ficlet: There Will Be Time (And time yet for a hundred indecisions)
This came out of... well, not nowhere, but I was answering some old comments yesterday and two of them were on my post about how much do the Order members know about Tom Riddle being Voldemort pre-OotP, and how much do they know about what happened to Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets (obviously excluding Dumbledore and McGonagall, whom I expect know everything, and Weasley mere and pere, whom I expect Dumbledore and Ginny herself may have clued in, and therefore probably the rest of the Weasley clan as well).
More specifically, I was speculating on what Remus, as the new Defense teacher, might have been told.
This fic wanted to spin off into various other directions, so I'm not sure it will end up staying like this, or if there will be more, or less or what. But for now, this is what it looks like.
There Will Be Time | Remus, Minerva | 1612 words
~*~
There Will Be Time
There is no time for second-guessing. Everything he's done since the almost simultaneous arrival of the Daily Prophet announcing Sirius's escape and Dumbledore's letter offering him the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, he's done without looking back. He's become good at that over the years -- no looking back and no looking forward. It's hard to mourn the past or anticipate the future when it's all he can do to get through the right now.
Remus packs and tells his landlady he's leaving before he has time to rethink his decision. She seems relieved to be rid of him, and he can't blame her. He leaves the security deposit, afraid that even after his painstaking repairs, the furniture will give him away, and it's best to be gone before that happens.
He spends the full moon in his great-aunt's old cottage in Yorkshire, and takes the daily Portkey into London for the Hogwarts Express, Dumbledore's letter, creased and smudged from being reread over and over, in his pocket.
Dementors on the Hogwarts Express. On the hunt for Sirius.
It is almost more than Remus can believe, but when the dementor enters his car, he handles it. There is no time to waste. He is amazed that he's still capable of finding a memory happy enough to cast the Patronus. He doesn't question it, doesn't think on it, puts it in back under whatever mental dustcovers he's kept it under for the past twelve years, and turns to take care of the children.
The redheaded boy and girl must be Weasleys; he hadn't realized they'd even had a girl, but even curled up in the corner of the seat, sobbing, he recognizes her features. Neville Longbottom, who looks amazingly like Alice, is pale and trembling. No need to guess what memories the dementor has raised in him.
The bushy-haired girl is unfamiliar, but between her and the Weasley boy lies Harry, whom he hasn't seen in twelve years. It is a shock, greater than he expected, and for a moment he is transported back to his own days as a student, sitting across from James on the train, listening to him and Sirius brag about their exploits--
Harry's eyes flutter open, and Remus looks away for a moment, biting his lip. He'd forgotten how green they are, how bright Lily's were.
He offers the chocolate around, but doesn't take any himself. Even the scent reminds him of things it's best not to remember (warm, full lips tasting of hot cocoa and laughter), even if one of those memories has just helped drive the dementor away. He is pleased that neither his voice nor his fingers tremble, and then he pushes his way out into the corridor, to speak with the conductor, to check on the other children, to owl Dumbledore about what's just happened here.
When they arrive at Hogwarts, McGonagall -- Minerva, he reminds himself -- welcomes him with a surprisingly warm hug, and whispers in his ear that they shall meet in her office after the feast, if he is amenable. Of course, he is.
Hagrid also hugs him, chattering on about the creatures in his care, and Remus lets himself relax and smile, almost as if the past has no hold on him here, the place which makes up the bulk of it, the place he was happiest.
He almost falters when he sees Snape, but years of self-control don't fail him, and he nods in what he hopes is a professional manner in the face of Snape's obvious disdain.
Part of him still thinks this is all some crazy dream, this world where Sirius is a traitor and murderer on the run from Dementors, he and Snape are professors at Hogwarts, and James and Lily's son is the savior of the wizarding world.
But if it's a dream, there's been no waking, and he has to accept that this is his day, now. This is his life.
After the feast, Minerva smiles and leads him into the sitting room behind her office, warmer and more welcoming than he'd ever expected. She relaxes into an old easy chair upholstered in burgundy corduroy, splashes some whisky into a glass and offers it to him, then pours one for herself.
He takes a sip and tries not to wrinkle his nose at the smoky, medicinal taste. He pushes down other memories, later ones, of stubbled skin and whisky-flavored kisses, long, deft fingers on his skin and thick dark hair against his palms. He swallows quickly and forces himself into the present again, focusing on the taut, dry skin of Minerva's hands, the small brown age spots just beginning to show.
"You've had quite a day, Remus."
He lets out a soft huff of laughter and takes another sip of his drink. "Tell me about the Weasley girl."
She looks down at her glass, lips tightening. "Bad business last year."
He nods -- he'd read about the trouble in the news, but hadn't followed it closely -- but he says nothing.
"She was taken down into a secret chamber beneath the school by a basilisk." He blinks. A secret chamber beneath the school. A basilisk. The small adventurous boy who still lives inside him is thrilled; the adult teacher of Defence is intrigued. "Harry rescued her from it. I'm sure you wish to hear about Harry." She takes a long sip of her drink.
"We met briefly on the train," he says, mind reeling. "A basilisk. And Harry faced it?"
"Yes." She sets her empty glass down on the end table. "He is a remarkable boy. So much like his parents, and yet so different. Those Muggles who raised him--"
He wants desperately to hear about Harry, but decides he should hear the rest of the Weasley girl's story first. News of Harry will be his reward. Or his punishment. He still can't quite decide.
"Why was there a basilisk in the school, Minerva?"
"You remember those old stories about the Heir of Slytherin." Her voice is studiously casual.
"Not a Weasley?" he says, remembering Sirius's derision for his cousins' insistence that it could be one of them, could have been Sirius himself, given what they know now.
"Not... exactly."
"Minerva, if I'm to teach the girl Defence I ought to know everything that happened."
"There was a diary. It seems Voldemort, when he was a student here--"
He nearly chokes on his whisky. "Voldemort was a student here?"
"Remus, please." He subsides and gestures for her to continue. "Yes. He was a student here a long time ago. His name was Tom Riddle, and he imbued a diary with the ... essence of himself, I suppose is the best way to say it. The diary somehow found its way into Ginny's possession, and in turn, Ginny found herself in its possession, as it were. With the appropriate bloodletting," here Minerva reaches for her glass, checking herself when she sees it's empty, "he could have brought his sixteen-year-old self to life again. Harry destroyed the diary as well as the basilisk."
He feels a chill, remembers Sirius laughing and explaining, No, you tosser. We put bits of *ourselves* into the map, and that way, we'll always have a record of how we made it. And we can control who uses it after us. And then the magic words, more powerful than any spell. It'll be so cool, Moony. He recalls how easily led he was, how much he wanted to do whatever Sirius and James suggested, following after eagerly, like a puppy desperate to be loved.
He will have to talk with Filch -- no, he will have to search Filch's files, take back the map before it causes any trouble. It's likely Filch destroyed it long ago, but Remus doesn't want to take any chances.
"Let me see if I've got this straight. Voldemort, in the form of an enchanted diary, possessed Ginny Weasley, who then set loose a basilisk in the school, until she was rescued by Harry Potter."
Minerva purses her lips for a moment, then nods. "I think that covers it, yes." No wonder the dementor had reduced the girl to sobs on the train. "As I was saying, Harry is the most remarkable boy. He plays Seeker on the House team. I'm sure I don't need to tell you how proud his father would be."
He finishes the last of his whisky, sets the glass down with fingers that tremble slightly. He tells himself it's weariness, a long day after a long night, and the lingering effects of dementors following the full moon. Nothing more.
He stands, the warmth of the whisky warring with the chill of the story she's just told him, and all the things he ought to tell her but hasn't yet. "I'll protect him, Minerva. I'll protect all of them. In any way I can."
"I know, Remus," she says, rising. "That's why Albus hired you." She walks him to the door and pats his shoulder, an unexpected and welcome gesture of camaraderie and comfort. "Good night, Remus."
He turns to tell her. He wants to tell her. He can hear himself saying the words, Sirius is an Animagus. Sirius knows at least seven secret ways into the castle. Sirius is dangerous, and I can't let the dementors have him, no matter what he's done.
"Remus? Is there something else?"
He shakes his head. He's just arrived and he has no home to go to if Dumbledore kicks him out. "Good night, Minerva. And thank you."
His secrets can wait until tomorrow. If there is one thing he's learned over the course of his life, it's that there is always a tomorrow.
end
***
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot
~*~
Feedback, suggestions, comments all exceptionally welcome. Seriously, let me know what you think.
More specifically, I was speculating on what Remus, as the new Defense teacher, might have been told.
This fic wanted to spin off into various other directions, so I'm not sure it will end up staying like this, or if there will be more, or less or what. But for now, this is what it looks like.
There Will Be Time | Remus, Minerva | 1612 words
~*~
There Will Be Time
There is no time for second-guessing. Everything he's done since the almost simultaneous arrival of the Daily Prophet announcing Sirius's escape and Dumbledore's letter offering him the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, he's done without looking back. He's become good at that over the years -- no looking back and no looking forward. It's hard to mourn the past or anticipate the future when it's all he can do to get through the right now.
Remus packs and tells his landlady he's leaving before he has time to rethink his decision. She seems relieved to be rid of him, and he can't blame her. He leaves the security deposit, afraid that even after his painstaking repairs, the furniture will give him away, and it's best to be gone before that happens.
He spends the full moon in his great-aunt's old cottage in Yorkshire, and takes the daily Portkey into London for the Hogwarts Express, Dumbledore's letter, creased and smudged from being reread over and over, in his pocket.
Dementors on the Hogwarts Express. On the hunt for Sirius.
It is almost more than Remus can believe, but when the dementor enters his car, he handles it. There is no time to waste. He is amazed that he's still capable of finding a memory happy enough to cast the Patronus. He doesn't question it, doesn't think on it, puts it in back under whatever mental dustcovers he's kept it under for the past twelve years, and turns to take care of the children.
The redheaded boy and girl must be Weasleys; he hadn't realized they'd even had a girl, but even curled up in the corner of the seat, sobbing, he recognizes her features. Neville Longbottom, who looks amazingly like Alice, is pale and trembling. No need to guess what memories the dementor has raised in him.
The bushy-haired girl is unfamiliar, but between her and the Weasley boy lies Harry, whom he hasn't seen in twelve years. It is a shock, greater than he expected, and for a moment he is transported back to his own days as a student, sitting across from James on the train, listening to him and Sirius brag about their exploits--
Harry's eyes flutter open, and Remus looks away for a moment, biting his lip. He'd forgotten how green they are, how bright Lily's were.
He offers the chocolate around, but doesn't take any himself. Even the scent reminds him of things it's best not to remember (warm, full lips tasting of hot cocoa and laughter), even if one of those memories has just helped drive the dementor away. He is pleased that neither his voice nor his fingers tremble, and then he pushes his way out into the corridor, to speak with the conductor, to check on the other children, to owl Dumbledore about what's just happened here.
When they arrive at Hogwarts, McGonagall -- Minerva, he reminds himself -- welcomes him with a surprisingly warm hug, and whispers in his ear that they shall meet in her office after the feast, if he is amenable. Of course, he is.
Hagrid also hugs him, chattering on about the creatures in his care, and Remus lets himself relax and smile, almost as if the past has no hold on him here, the place which makes up the bulk of it, the place he was happiest.
He almost falters when he sees Snape, but years of self-control don't fail him, and he nods in what he hopes is a professional manner in the face of Snape's obvious disdain.
Part of him still thinks this is all some crazy dream, this world where Sirius is a traitor and murderer on the run from Dementors, he and Snape are professors at Hogwarts, and James and Lily's son is the savior of the wizarding world.
But if it's a dream, there's been no waking, and he has to accept that this is his day, now. This is his life.
After the feast, Minerva smiles and leads him into the sitting room behind her office, warmer and more welcoming than he'd ever expected. She relaxes into an old easy chair upholstered in burgundy corduroy, splashes some whisky into a glass and offers it to him, then pours one for herself.
He takes a sip and tries not to wrinkle his nose at the smoky, medicinal taste. He pushes down other memories, later ones, of stubbled skin and whisky-flavored kisses, long, deft fingers on his skin and thick dark hair against his palms. He swallows quickly and forces himself into the present again, focusing on the taut, dry skin of Minerva's hands, the small brown age spots just beginning to show.
"You've had quite a day, Remus."
He lets out a soft huff of laughter and takes another sip of his drink. "Tell me about the Weasley girl."
She looks down at her glass, lips tightening. "Bad business last year."
He nods -- he'd read about the trouble in the news, but hadn't followed it closely -- but he says nothing.
"She was taken down into a secret chamber beneath the school by a basilisk." He blinks. A secret chamber beneath the school. A basilisk. The small adventurous boy who still lives inside him is thrilled; the adult teacher of Defence is intrigued. "Harry rescued her from it. I'm sure you wish to hear about Harry." She takes a long sip of her drink.
"We met briefly on the train," he says, mind reeling. "A basilisk. And Harry faced it?"
"Yes." She sets her empty glass down on the end table. "He is a remarkable boy. So much like his parents, and yet so different. Those Muggles who raised him--"
He wants desperately to hear about Harry, but decides he should hear the rest of the Weasley girl's story first. News of Harry will be his reward. Or his punishment. He still can't quite decide.
"Why was there a basilisk in the school, Minerva?"
"You remember those old stories about the Heir of Slytherin." Her voice is studiously casual.
"Not a Weasley?" he says, remembering Sirius's derision for his cousins' insistence that it could be one of them, could have been Sirius himself, given what they know now.
"Not... exactly."
"Minerva, if I'm to teach the girl Defence I ought to know everything that happened."
"There was a diary. It seems Voldemort, when he was a student here--"
He nearly chokes on his whisky. "Voldemort was a student here?"
"Remus, please." He subsides and gestures for her to continue. "Yes. He was a student here a long time ago. His name was Tom Riddle, and he imbued a diary with the ... essence of himself, I suppose is the best way to say it. The diary somehow found its way into Ginny's possession, and in turn, Ginny found herself in its possession, as it were. With the appropriate bloodletting," here Minerva reaches for her glass, checking herself when she sees it's empty, "he could have brought his sixteen-year-old self to life again. Harry destroyed the diary as well as the basilisk."
He feels a chill, remembers Sirius laughing and explaining, No, you tosser. We put bits of *ourselves* into the map, and that way, we'll always have a record of how we made it. And we can control who uses it after us. And then the magic words, more powerful than any spell. It'll be so cool, Moony. He recalls how easily led he was, how much he wanted to do whatever Sirius and James suggested, following after eagerly, like a puppy desperate to be loved.
He will have to talk with Filch -- no, he will have to search Filch's files, take back the map before it causes any trouble. It's likely Filch destroyed it long ago, but Remus doesn't want to take any chances.
"Let me see if I've got this straight. Voldemort, in the form of an enchanted diary, possessed Ginny Weasley, who then set loose a basilisk in the school, until she was rescued by Harry Potter."
Minerva purses her lips for a moment, then nods. "I think that covers it, yes." No wonder the dementor had reduced the girl to sobs on the train. "As I was saying, Harry is the most remarkable boy. He plays Seeker on the House team. I'm sure I don't need to tell you how proud his father would be."
He finishes the last of his whisky, sets the glass down with fingers that tremble slightly. He tells himself it's weariness, a long day after a long night, and the lingering effects of dementors following the full moon. Nothing more.
He stands, the warmth of the whisky warring with the chill of the story she's just told him, and all the things he ought to tell her but hasn't yet. "I'll protect him, Minerva. I'll protect all of them. In any way I can."
"I know, Remus," she says, rising. "That's why Albus hired you." She walks him to the door and pats his shoulder, an unexpected and welcome gesture of camaraderie and comfort. "Good night, Remus."
He turns to tell her. He wants to tell her. He can hear himself saying the words, Sirius is an Animagus. Sirius knows at least seven secret ways into the castle. Sirius is dangerous, and I can't let the dementors have him, no matter what he's done.
"Remus? Is there something else?"
He shakes his head. He's just arrived and he has no home to go to if Dumbledore kicks him out. "Good night, Minerva. And thank you."
His secrets can wait until tomorrow. If there is one thing he's learned over the course of his life, it's that there is always a tomorrow.
end
***
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot
~*~
Feedback, suggestions, comments all exceptionally welcome. Seriously, let me know what you think.