Borrowed Time Part I by Gilpin25
Title: Borrowed Time. Part I.
Author: gilpin25
Rating & Warnings: PG13 References to sex and mild swearing.
Prompts: Angst and Humour; Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Ron; Swelling Solution and Scream.
Word Count: 11,058
Summary: A week after the events of HBP, and a new direction and purpose are needed for many. If direct help can’t be given, then someone’s going to have to improvise…
Author’s Notes: Never thought I was going to get this done in time, it’s been the maddest of crazy rushes, and I’m just hoping it doesn’t show too much. Oh, yes, and anyone looking for a sane plot, may not be in the right place. Still, enough excuses… ;)
Borrowed Time.
“What do we do now?” Tonks asked, above the noise of a room filled from ceiling to floor, and corner to corner, with clocks going about their daily business.
Remus opened his mouth to say that, if nothing else, they could certainly check they’d both got the right time, but closed it again. He knew his next move was wrong, too, but it still seemed far easier to glance round once more; his eyes having adjusted to the glittering, diamond-like light of the Ministry’s Time Room, while his ears took in the relentless beat of thousands of diminutive footsteps, the sound of each passing second of life being marked by an almost continuous pulse.
He knew she was watching him. Waiting for him to say something. So he did. “I’m really glad we never got that cuckoo clock you were on about for the hallway, you know.”
Standing as close as they were, he felt rather than saw the beginnings of the usual cheeky grin, felt her lips start to part. Then she stopped. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a stain of pink appear on her pale cheek. She bit her lip.
Silence.
At least there was from the human beings in the room. Remus thought ruefully that he could have done with permanently hesitating with that one. Sirius and Dumbledore had both been alive the last time the cuckoo clock and decorating her flat had got a laughing mention one lazy Sunday morning in bed. Hogwarts wasn’t under threat of closure while the school governors endlessly discussed and dithered, and Harry wasn’t more vulnerable to Voldemort than he’d ever been. The Order wasn’t lurching around like a rudderless ship in search of both captain and course. No one was staying up till two or three o’clock as they’d done this week, and the last; talking over all the things that had to be done the next day before exhaustion claimed them both.
Once he could have anticipated what her answer would have been, or, if not the words, then the exact tone of them; along with the accompanying swift glance at him from dark eyes where the always present spark of light and life would dance. Her bright hair would fall forwards as she did so and she’d brush it back impatiently behind her ear as she shifted her weight from one leg to another, putting a hand into her pocket while looking for something to casually lean against, trying - every bit as hard as he was - to look as though his next reply was of very little interest to her in the grand scheme of things. While both of them knew that just being with the other gave a purpose and meaning to each day.
But once was gone forever. Times had changed and he’d done more than his fair share to change them.
“It’s definitely the right one, isn’t it? As there’s, oh, only about a hundred or so to choose from in here.” Tonks was staring up at the tall, thin, rather majestic-looking grandfather clock in front of them, fingering the just visible corner of a slip of parchment which she looked as if she was about to pull out of her jeans pocket. “Mind you,” she chuckled softly, “it does look like him, so it’s got to be.”
Remus bit back something midway between a grin and a grimace as she voiced his own earlier thought. The slowly moving silver pendulum visible through the glass door could almost be the gentle sway of a long grey beard. The dark oak casing could be mistaken for the folds of a cloak. And if he squinted at the roman numerals for three and nine, the hands of the clock currently neatly defining the outline of a frame, then he could easily swear he was looking at a pair of half-moon spectacles.
He reached for his own slip, as delivered to each and every one of them at last night’s Order meeting by Aberforth, complete with grubby fingerprints and worryingly unidentifiable stains, and the most insecure set of seals ever. Moody’s magical eye had jammed in rigid fury until Remus had pointed out that no self-respecting Death Eater would ever imagine these were (or want to touch) the last recorded wishes of one sorely missed Albus P. Dumbledore.
His eyes met hers, the spark of light that came and went in hers intermittently now appearing after a second or two, and he felt the familiar contraction inside. If he could just find a way past this painstaking politeness, and this paralysing fear of saying the wrong thing that had plagued him since their reconciliation, then everything would be all right, and he could talk properly to her again.
He held the piece of parchment out for her to see, as he’d done straight away last night when given it.
Dear Remus,
Four o’clock by Old Father Time in the north-west corner of the Ministry, Department of Mysteries, Friday afternoon. Watch the arched dial at the top as it strikes the hour and act accordingly. Nymphadora will go with you.
I trust this finds you in excellent health.
Your friend,
Albus Dumbledore.
“Hmm.” She nodded, half-smiled at him in a distracted manner, and stood on tip toe to gaze up at the currently blank arch above the numbers eleven, twelve and one. He watched with dismay as, just like she had last night, she tucked her own slip back into her pocket. “It looks as though it’s going to revolve round. Presumably some sort of message or picture will be revealed when it gets to the hour?”
“Not long to find out.” Remus spoke quietly. Was it really so surprising she didn’t want to share everything with him? It wasn’t realistic to expect things to be as they’d once been.
“Two minutes.” Her eyes swept the room again and then rested on him. “Did you notice the bell jar had repaired itself?”
The sparkling light which filled the room was coming from the bell jar at the far end of the room. The one that a Death Eater had fallen into and all but destroyed in his attempt to get the prophecy from Harry. There didn’t seem to be a mark on it and he could see the tiny hummingbird inside floating gently on the current of air.
“You say it did it itself?”
“Yeah. They came in the next day and found it like that, apparently. The rest of the room was a right mess. Lots of theories about it, though I missed out on most of them being a bit out of things.” She was looking at him curiously, those eyes even darker with some unreadable expression, probably remembering like he was that she’d been well and truly out of things in St. Mungo’s. “It’s obviously true what they say - time really does heal everything.”
“As good as new?”
She looked at him steadily. “I don’t suppose you ever quite know that, do you?”
Remus wondered if he was reading more into this than she intended. It was another moment to try and break down the barrier between them, an opportunity he kept searching for, but there was no time.
He’d have been better off saying something at lunch time when he’d come back, no, home, to a flat where it looked as though a banshee party for fifty or so had just finished. Clothes were strewn everywhere, pots were piled in the sink, and all available food seemed to have disappeared without reasonable explanation.
“I’m just about to tidy,” she’d said, giving him that strange expression again, as he’d carefully removed her dirty socks of yesterday from the cover of his book, and firmly held back what he wanted to say. In case this was her way of saying that it wasn’t working.
Less than sixty seconds to go as he glanced up.
She saw the direction his eyes went in, and her thoughts seemed to go along similar lines again, as she said, quickly, “Let’s hope this clarifies a few things.”
“Let’s hope so. The Order needs someone in charge. Harry needs help and protection. We’re wasting time while Voldemort will be using it.”
“Spoken like a leader.” She raised an ironic eyebrow at him, just like she had last night when he’d suggested a vote to decide on that very issue, and everyone had developed exceedingly deaf ears.
“Spoken like someone who was a lousy prefect the only time he was ever asked to lead anything.” He was aiming for self-mockery but it somehow eluded him completely. “Not forgetting my outstanding success at converting however many werewolves it was to our side. Somewhere around precisely none, I believe it was.”
“But Dumbledore said-“
“Ages ago.” He cut in quickly before she said it. “And not in so many words, either. He said nothing this past year.”
“Hmm.” Her eyes dropped from his, and he wondered when she’d got so attached to this meaningless word - or a word which could mean anything from I whole-heartedly agree to You’re talking complete rot, you great coward - and he knew which he thought it was at the moment.
It suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea what was going to happen when four o’clock came and while he trusted Dumbledore with his life, even from beyond the grave, he wasn’t going to face the unknown with things like this between them. Some lessons from the past had been learnt.
“Tonks.” He reached out and took her arm as she looked at him, a crease of surprise between her eyebrows. “I know things aren’t right between us, I know it’s my fault-“
“Remus.” She was shaking her head, in dismay, he thought.
“-and I’ve got a nerve expecting anything else. I do think it’ll take a while, I want so much to make you happy.” He glanced up again and saw there was less than twenty seconds to go, and that was nowhere near long enough to say that his greatest fear, the one that seemed to hamper his every action at the moment, was that neither of them would have a while to be happy or not.
It made him say, in a rushed and far too urgent whisper, “God, Tonks, there’s been so little time for us since, since … then. You do know how I wish-“
A small fist thumped into his shoulder and she hurled herself at him, clasping him so fiercely round his chest he almost winced. He held her tightly and breathed in her scent; her head on his shoulder, his head on hers, as close as they could get, as far apart as planets.
His fault, for not being patient. This wasn’t like trying to repair a bell jar with magic.
Her hands were clutching his jumper so tightly he thought she might be trying to shake him again.
“You’re a silly sod and you be bloody careful,” she said as the clock next to them seemed to gather itself on an indrawn breath. “You have no idea how-“
The beat of every clock paused as one and the room was suddenly plunged into darkness.
Remus had a split second to wonder whether they were going to be deafened if every clock and watch in the room struck the hour at the same time - and why on earth that hadn’t occurred to him previously - before he realised he was no longer holding onto her.
“Tonks,” he said, grabbing his wand and reaching a searching arm out, finding only air.
“Yeah, I’m here. Lumos doesn’t work.” He heard the swish of a wand but it seemed faint and distant. “Nor does anything else. Watch yourself.”
“You watch yourself.” He tried to take a step towards her but his legs wouldn’t move. He was literally rooted to the spot.
“What? What’s that?” Her voice sounded very far away, “I can’t hear you above that damn clock screaming.”
Screaming? Remus ears strained into the eerie silence, as his eyes tried to discern anything in the dark, conscious that the feel and beat of time had ceased and everything seemed to be waiting for something.
Watch the arched dial as the clock strikes four.
He’d forgotten that, hadn’t he? Despite the fact he couldn’t see a thing, that muttering every spell and charm he could think of produced no effect whatsoever on either silence or darkness, he turned his body with an immense effort towards the place where he’d last seen the clock and groped a hand out towards it. As he touched the solid base, the clock was illuminated in front of him, and his eyes went automatically up to the arched dial.
Words were rotating slowly round and round, and he blinked, trying to make sense of them, and whatever it was that was happening.
What kept you? Time’s not cheap, you know. Still, better once than never, for never too late. Oh, by the way, shut your eyes if you’re squeamish.
“Tonks,” he said loudly and urgently. “Get out of here!”
“What?” Her voice was even farther away. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t-“ He bit the words off with a sense of disbelief as something long and grey rose up from the base of the clock and hovered in front of him - it was the damn pendulum - and then moved left and right as though … picking its target.
It drew back and as he belatedly realised what was happening, far too late to do anything like sending the command to duck from his brain to the rest of him, the pendulum swung in a continuous and smooth movement towards his head. The end of it rapped him smartly and neatly on the temple, and he just had time to register a cry from somewhere far away and know that he had to get back to her, in the same instant as all consciousness ceased within a blink.
*******
The world returned in the same way it had left; one second he was unaware, the next, awake. No dazed grey area to behold, no shooting stars, no pain or confused moments of coming to. Simply the world was back and he was in it once more.
It was a very different world, though.
He was sat, or, more precisely, slouched sideways in a leather chair in a scarlet and gold room. Very small, very precisely square; just four scarlet walls and a thick golden carpet, with a chandelier made up of two rows of candles providing the light. It was very warm and a fire blazed to the left of him, logs piled high in the grate. The only other object in the room was a large oak desk opposite, behind which a brown robed and hooded figure appeared to be writing busily in a book.
Tonks, he thought. She’d sounded startled, not scared, but that could mean anything, couldn’t it?
With no reassuring thoughts at all in his head, he straightened up, tried to stand and found that, though consciousness was apparently back as normal, a whirling dizziness set the walls tilting, making them lean inwards on him.
“Steady!” The hooded figure had looked up, quill poised in mid-air. “Takes a moment to adjust and get the legs - well, I was going to say sea-worthy, but time-worthy is more appropriate. Come and have some chocolate. Guaranteed poison-free.”
Remus reached for his wand. He took a breath and most of the room steadied enough to enable him to walk to the desk and lean against it.
“Where am I?”
The hood - there was no face visible within, just dark emptiness - tilted sideways in apparent thought at his question. The hands, at least, were well-shaped and human enough. Both voice and hands were male.
There was a sound like a throat being cleared.
“Now that’s not easy to explain. If I say you’re inside the clock, that’s both slightly inaccurate and rather misleading. If I say you’re inside Time itself, you’ll think I’ve overdone the Firewhiskey, when really the bags under the eyes and lines you can’t see are just due to trying to get some sleep last night while the newest member of the family had other ideas. Or you’ll start asking more questions, which will only delay us both. It’s easier if you just have some of these-“ a pale, long-fingered hand pushed a small tray towards him which held a minature mountain peak of what looked like gold wrapped chocolate balls, all trembling slightly as though in anticipation of being chosen, “-while I finish this paperwork and get you started. And that’s really not the friendliest of gestures, you know.”
“Oddly enough, I’m not feeling particularly friendly.” Remus pointed his wand at the place where he assumed a throat would be, though he doubted the wand would work if what had happened elsewhere was anything to go by. If necessary, a handful of wandless Conjured flame shoved down the hood would probably get the point across.
“I’ve got to go back,” he said quietly. “At once.”
“You have?” The hood regarded him with seemingly great interest. “Why’s that then?”
“I’ve left someone behind who may be in great danger.”
“May? That all sounds a bit vague, I have to say. One might almost deduce you’re not entirely sure.”
There was a quality to the voice that Remus was beginning to find both irritating and familiar. That lilt of dry amusement was reminiscent of Sirius, the interested and polite tone had something of Dumbledore to it, and the faintly smug, self-satisfied air had definite Severus-like qualities.
Thinking of Snape immediately brought feelings of bottled rage and disbelief rising rapidly to the surface, as well as the accompanying doubts which kept nagging at him more and more. He shook his head to clear them, moved the wand to eye level, and said, coldly: “I’m sure there’s danger and I’m sure I’ve left someone behind. Whether she may be in danger, or is in danger, is irrelevant.”
“Well, yes, you’re probably right.” The hood nodded agreeably. “Especially now you’ve told me that the person concerned is female, she’s someone you care about a great deal as your priority is her and not your own safety, and she’s capable of looking after herself. Which is why you said ‘may.’”
“She’s one of the most capable people I know. But capable people still get killed.” Especially around me, he could have added.
“They do indeed, unfortunately. Still, I can assure you the fair - or should I say dark? - Nymphadora won’t in this instance. How’s that?”
Remus took a breath and regarded the wand thoughtfully. If in doubt, improvise, had always been a favourite Marauder saying, and Tonks was fond of it, too, though she didn’t mean it in quite the same way…
He smiled slightly and brought his hand down sharply. “Not nearly good enough, I’m afraid. Somehow I really don’t like you using her name like that. And I know for a fact that she wouldn’t.”
“Right.” The voice was much higher now. Remus was glad to see the whole arm apparently tensing under the long sleeve as the pale hand squirmed. “Okay, um … either you … skewer my hand, or accept that my rather jovial tone was in no way meant to belittle your fears, and you have my word that she’s fine and you’ll be seeing her soon.”
“Why should I take your word?” Remus kept the pressure steady.
“Because, like you, I’ll never let any harm come to her if I can possibly help it. Besides, it could be argued, that she’s partly why you’re here. You’ve got yourself in a right mess, haven’t you? All those doubts milling around and playing havoc with that unflappable exterior of yours.”
It was hard to understand why he instantly believed words coming out from under a hood, but he did. There was a quality to them now that reminded him of something or someone else, something he couldn’t quite pin down, and which made him both uneasy and reassured, all at the same time, but all his instincts told him the words were sincere.
The question was now, after this last year, did he trust those same instincts any more?
Almost in spite of himself, he lifted the wand. “Let’s get on with it then. I suppose it’s out of the question that you tell me why I’m here.”
“Mainly because someone’s put themselves out for you. You have good friends.” One pale hand rubbed another, a large red mark in the centre of the left one. The voice lightened again, though it retained a more serious, husky note. “Right. Well, we’ve wasted enough time on the pleasantries, and time costs money, which has never been your strong suit, has it? You need to pick your guides.”
The hood bent over, the reddened hand was flexed feelingly once more, and the quill started to scribble away.
Remus decided he wasn’t going to provide the next lead into another sarky comment, especially as he was using the time to study both the figure and his hands intently. Certain possible conclusions from this were very disturbing, to say the least, so he toppled the top chocolate ball off with his finger and watched it scoot round the dish in what seemed like some sort of intricate, rolling dance, and then try and climb back up the pile.
“What?” The hood glanced up. “Oh, sorry, pick a word.” The quill jabbed upwards, over the slim shoulder, and Remus saw a line of words floating slowly through the air and circling round in a lazy figure of eight to do it again. “What does ‘guide’ make you think of?”
Patience, wisdom, courage, chivalry, kindness, cunning, bravery, loyalty, daring…
“Why?”
There was an audible sigh. The floating words seemed to speed up in sympathy. “Do we have to debate everything? I’ve got a home and a wife to get to, you know. As I believe I’ve explained quite clearly before, someone has gone to a lot of trouble to give you one hour of extra time. Incredibly powerful magic, I have to say. Just think how many people would love an extra hour to relive a few memorable moments. Of course, you need guides as viewing this sort of stuff can have unexpected results on the, er, weak-willed. Not that I’m saying you are at all,” the voice added hastily, “just that it’s very easy to interpret things wrongly or not take what you should from them. In this case, you’re down for three guides and one volunteer. To determine who they are, you need to do one thing - pick a word. So what do you think?”
Remus thought he was talking to a smug git who was really, really pushing his luck at the moment. Considering he thought he was normally pretty easy-going, it was amazing how that voice managed to rub every nerve the wrong way.
There was another sigh, this time a disappointed one.
“It’s like word association. Only when I say ‘guide,’ you’re not supposed to say ‘why?’ Let’s try it the old-fashioned way: I say cat, you say dog. I say Umbridge, you say centaur. I say werewolf, you say Dark creature.” The voice suddenly paused. “Or do you say Patronus? Interesting, that one. I have no idea and I really should. Anyway, I say sex, you say pink. I say Black, you say-“
“Loyalty,” said Remus, through a stiff jaw.
“Thank you.” The hood nodded, approvingly. A brief note was made in the margin of the book, followed by a neat tick. “As though I didn’t know you’d go for that one. I can’t believe Nympha, er, Tonks puts up with you being so predictable. Guides are versions of the real person you know, by the way, in a different time, different place, so don’t go worrying that you’re seeing ghosts. Although, you might actually … well, never mind. Popcorn, Liquorice Wands or Every Flavour Beans?”
Remus silently made a correction to his earlier thought that this was one of the most irritating voices he’d ever come across. There was no competition; it was out there on its own.
“No? Never mind, I’ll send the boy in with ice cream at some point, in case you change your mind. We’ve got some special offers on at the moment. Now follow me.” The long-fingered hand stretched upwards to a hitherto unnoticed key hanging on the side of the wall.
Remus hesitated fractionally, quickly checked round the room again so that he was sure of its exact location in his head in case they were plunged into darkness once more and he had to find his way back, before following the brown robed figure to a corner where there was just a small, barely perceptible keyhole in the wall. The key was inserted and turned with a small click; the outline of a thin door appearing in front of them.
“After you.” The figure held his arm out politely.
“No, after you.”
“So cautious. Very wise, I’m sure, though there’s no need.” The figure stepped through and Remus followed several paces behind before coming to an abrupt halt at what was in front of him.
He was in another small, square room; again richly decorated in the Gryffindor colours, though this time the walls and carpets were gold with scarlet trimmings, and there were two large leather armchairs next to each other pushed up against the far wall. It was much darker as there were only two dim lamps, and even warmer, though there was no fire. He took all that in in a split-second because nearest him, hanging unsupported by itself in mid-air, was what appeared to be a rectangular screen of gently swirling mist.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” The figure gestured him towards one of the chairs. “Sit down because the clock is, literally, ticking. Press that button-“ a long finger pointed to the chair arm, “-to start. The one below will change your guide, if you think it necessary. Obviously some scenes won’t be suitable for young eyes, but I’ll leave that to your discretion, though judging by the snippets I’ve seen that’s not another of your strong points. And the final button will let you relive the moment, if you want to.” Remus looked up sharply. “Yes. You can literally step into the screen if you want; it’s quite safe, I assure you. Now alphabetical, random or date order?”
“As I have no idea what you’re talking about, it’s rather hard to make a decision.”
“Random it is, then,” said the voice, cheerfully. “More hard-hitting, that way. And now I’ll leave you to it. It’s only an hour but you’ll be surprised what you can do in that time. And what can be done to you, of course.”
“Wait,” Remus said, as the figure was halfway to the door. “Why am I really here and who are you?”
The figure halted. “You’re here because someone felt you needed a timely reminder of a few things you might have forgotten. As to the other question,” there was a sound like an amused snort of laughter, “I’m sure you’ve already worked that one out, or I’d be very disappointed in you. I’ll see you before you leave. And if I might make a suggestion that you don’t turn your nose up at - make the most of your time.”
Once he was alone, Remus explored every inch of the room, including sticking a careful hand into the edge of the mist. It was cold and wet as it touched his skin, rather like the feel of a damp spider’s web without the accompanying stickiness, but there were no clues as to its purpose.
Which left only pushing the button to find out.
He’d spent the last few days cursing his inability not to hesitate at everything, and he mocked himself as he reached for the button. If there was ever a time to be cautious, it was surely now. But those instincts he’d finally given in to, and listened to in the hospital wing, were screaming at him again to go ahead and take the chance.
Dumbledore had set this up. Dumbledore, to whom he owed so much, and who had sent him here for a reason.
He pressed the button.
The lamps flickered and then blew out as though there’d been a gust of wind. Here we go again, Remus thought dryly, as he sat in the dark. Let’s hope this is just for dramatic effect.
The screen of mist flickered in front of him as a beam of light coming from somewhere behind his head hit it. The mist shimmered, divided, and then, literally, came to life. Shapes and figures began to appear on it, colours swirled and merged into them, and the faint hum of sound began to grow louder.
Merlin, Remus thought, as he began to dimly recognise some of the images in front of him, and then, God, no.
“Ah, good afternoon,” said a voice next to him, and he turned, with absolutely no sense of surprise, to see Dumbledore looking at him from the other armchair, peering through his half moon glasses with a most satisfied expression. “Excellent to see you here, Remus.”
Apparently the shock, having missed his sense of surprise, had still hit something vital because it took him two attempts to speak, and while he was trying to remember the basic requirements of both forming and giving sound to speech, Dumbledore spoke again.
“I know. I must apologise for my, er, rather unpredictable appearance and these equally unusual surroundings. Though I must say I’ve always been incredibly curious as to what goes on inside a clock, haven’t you? I always imagined you’d need ear muffs, for a start. But I’m digressing …” He held a hand up in mitigation and the part of Remus’ brain which was still functioning at normal levels saw that it was entirely uninjured. “Needs must, is my only excuse, I’m afraid. I’m now forced to come up with these imaginative ways of contacting you as the normal options are regrettably no longer available. Dead owls insist on a life of leisure and vacation, for a start, and the only thing they’ll consider delivering is a postcard from Scarborough. How are you?”
“I’m … fine,” Remus managed to croak out at last. “And, er, you?”
“All things considered, extremely well, thank you.” Dumbledore smiled slightly and nodded. “Yes, it’s all been a very interesting experience, and a lot of my preconceived ideas beforehand were entirely wrong, as they usually are. However, we’re here to talk about far more pressing things, and there’s little time to do it in as that very pleasant and efficient young man who brought you in here keeps telling me. You must have one or two urgent questions, I imagine?”
The first one which came into Remus’ head was how on earth that smart-arsed git could be viewed as getting within hailing distance of pleasant, but, bearing in mind his current fears about that, it was probably best not to go there.
He shook himself; this was no time to get personal. And Dumbledore was back, even if it was just for an hour.
He found his voice again. “Well, I’ve considered that this is a dream. Also that I’ve got some strange concussion from being hit on the head by a deranged pendulum, or that, finally, I really have lost my mind. I haven’t quite decided which one I’m going for yet, but now you’re here and, forgive me, but I did think you were dead. It’s all a little confusing. Not least,” he turned his head to check what was still on the screen, “that I now seem to be watching the time when you asked me to live amongst the werewolves.”
“Ah, yes.” Dumbledore pushed his glasses more firmly onto his crooked nose. “Well, firstly, I suppose I might say there are … degrees of deadness. I personally felt it was vital to plan ahead, in case events overtook me, as they rather did at the end there.”
He spoke lightly but a sickness had been forming in Remus’ heart while he did so; the grief and despair he’d felt when Harry had told them Dumbledore was dead churning away inside again. Whatever this was, whatever was happening here, nothing was going to change a permanent fact. Dumbledore was still dead and he was woefully inadequate to replace him in any way.
“Secondly,” Dumbledore said calmly, “I never got chance to speak to you again as I wanted to. Which was rather remiss for the next leader of the Order.”
Remus kept his eyes fixed on the screen, not quite trusting his voice. The Remus of then was silent as well, in answer to the request that he work as a spy; keeping his face impassive, his real feelings to himself.
“I never really appreciated quite what I was asking of you this year,” Dumbledore said gently by his side. “A poor excuse, I know.”
“No.” Remus shook his head. “You only did what you had to.”
“And you did what you had to?”
Remus swallowed. “I thought I was protecting her from it all. Sparing her wasting her life and her time with someone like me.” And I was frightened for her; you have no idea how much. I still am, but now it’s a selfish fear because I know I can’t do without her. “Fear,” he added, as Dumbledore seemed to be waiting, and there was no way he could talk about the blinding anger, bitterness and shame he’d felt at the time, “is still my enemy, I think. I’ve just found a different kind. A leader needs to be followed and I can’t think why anyone would follow me.”
“I imagine fear is everyone’s enemy,” said Dumbledore lightly. “You’re certainly not alone there, Remus. I have great battles with it myself. Besides, the important thing is that you overcame it then, and you have now. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. And you’re about to see why people want to follow you and will do so. Time for me to go for a bit.”
It took a moment for the last words to sink in before Remus realised he was alone again. The empty chair and silence was his only company once more.
“Expecto patronum!” yelled Harry’s voice without warning, and Remus jumped what felt like several inches in his chair. He swung round and felt his eyes widen with disbelief at the sight of the small, thin boy facing a circle of Dementors across the lake with his wand outstretched and shaking, his face screwed up with determination. The end of the wand exploded with incredible force into a dazzling silver stag which lowered its head and charged furiously at the black figures, scattering them in all directions, and making them vanish into the forest like dark ghosts.
The stag paused and stamped a foot in what looked like both challenge and triumph. Its coat gleamed brightly in the moonlight as it tossed its head and cantered back towards Harry across the still surface of the lake.
“Prongs,” Harry whispered, his fingertips stretching towards it.
James, thought Remus.
James, protecting his son, even from beyond the grave. James who threw his head back like that with satisfaction whenever he caught the Snitch.
It made him wonder whether Tonks’ Patronus shared any characteristics with… He stopped the thought and shivered, in spite of the warmth.
“Wasn’t that something?” said Ron’s voice in his ear. “Course I missed it all the first time round, being unconscious. That bastard Snape was loading me onto a stretcher at the time, I think.”
Remus turned slowly, determined not to jump this time. Tall, gangling arms and legs, flaming red hair, and an abundant sprinkling of freckles on all visible skin.
Borrowed Time Part II
Author: gilpin25
Rating & Warnings: PG13 References to sex and mild swearing.
Prompts: Angst and Humour; Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Ron; Swelling Solution and Scream.
Word Count: 11,058
Summary: A week after the events of HBP, and a new direction and purpose are needed for many. If direct help can’t be given, then someone’s going to have to improvise…
Author’s Notes: Never thought I was going to get this done in time, it’s been the maddest of crazy rushes, and I’m just hoping it doesn’t show too much. Oh, yes, and anyone looking for a sane plot, may not be in the right place. Still, enough excuses… ;)
Borrowed Time.
“What do we do now?” Tonks asked, above the noise of a room filled from ceiling to floor, and corner to corner, with clocks going about their daily business.
Remus opened his mouth to say that, if nothing else, they could certainly check they’d both got the right time, but closed it again. He knew his next move was wrong, too, but it still seemed far easier to glance round once more; his eyes having adjusted to the glittering, diamond-like light of the Ministry’s Time Room, while his ears took in the relentless beat of thousands of diminutive footsteps, the sound of each passing second of life being marked by an almost continuous pulse.
He knew she was watching him. Waiting for him to say something. So he did. “I’m really glad we never got that cuckoo clock you were on about for the hallway, you know.”
Standing as close as they were, he felt rather than saw the beginnings of the usual cheeky grin, felt her lips start to part. Then she stopped. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a stain of pink appear on her pale cheek. She bit her lip.
Silence.
At least there was from the human beings in the room. Remus thought ruefully that he could have done with permanently hesitating with that one. Sirius and Dumbledore had both been alive the last time the cuckoo clock and decorating her flat had got a laughing mention one lazy Sunday morning in bed. Hogwarts wasn’t under threat of closure while the school governors endlessly discussed and dithered, and Harry wasn’t more vulnerable to Voldemort than he’d ever been. The Order wasn’t lurching around like a rudderless ship in search of both captain and course. No one was staying up till two or three o’clock as they’d done this week, and the last; talking over all the things that had to be done the next day before exhaustion claimed them both.
Once he could have anticipated what her answer would have been, or, if not the words, then the exact tone of them; along with the accompanying swift glance at him from dark eyes where the always present spark of light and life would dance. Her bright hair would fall forwards as she did so and she’d brush it back impatiently behind her ear as she shifted her weight from one leg to another, putting a hand into her pocket while looking for something to casually lean against, trying - every bit as hard as he was - to look as though his next reply was of very little interest to her in the grand scheme of things. While both of them knew that just being with the other gave a purpose and meaning to each day.
But once was gone forever. Times had changed and he’d done more than his fair share to change them.
“It’s definitely the right one, isn’t it? As there’s, oh, only about a hundred or so to choose from in here.” Tonks was staring up at the tall, thin, rather majestic-looking grandfather clock in front of them, fingering the just visible corner of a slip of parchment which she looked as if she was about to pull out of her jeans pocket. “Mind you,” she chuckled softly, “it does look like him, so it’s got to be.”
Remus bit back something midway between a grin and a grimace as she voiced his own earlier thought. The slowly moving silver pendulum visible through the glass door could almost be the gentle sway of a long grey beard. The dark oak casing could be mistaken for the folds of a cloak. And if he squinted at the roman numerals for three and nine, the hands of the clock currently neatly defining the outline of a frame, then he could easily swear he was looking at a pair of half-moon spectacles.
He reached for his own slip, as delivered to each and every one of them at last night’s Order meeting by Aberforth, complete with grubby fingerprints and worryingly unidentifiable stains, and the most insecure set of seals ever. Moody’s magical eye had jammed in rigid fury until Remus had pointed out that no self-respecting Death Eater would ever imagine these were (or want to touch) the last recorded wishes of one sorely missed Albus P. Dumbledore.
His eyes met hers, the spark of light that came and went in hers intermittently now appearing after a second or two, and he felt the familiar contraction inside. If he could just find a way past this painstaking politeness, and this paralysing fear of saying the wrong thing that had plagued him since their reconciliation, then everything would be all right, and he could talk properly to her again.
He held the piece of parchment out for her to see, as he’d done straight away last night when given it.
Dear Remus,
Four o’clock by Old Father Time in the north-west corner of the Ministry, Department of Mysteries, Friday afternoon. Watch the arched dial at the top as it strikes the hour and act accordingly. Nymphadora will go with you.
I trust this finds you in excellent health.
Your friend,
Albus Dumbledore.
“Hmm.” She nodded, half-smiled at him in a distracted manner, and stood on tip toe to gaze up at the currently blank arch above the numbers eleven, twelve and one. He watched with dismay as, just like she had last night, she tucked her own slip back into her pocket. “It looks as though it’s going to revolve round. Presumably some sort of message or picture will be revealed when it gets to the hour?”
“Not long to find out.” Remus spoke quietly. Was it really so surprising she didn’t want to share everything with him? It wasn’t realistic to expect things to be as they’d once been.
“Two minutes.” Her eyes swept the room again and then rested on him. “Did you notice the bell jar had repaired itself?”
The sparkling light which filled the room was coming from the bell jar at the far end of the room. The one that a Death Eater had fallen into and all but destroyed in his attempt to get the prophecy from Harry. There didn’t seem to be a mark on it and he could see the tiny hummingbird inside floating gently on the current of air.
“You say it did it itself?”
“Yeah. They came in the next day and found it like that, apparently. The rest of the room was a right mess. Lots of theories about it, though I missed out on most of them being a bit out of things.” She was looking at him curiously, those eyes even darker with some unreadable expression, probably remembering like he was that she’d been well and truly out of things in St. Mungo’s. “It’s obviously true what they say - time really does heal everything.”
“As good as new?”
She looked at him steadily. “I don’t suppose you ever quite know that, do you?”
Remus wondered if he was reading more into this than she intended. It was another moment to try and break down the barrier between them, an opportunity he kept searching for, but there was no time.
He’d have been better off saying something at lunch time when he’d come back, no, home, to a flat where it looked as though a banshee party for fifty or so had just finished. Clothes were strewn everywhere, pots were piled in the sink, and all available food seemed to have disappeared without reasonable explanation.
“I’m just about to tidy,” she’d said, giving him that strange expression again, as he’d carefully removed her dirty socks of yesterday from the cover of his book, and firmly held back what he wanted to say. In case this was her way of saying that it wasn’t working.
Less than sixty seconds to go as he glanced up.
She saw the direction his eyes went in, and her thoughts seemed to go along similar lines again, as she said, quickly, “Let’s hope this clarifies a few things.”
“Let’s hope so. The Order needs someone in charge. Harry needs help and protection. We’re wasting time while Voldemort will be using it.”
“Spoken like a leader.” She raised an ironic eyebrow at him, just like she had last night when he’d suggested a vote to decide on that very issue, and everyone had developed exceedingly deaf ears.
“Spoken like someone who was a lousy prefect the only time he was ever asked to lead anything.” He was aiming for self-mockery but it somehow eluded him completely. “Not forgetting my outstanding success at converting however many werewolves it was to our side. Somewhere around precisely none, I believe it was.”
“But Dumbledore said-“
“Ages ago.” He cut in quickly before she said it. “And not in so many words, either. He said nothing this past year.”
“Hmm.” Her eyes dropped from his, and he wondered when she’d got so attached to this meaningless word - or a word which could mean anything from I whole-heartedly agree to You’re talking complete rot, you great coward - and he knew which he thought it was at the moment.
It suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea what was going to happen when four o’clock came and while he trusted Dumbledore with his life, even from beyond the grave, he wasn’t going to face the unknown with things like this between them. Some lessons from the past had been learnt.
“Tonks.” He reached out and took her arm as she looked at him, a crease of surprise between her eyebrows. “I know things aren’t right between us, I know it’s my fault-“
“Remus.” She was shaking her head, in dismay, he thought.
“-and I’ve got a nerve expecting anything else. I do think it’ll take a while, I want so much to make you happy.” He glanced up again and saw there was less than twenty seconds to go, and that was nowhere near long enough to say that his greatest fear, the one that seemed to hamper his every action at the moment, was that neither of them would have a while to be happy or not.
It made him say, in a rushed and far too urgent whisper, “God, Tonks, there’s been so little time for us since, since … then. You do know how I wish-“
A small fist thumped into his shoulder and she hurled herself at him, clasping him so fiercely round his chest he almost winced. He held her tightly and breathed in her scent; her head on his shoulder, his head on hers, as close as they could get, as far apart as planets.
His fault, for not being patient. This wasn’t like trying to repair a bell jar with magic.
Her hands were clutching his jumper so tightly he thought she might be trying to shake him again.
“You’re a silly sod and you be bloody careful,” she said as the clock next to them seemed to gather itself on an indrawn breath. “You have no idea how-“
The beat of every clock paused as one and the room was suddenly plunged into darkness.
Remus had a split second to wonder whether they were going to be deafened if every clock and watch in the room struck the hour at the same time - and why on earth that hadn’t occurred to him previously - before he realised he was no longer holding onto her.
“Tonks,” he said, grabbing his wand and reaching a searching arm out, finding only air.
“Yeah, I’m here. Lumos doesn’t work.” He heard the swish of a wand but it seemed faint and distant. “Nor does anything else. Watch yourself.”
“You watch yourself.” He tried to take a step towards her but his legs wouldn’t move. He was literally rooted to the spot.
“What? What’s that?” Her voice sounded very far away, “I can’t hear you above that damn clock screaming.”
Screaming? Remus ears strained into the eerie silence, as his eyes tried to discern anything in the dark, conscious that the feel and beat of time had ceased and everything seemed to be waiting for something.
Watch the arched dial as the clock strikes four.
He’d forgotten that, hadn’t he? Despite the fact he couldn’t see a thing, that muttering every spell and charm he could think of produced no effect whatsoever on either silence or darkness, he turned his body with an immense effort towards the place where he’d last seen the clock and groped a hand out towards it. As he touched the solid base, the clock was illuminated in front of him, and his eyes went automatically up to the arched dial.
Words were rotating slowly round and round, and he blinked, trying to make sense of them, and whatever it was that was happening.
What kept you? Time’s not cheap, you know. Still, better once than never, for never too late. Oh, by the way, shut your eyes if you’re squeamish.
“Tonks,” he said loudly and urgently. “Get out of here!”
“What?” Her voice was even farther away. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t-“ He bit the words off with a sense of disbelief as something long and grey rose up from the base of the clock and hovered in front of him - it was the damn pendulum - and then moved left and right as though … picking its target.
It drew back and as he belatedly realised what was happening, far too late to do anything like sending the command to duck from his brain to the rest of him, the pendulum swung in a continuous and smooth movement towards his head. The end of it rapped him smartly and neatly on the temple, and he just had time to register a cry from somewhere far away and know that he had to get back to her, in the same instant as all consciousness ceased within a blink.
*******
The world returned in the same way it had left; one second he was unaware, the next, awake. No dazed grey area to behold, no shooting stars, no pain or confused moments of coming to. Simply the world was back and he was in it once more.
It was a very different world, though.
He was sat, or, more precisely, slouched sideways in a leather chair in a scarlet and gold room. Very small, very precisely square; just four scarlet walls and a thick golden carpet, with a chandelier made up of two rows of candles providing the light. It was very warm and a fire blazed to the left of him, logs piled high in the grate. The only other object in the room was a large oak desk opposite, behind which a brown robed and hooded figure appeared to be writing busily in a book.
Tonks, he thought. She’d sounded startled, not scared, but that could mean anything, couldn’t it?
With no reassuring thoughts at all in his head, he straightened up, tried to stand and found that, though consciousness was apparently back as normal, a whirling dizziness set the walls tilting, making them lean inwards on him.
“Steady!” The hooded figure had looked up, quill poised in mid-air. “Takes a moment to adjust and get the legs - well, I was going to say sea-worthy, but time-worthy is more appropriate. Come and have some chocolate. Guaranteed poison-free.”
Remus reached for his wand. He took a breath and most of the room steadied enough to enable him to walk to the desk and lean against it.
“Where am I?”
The hood - there was no face visible within, just dark emptiness - tilted sideways in apparent thought at his question. The hands, at least, were well-shaped and human enough. Both voice and hands were male.
There was a sound like a throat being cleared.
“Now that’s not easy to explain. If I say you’re inside the clock, that’s both slightly inaccurate and rather misleading. If I say you’re inside Time itself, you’ll think I’ve overdone the Firewhiskey, when really the bags under the eyes and lines you can’t see are just due to trying to get some sleep last night while the newest member of the family had other ideas. Or you’ll start asking more questions, which will only delay us both. It’s easier if you just have some of these-“ a pale, long-fingered hand pushed a small tray towards him which held a minature mountain peak of what looked like gold wrapped chocolate balls, all trembling slightly as though in anticipation of being chosen, “-while I finish this paperwork and get you started. And that’s really not the friendliest of gestures, you know.”
“Oddly enough, I’m not feeling particularly friendly.” Remus pointed his wand at the place where he assumed a throat would be, though he doubted the wand would work if what had happened elsewhere was anything to go by. If necessary, a handful of wandless Conjured flame shoved down the hood would probably get the point across.
“I’ve got to go back,” he said quietly. “At once.”
“You have?” The hood regarded him with seemingly great interest. “Why’s that then?”
“I’ve left someone behind who may be in great danger.”
“May? That all sounds a bit vague, I have to say. One might almost deduce you’re not entirely sure.”
There was a quality to the voice that Remus was beginning to find both irritating and familiar. That lilt of dry amusement was reminiscent of Sirius, the interested and polite tone had something of Dumbledore to it, and the faintly smug, self-satisfied air had definite Severus-like qualities.
Thinking of Snape immediately brought feelings of bottled rage and disbelief rising rapidly to the surface, as well as the accompanying doubts which kept nagging at him more and more. He shook his head to clear them, moved the wand to eye level, and said, coldly: “I’m sure there’s danger and I’m sure I’ve left someone behind. Whether she may be in danger, or is in danger, is irrelevant.”
“Well, yes, you’re probably right.” The hood nodded agreeably. “Especially now you’ve told me that the person concerned is female, she’s someone you care about a great deal as your priority is her and not your own safety, and she’s capable of looking after herself. Which is why you said ‘may.’”
“She’s one of the most capable people I know. But capable people still get killed.” Especially around me, he could have added.
“They do indeed, unfortunately. Still, I can assure you the fair - or should I say dark? - Nymphadora won’t in this instance. How’s that?”
Remus took a breath and regarded the wand thoughtfully. If in doubt, improvise, had always been a favourite Marauder saying, and Tonks was fond of it, too, though she didn’t mean it in quite the same way…
He smiled slightly and brought his hand down sharply. “Not nearly good enough, I’m afraid. Somehow I really don’t like you using her name like that. And I know for a fact that she wouldn’t.”
“Right.” The voice was much higher now. Remus was glad to see the whole arm apparently tensing under the long sleeve as the pale hand squirmed. “Okay, um … either you … skewer my hand, or accept that my rather jovial tone was in no way meant to belittle your fears, and you have my word that she’s fine and you’ll be seeing her soon.”
“Why should I take your word?” Remus kept the pressure steady.
“Because, like you, I’ll never let any harm come to her if I can possibly help it. Besides, it could be argued, that she’s partly why you’re here. You’ve got yourself in a right mess, haven’t you? All those doubts milling around and playing havoc with that unflappable exterior of yours.”
It was hard to understand why he instantly believed words coming out from under a hood, but he did. There was a quality to them now that reminded him of something or someone else, something he couldn’t quite pin down, and which made him both uneasy and reassured, all at the same time, but all his instincts told him the words were sincere.
The question was now, after this last year, did he trust those same instincts any more?
Almost in spite of himself, he lifted the wand. “Let’s get on with it then. I suppose it’s out of the question that you tell me why I’m here.”
“Mainly because someone’s put themselves out for you. You have good friends.” One pale hand rubbed another, a large red mark in the centre of the left one. The voice lightened again, though it retained a more serious, husky note. “Right. Well, we’ve wasted enough time on the pleasantries, and time costs money, which has never been your strong suit, has it? You need to pick your guides.”
The hood bent over, the reddened hand was flexed feelingly once more, and the quill started to scribble away.
Remus decided he wasn’t going to provide the next lead into another sarky comment, especially as he was using the time to study both the figure and his hands intently. Certain possible conclusions from this were very disturbing, to say the least, so he toppled the top chocolate ball off with his finger and watched it scoot round the dish in what seemed like some sort of intricate, rolling dance, and then try and climb back up the pile.
“What?” The hood glanced up. “Oh, sorry, pick a word.” The quill jabbed upwards, over the slim shoulder, and Remus saw a line of words floating slowly through the air and circling round in a lazy figure of eight to do it again. “What does ‘guide’ make you think of?”
Patience, wisdom, courage, chivalry, kindness, cunning, bravery, loyalty, daring…
“Why?”
There was an audible sigh. The floating words seemed to speed up in sympathy. “Do we have to debate everything? I’ve got a home and a wife to get to, you know. As I believe I’ve explained quite clearly before, someone has gone to a lot of trouble to give you one hour of extra time. Incredibly powerful magic, I have to say. Just think how many people would love an extra hour to relive a few memorable moments. Of course, you need guides as viewing this sort of stuff can have unexpected results on the, er, weak-willed. Not that I’m saying you are at all,” the voice added hastily, “just that it’s very easy to interpret things wrongly or not take what you should from them. In this case, you’re down for three guides and one volunteer. To determine who they are, you need to do one thing - pick a word. So what do you think?”
Remus thought he was talking to a smug git who was really, really pushing his luck at the moment. Considering he thought he was normally pretty easy-going, it was amazing how that voice managed to rub every nerve the wrong way.
There was another sigh, this time a disappointed one.
“It’s like word association. Only when I say ‘guide,’ you’re not supposed to say ‘why?’ Let’s try it the old-fashioned way: I say cat, you say dog. I say Umbridge, you say centaur. I say werewolf, you say Dark creature.” The voice suddenly paused. “Or do you say Patronus? Interesting, that one. I have no idea and I really should. Anyway, I say sex, you say pink. I say Black, you say-“
“Loyalty,” said Remus, through a stiff jaw.
“Thank you.” The hood nodded, approvingly. A brief note was made in the margin of the book, followed by a neat tick. “As though I didn’t know you’d go for that one. I can’t believe Nympha, er, Tonks puts up with you being so predictable. Guides are versions of the real person you know, by the way, in a different time, different place, so don’t go worrying that you’re seeing ghosts. Although, you might actually … well, never mind. Popcorn, Liquorice Wands or Every Flavour Beans?”
Remus silently made a correction to his earlier thought that this was one of the most irritating voices he’d ever come across. There was no competition; it was out there on its own.
“No? Never mind, I’ll send the boy in with ice cream at some point, in case you change your mind. We’ve got some special offers on at the moment. Now follow me.” The long-fingered hand stretched upwards to a hitherto unnoticed key hanging on the side of the wall.
Remus hesitated fractionally, quickly checked round the room again so that he was sure of its exact location in his head in case they were plunged into darkness once more and he had to find his way back, before following the brown robed figure to a corner where there was just a small, barely perceptible keyhole in the wall. The key was inserted and turned with a small click; the outline of a thin door appearing in front of them.
“After you.” The figure held his arm out politely.
“No, after you.”
“So cautious. Very wise, I’m sure, though there’s no need.” The figure stepped through and Remus followed several paces behind before coming to an abrupt halt at what was in front of him.
He was in another small, square room; again richly decorated in the Gryffindor colours, though this time the walls and carpets were gold with scarlet trimmings, and there were two large leather armchairs next to each other pushed up against the far wall. It was much darker as there were only two dim lamps, and even warmer, though there was no fire. He took all that in in a split-second because nearest him, hanging unsupported by itself in mid-air, was what appeared to be a rectangular screen of gently swirling mist.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” The figure gestured him towards one of the chairs. “Sit down because the clock is, literally, ticking. Press that button-“ a long finger pointed to the chair arm, “-to start. The one below will change your guide, if you think it necessary. Obviously some scenes won’t be suitable for young eyes, but I’ll leave that to your discretion, though judging by the snippets I’ve seen that’s not another of your strong points. And the final button will let you relive the moment, if you want to.” Remus looked up sharply. “Yes. You can literally step into the screen if you want; it’s quite safe, I assure you. Now alphabetical, random or date order?”
“As I have no idea what you’re talking about, it’s rather hard to make a decision.”
“Random it is, then,” said the voice, cheerfully. “More hard-hitting, that way. And now I’ll leave you to it. It’s only an hour but you’ll be surprised what you can do in that time. And what can be done to you, of course.”
“Wait,” Remus said, as the figure was halfway to the door. “Why am I really here and who are you?”
The figure halted. “You’re here because someone felt you needed a timely reminder of a few things you might have forgotten. As to the other question,” there was a sound like an amused snort of laughter, “I’m sure you’ve already worked that one out, or I’d be very disappointed in you. I’ll see you before you leave. And if I might make a suggestion that you don’t turn your nose up at - make the most of your time.”
Once he was alone, Remus explored every inch of the room, including sticking a careful hand into the edge of the mist. It was cold and wet as it touched his skin, rather like the feel of a damp spider’s web without the accompanying stickiness, but there were no clues as to its purpose.
Which left only pushing the button to find out.
He’d spent the last few days cursing his inability not to hesitate at everything, and he mocked himself as he reached for the button. If there was ever a time to be cautious, it was surely now. But those instincts he’d finally given in to, and listened to in the hospital wing, were screaming at him again to go ahead and take the chance.
Dumbledore had set this up. Dumbledore, to whom he owed so much, and who had sent him here for a reason.
He pressed the button.
The lamps flickered and then blew out as though there’d been a gust of wind. Here we go again, Remus thought dryly, as he sat in the dark. Let’s hope this is just for dramatic effect.
The screen of mist flickered in front of him as a beam of light coming from somewhere behind his head hit it. The mist shimmered, divided, and then, literally, came to life. Shapes and figures began to appear on it, colours swirled and merged into them, and the faint hum of sound began to grow louder.
Merlin, Remus thought, as he began to dimly recognise some of the images in front of him, and then, God, no.
“Ah, good afternoon,” said a voice next to him, and he turned, with absolutely no sense of surprise, to see Dumbledore looking at him from the other armchair, peering through his half moon glasses with a most satisfied expression. “Excellent to see you here, Remus.”
Apparently the shock, having missed his sense of surprise, had still hit something vital because it took him two attempts to speak, and while he was trying to remember the basic requirements of both forming and giving sound to speech, Dumbledore spoke again.
“I know. I must apologise for my, er, rather unpredictable appearance and these equally unusual surroundings. Though I must say I’ve always been incredibly curious as to what goes on inside a clock, haven’t you? I always imagined you’d need ear muffs, for a start. But I’m digressing …” He held a hand up in mitigation and the part of Remus’ brain which was still functioning at normal levels saw that it was entirely uninjured. “Needs must, is my only excuse, I’m afraid. I’m now forced to come up with these imaginative ways of contacting you as the normal options are regrettably no longer available. Dead owls insist on a life of leisure and vacation, for a start, and the only thing they’ll consider delivering is a postcard from Scarborough. How are you?”
“I’m … fine,” Remus managed to croak out at last. “And, er, you?”
“All things considered, extremely well, thank you.” Dumbledore smiled slightly and nodded. “Yes, it’s all been a very interesting experience, and a lot of my preconceived ideas beforehand were entirely wrong, as they usually are. However, we’re here to talk about far more pressing things, and there’s little time to do it in as that very pleasant and efficient young man who brought you in here keeps telling me. You must have one or two urgent questions, I imagine?”
The first one which came into Remus’ head was how on earth that smart-arsed git could be viewed as getting within hailing distance of pleasant, but, bearing in mind his current fears about that, it was probably best not to go there.
He shook himself; this was no time to get personal. And Dumbledore was back, even if it was just for an hour.
He found his voice again. “Well, I’ve considered that this is a dream. Also that I’ve got some strange concussion from being hit on the head by a deranged pendulum, or that, finally, I really have lost my mind. I haven’t quite decided which one I’m going for yet, but now you’re here and, forgive me, but I did think you were dead. It’s all a little confusing. Not least,” he turned his head to check what was still on the screen, “that I now seem to be watching the time when you asked me to live amongst the werewolves.”
“Ah, yes.” Dumbledore pushed his glasses more firmly onto his crooked nose. “Well, firstly, I suppose I might say there are … degrees of deadness. I personally felt it was vital to plan ahead, in case events overtook me, as they rather did at the end there.”
He spoke lightly but a sickness had been forming in Remus’ heart while he did so; the grief and despair he’d felt when Harry had told them Dumbledore was dead churning away inside again. Whatever this was, whatever was happening here, nothing was going to change a permanent fact. Dumbledore was still dead and he was woefully inadequate to replace him in any way.
“Secondly,” Dumbledore said calmly, “I never got chance to speak to you again as I wanted to. Which was rather remiss for the next leader of the Order.”
Remus kept his eyes fixed on the screen, not quite trusting his voice. The Remus of then was silent as well, in answer to the request that he work as a spy; keeping his face impassive, his real feelings to himself.
“I never really appreciated quite what I was asking of you this year,” Dumbledore said gently by his side. “A poor excuse, I know.”
“No.” Remus shook his head. “You only did what you had to.”
“And you did what you had to?”
Remus swallowed. “I thought I was protecting her from it all. Sparing her wasting her life and her time with someone like me.” And I was frightened for her; you have no idea how much. I still am, but now it’s a selfish fear because I know I can’t do without her. “Fear,” he added, as Dumbledore seemed to be waiting, and there was no way he could talk about the blinding anger, bitterness and shame he’d felt at the time, “is still my enemy, I think. I’ve just found a different kind. A leader needs to be followed and I can’t think why anyone would follow me.”
“I imagine fear is everyone’s enemy,” said Dumbledore lightly. “You’re certainly not alone there, Remus. I have great battles with it myself. Besides, the important thing is that you overcame it then, and you have now. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. And you’re about to see why people want to follow you and will do so. Time for me to go for a bit.”
It took a moment for the last words to sink in before Remus realised he was alone again. The empty chair and silence was his only company once more.
“Expecto patronum!” yelled Harry’s voice without warning, and Remus jumped what felt like several inches in his chair. He swung round and felt his eyes widen with disbelief at the sight of the small, thin boy facing a circle of Dementors across the lake with his wand outstretched and shaking, his face screwed up with determination. The end of the wand exploded with incredible force into a dazzling silver stag which lowered its head and charged furiously at the black figures, scattering them in all directions, and making them vanish into the forest like dark ghosts.
The stag paused and stamped a foot in what looked like both challenge and triumph. Its coat gleamed brightly in the moonlight as it tossed its head and cantered back towards Harry across the still surface of the lake.
“Prongs,” Harry whispered, his fingertips stretching towards it.
James, thought Remus.
James, protecting his son, even from beyond the grave. James who threw his head back like that with satisfaction whenever he caught the Snitch.
It made him wonder whether Tonks’ Patronus shared any characteristics with… He stopped the thought and shivered, in spite of the warmth.
“Wasn’t that something?” said Ron’s voice in his ear. “Course I missed it all the first time round, being unconscious. That bastard Snape was loading me onto a stretcher at the time, I think.”
Remus turned slowly, determined not to jump this time. Tall, gangling arms and legs, flaming red hair, and an abundant sprinkling of freckles on all visible skin.
Borrowed Time Part II