that even though I look like dad, I act nothing like him. Besides, I am disgusted with the dark arts.

I have only one picture of my dad. He was in his 5th year at Hogwarts with his three best friends. I don’t know their names, for I have always been afraid to ask her. Doctors say that she has to stay away from things that remind her to much of Sirius Black, my father. That’s what triggered her relapse a few years back. And I care for my mum and worry, I don’t want her back in St. Mungo’s.

So anyways, I’m already have a pattern for my mornings and I’ve only been home from my first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for about a week. So far, I wake up early and fly, then I eat breakfast as my mum rushes around before going off to work. For the rest of the morning, I work on some homework that teachers gave us( I always stay on top of my work) or write a letter to the only person who doesn’t care I’m related to Sirius Black, Ginny Weasley. For the rest of the day, I do things with the house elf, Pinky. Sometimes I learn to cook, other times I make him do something fun with me. But being home alone every day is very boring.

Before I mentioned that only one person cares to talk to me. Well, most pure bloods know who I am, especially since I decided not to change my last name to my mother’s maiden name. The pure blooded people that know me tell mean stories about me and then the half blood and Muggleborn people stop talking to me. Except Ginny, who is indeed a pureblood. She’s always been around for me ever since we met at the train station last year. Of course, I get very bored with Ginny at times because all she ever does is talk about Harry Potter. I swear, she’s in love with him.

I never really talk to Harry Potter. He’s real famous and always seems to be occupied with something else. So, I had given up on talking to him.

As of now, a week into my summer holiday, I was in my room while my mum spoke with our new neighbors. Mrs. Wilson was the most obnoxiously, nosy person I’ve ever met. I’ve only spoken to her once and she already asks me questions about my dad and where he is. I lie, just like my mum told me too, and said that he walked out a few months after I was born. Everyone thinks that in the Muggle World.

Sometimes, I think it would be easier to just tell the truth about Dad being in jail. I hate lying. It makes be feel worse. I’m not afraid to admit that I get stressed out with my life, even if I haven’t exactly turned twelve yet.

Besides my mum being at work all the time, I have to try to stay at the top of my class in every subject, pretend that I don’t care that I’m related to a murderer, or act like I don’t see Dumbledore staring at me in pity at meals; I have a lot more to deal with then the average kid. The lies are hard and having no friends, except one, to help you through it sucks. I pretty much take care of myself, because my mum is to busy. I don’t remember my father at all, but I still have to deal with his arrest. I have to listen to the Slytherins whisper about how I’ll turn out just like my dad and be in the cell right next to his.

When I was old enough to realize that my mum worked so much so she would keep her mind busy, I tried the same thing. At first, I focused on flying. I’ve become very skilled, just as both my mum and dad were, according to Uncle Scott and Aunt Becky. But you can only get so good at something before there is barely anything to perfect. When I started school, I began to focus on my school work all the time. I reached the top of my class easily and maintain the spot with no problem. I read constantly and try to learn so many things just to distract myself. It’s become habit for me, like it has my mum. Neither of us can help it anymore.

Now, as I shuffle home after my morning flight, I stare at my house I grew up in. It was the house my dad inherited and my mum was never able to sell for reasons she never cared to share with me. I would never want to leave it. I checked my watch. It was a quarter till nine. Mum should have left for work an hour ago. I flew for a longer time then usual.

Quickly, I stored my broom, a Nimbus 2000, in the broom shed and ran inside. I groaned inwardly when I heard voices from the living room. Mum was home. And we had company.


“How do you do it? A single mother sending your son off to boarding school? You must make excellent money!”

I sighed. My new neighbor, Mrs. Jane Wilson, was very nosy. She’s lived next door for a week and has come over every day learning small details of my life. At first, they were little things; Where I had grown up, what I did for a living, etc. Then they got bigger; what happened to my husband,, how come I speak so little of him, why do I insist on working as much as possible, why is my son so ignorant when it comes to his father, etc.

As you can see, most questions did revolve around my husband. Mrs. Wilson seemed to find it insane that I lived in a beautiful–expensive–home, with a son that attends boarding school, and still have plenty of money.

I couldn’t tell Mrs. Wilson the truth. She was a muggle. Telling her that Hogwarts was open to all children that showed Magical ability, my home was inherited by my husband, who is now in jail for killing 13 people in one curse, and that I am one of the best Aurors in the Wizarding World and there for make a lot of money. That would make the older woman think I’ve gone crazy. So, I always told her exactly the same thing. Tristan went to the boarding school his father’s family attended for many, many years and has an automatic acceptance, with help from his aunt and uncle. I explain that Sirius Black, my husband, walked out two months after Tristan was born and that I worked in law enforcement, but never went into much detail.

That’s what I told everyone one my street. Yet, my explanations rose more questions. People wondered why I allowed Tristan to keep his last name as ‘Black’ while I had changed mine back to ‘Cullen’. They wondered why whenever I ever mentions Sirius, I would call him my husband, and not my ex. They wondered why I was so reluctant to speak of him, too.

I couldn’t answer these questions; I barely understood them myself. All I knew what that I never was able to say that I was not married to Sirius Black. I still had the promise ring, engagement ring, and wedding ring. I put it on sometimes, just to see what they looked like. They always seemed to belong on my hand. I barely every spoke of Sirius because I didn’t remember much. I was in St. Mungo’s after he was arrested and the potions messed with my memory. Sometimes, I would remember so much about Sirius and me. Other days, I would remember nothing, and sometimes I would remember bits and pieces of things that I never can get a full grasp on. My contact with the only remaining friend that I had in my school days that was still alive, Remus Lupin, I no longer talked to. He was around looking for jobs. I mainly talked to Ben Carlson, who I had gone out with. He never spoke of the past.

And why was Tristan still Tristan Black and me Libby Cullen? Simple.

Tristan was only eight when I asked. I had been signing my name as Cullen for a while and everyone considered me a Cullen once more, after eight years. I always called Tristan a Black though. So one day I asked.

“Tristan, you’ll be starting school soon,” I said.

“I know!” Tristan cheered and grinned.

“Kids might be a bit intimidated if they know who your father is. And you’re last name might make many uneasy.” I pointed out. Tristan knew his father was arrested. He had a right to know. He would find out sooner or later.

“What’s wrong with my name?”

“Tristan, honey, people have always been a bit scared of the Blacks. You’re father was supposed to be the different one, but he wasn’t. So, I’m giving you a choice. When you start school, do you want to be known as Tristan Black, or Tristan Cullen?” I asked, hoping he’s choose Cullen. The ones that know his name will hate him for his father’s choices.

“Black. That’s who I am, Mummy,” Tristan had said. And that settled it. He was Tristan Black.

After that, I sometimes noticed I would sign things as Libby Black. Something that always startled me. But he made his choice in a very mature way and I was not going to press. I was right though. Tristan’s only friend, Ginny Weasley, was the only one who didn’t care about his name. It was ironic, too, seeing how she was completely in love with Harry Potter, who was orphaned mainly because of Sirius. With the help of Voldemort.

“Well, you know,” I said to Mrs. Wilson now, very aware of the bored face on her daughter’s, Melanie, face, “I work very hard.”

“Still it’s incredibly unheard of for a single mother to—”

“Mrs. Wilson,” I began.

“Please, call me Jane,” Mrs. Wilson interrupted. I nodded.

“Jane, I assure you, I do work very hard. Today, I was lucky enough to get the day off.” I said, putting on my fake smile. All my smiles were fake. I don’t think I ever gave a real smile to anyone. Not even Tristan.

“I’m glad, too! Tristan shouldn’t be left home alone so much! He’s so young and needs an adult around. Actually, he needs a man to look up to!” Mrs. Wilson said. I felt my face flush. Was it my fault what Sirius decided to do?

“Tristan gets along fine. He works just as hard as I do and has his interests to keep him busy,” I defended, insulted. Was she calling me a bad mother? If she knew what my life was like, what Tristan’s life was like, she would not be talking so bold.

“I’m just saying. . .” Mrs. Wilson said, smiling, “That’s why I brought my Melanie over today. She’s the same age as Tristan. They should get along fine. Just fine.”

It was as if Tristan had been waiting for this. I heard the kitchen door open and slam shut, as it always did the past few mornings. Tristan had returned from his morning flight. I was surprised Tristan didn’t want to be on the Quidditch team. He loved flying more then anyone I’ve ever known. He was best at Beater, from what he told me, but he would never try out for the team. He says it’ll take away from his study time and he cannot waste his time focusing on other such things.

“It would be nice if Tristan has a friend,” I said with another fake smile. I just hoped Melanie didn’t take after her mother.

“Mum?” I heard Tristan called from the hallway curiously. I barely remembered what Sirius’s voice sounded like, but I knew it was just like Sirius’.

“In here,” I called. Tristan’s figure appeared in the door way. He was only eleven, twelve in a few months, but already tall and filling out. Just like Sirius had been. I noted that my memories were clearer today then usual.

Tristan looked around the room, his grey eyes revealing nothing of what he was thinking. He had always been good at giving his eyes a blank look and hiding his thoughts and feelings. Sometimes, I regretted that. People need to know what you feel. Sometimes, they can help. Sometimes.

“Hi,” he said after a minute. He was good at being fake like me. I knew my only son was miserable with his father being in jail and me always working. But I knew he understood. Tristan understood everything.

“Tristan!” Mrs. Wilson cried happily, she looked at Melanie, “Didn’t I tell you he was adorable?” Tristan flushed, “How are you dear? Okay?”

“Very well, actually,” Tristan said politely.

“Good, good,” Mrs. Wilson was silent for a second, then pulled Melanie forward, “This is my daughter, Melanie.”

“Hi,” Tristan said, looking at girl with honey brown eyes and dark brown hair. She was pale skinned and thin, unnaturally so, actually. Her face would be pretty, but her hair was hanging in front of her face as if she was trying to hide. I thought that was a bit, odd. Melanie said nothing. But like I said, Tristan understood everything. Even people. He smiled kindly.

“Would you like to see my room?” he asked. Melanie looked startled by this offer, but nodded, blushing as she did so.

Melanie was with Tristan all morning. Mrs. Wilson had left, telling me she had other things to attend to. I happily said good bye and offered to allow Melanie to stay for dinner if she likes. But Melanie didn’t. She left an hour before and Tristan came into my study where I was working on a report for my job.

“Have fun with Melanie?” I asked curiously.

“No!” Tristan said, “She never talks! Everything is a nod and blushing! Do you know how annoying that is?”

“Ever think she’s shy and intimidated?” I asked, with a tiny smile.

“Why would she be intimidated?” Tristan asked. He understood everything except when it came to his own life.

“Because she thinks you’re cute,” I suggested, raising an eyebrow.

“Cute?” Tristan asked, “Mum, I’m eleven. If I weren’t best friends with Ginny, I would think girls had cooties.”

“Maybe, but Tristan, I remember back when I was at school,” I paused and Tristan froze. It was always like this when we both knew I was going to remembering something about his father. I felt like something tugged at my heart before I continued, “Girls would be melting at your father’s feet when he barely glanced at him. Starting from day one.”

Tristan stared at me for a moment before sitting down on a chair by the door. I knew he was going to press for more, try and help me remember, but I wasn’t sure how much I could tell him. That pained me. I would rather suffer and remember then live like this, struggling to remember. It might have been better for me when recovering.

“Did Dad like any of those girls?” Tristan asked quietly. I thought for a moment, biting my lip. I was getting small bits of memories.

“No. Not really. He told me one night. . .he told me he was lonely for female company sometimes and would randomly snog a girl. Nothing ever serious. . .” I said, before I even grasped the memory myself. It slipped away seconds after I said it.

“What about you? Did you fall for him like that?” Tristan asked. I laughed. He asked the thing that was always on my mind. I looked at Tristan sadly, shaking my head.

“I can’t remember. I just know I started going out with him in our 6th year,” I said, shrugging. Tristan sighed, knowing that he wouldn’t be getting much more out of me today. I knew it, too, and turned back to my report.

“Ginny and her family won some money,” Tristan said, conversationally, “They’re leaving for Egypt to visit her brother, Bill, in a few days.”

“Oh, I know, Arthur was telling me about it just the other day. They deserve the money,” I said glancing over at Tristan, who looked at bit bummed. I gave him a curious look which he easily read.

“Ginny was supposed to come and hang out here,” he said, pouting.

“Sorry, hun, maybe when she gets back?” I suggested. Tristan shrugged.

I heard the doorbell ring. I really hoped that it wasn’t Mrs. Wilson. I had had enough of her today. Tristan sighed, echoing my thoughts and went up to his room. He was lucky, as a kid, he was not one to sit and have tea with a loud, nosy woman. Unlike me, who was the adult and needed to be a good hostess.

The house elf, Pinky, was not allowed to get the door in case it was a Muggle who was ringing it so impatiently. Instead, he stood just outside the kitchen door, ready to great the guest if it was a wizard. I nodded at the elf, who seemed determined to keep the house as clean as possible, despite his old age.

I checked my reflection in the mirror real quick. My brown curls were just as tight and bouncy as they had always been. My make up was a bit smudged and you could tell how tired I was. My skin was paler then it usually was and my eyes were sad and empty. I had to look away before I got to depressed. I never really thought I was pretty, but now, I was getting older and more exhausted then ever.

Knowing I was not going to look any better by just staring in the mirror, I turned and faced the door. I put my hand on the handle and pulled it opened. I gasped at the person in the doorway, shocked at whom I saw.

“Remus. . .”

A/N: This wasn't supposed to go up for another two weeks. But someone asked me how it was going and I suddenly had the urge to post it. Thank Hamdi_potterfan101 for that. Haha.

Anyways, I do hope you all will enjoy this one as much as you did the other. I never really like sequels because they're never as good as the first, so I hope this one is at least close.

Uhh, yeah, those of who that have read my xanga, you know that I'm not going to be updating everyday. About once a week is all that I'll really get to post. I'm busy with school, finals are coming and yeah, i'm just busy, especially with six other stories going. I don't know how I'll manage, to tell you the truth. . .

Remember to leave a review and tell me what you think!!!!


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