"Like No Other," for _lore
Sweet _lore, I hope this manages to meet your Legilimency/Occlumency kink partway. :-)
ETA: Love, mechaieh. :-)
Title: Like No Other
Rating: PG
Words: ~3,700
Pairings: Snape/Lupin, Ron/Hermione, Harry/Draco
Summary: The Trio, the werewolf, a turtledove, and a looking-glass.
Notes: Thanks to pixychelle for turtledove!Snape, and to my ever-rockin’, not-yet-namable beta. the ever-fabulous catrinella for the beta.
A year like no other this was,
testing us beyond what we'd ever imagined.
Day after day, week after week,
we found ourselves growing
and becoming sturdy
because there was no other choice.
At the beginning of December, Harry finally admitted to himself that he was disturbed by the unshakeability of Remus Lupin's calm. He felt guilty thinking such a thought: in mentoring Harry, Hermione, and Ron all through the autumn, Lupin deserved far more recognition and recompense than the Ministry was ever likely to bestow upon him. Amongst the four of them, they had tracked down and destroyed Slytherin's locket and Hufflepuff's cup, and they were now hard on the trail of a goblin-made looking-glass, purportedly concealed somewhere along the rocky coast of Yorkshire. Lupin had tutored them in deciphering clues, steered them clear of sophisticated traps, and provided a silent but sympathetic audience whenever Harry needed to vent. He was the only person to whom Harry could confide his envy of Ron and Hermione's closeness, and he offered neither judgment nor advice on any subject other than those relating to Horcruxes.
The problem, Harry reflected, was that Lupin had become too reticent sometime over the course of the year. His display of shock and grief at the news of Dumbledore's death remained the only instance in which Harry had ever witnessed Lupin completely losing his composure, even though there had been more casualties over the summer -- an ambush here, an abduction there, and a bomb that had reduced Scrivenshaft's and all of its occupants to blackened remains. There had also been a short-lived liaison with Tonks that had sputtered into nothingness by August; Harry had overheard several conversations amongst the women at the Burrow laced with phrases such as emotionally stunted and still not over that immature mongrel, and he had felt righteously indignant on Lupin's behalf back then, but there was something unnatural about Lupin's relentlessly impassive demeanor: his former professor maintained the air of someone who expected absolutely nothing, reacting to victories with solemn approval and to setbacks with sober resignation.
Most of the time, Harry was grateful for such steadiness: he, Hermione, and Ron all had tempers sufficient to fuel a thousand Unforgivables, and they had come to rely on Lupin's serenity to help them stay grounded and focused. Even so, he had glimpsed Hermione's worried glances and Ron's thoughtful looks in Lupin's direction, and he suspected that they shared his growing unease with their friend's impenetrable stoicism.
When he finally brought it up with them, Hermione all but leaped on him in relief. "It's bothering you too? Then it's not just me reading too much into something not actually there."
Ron muttered affectionately, "You're always reading too much, 'mione, but I agree, something's off. Buggered if I can put my finger on it, though."
Harry wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his chin on top of them. "I think," he said hesitantly, "it's what's not there that doesn't seem right. I..." he faltered, fearing how stupid he was about to sound. "I... I'm not sure Lupin's all here. That... it doesn't seem like he's living for anything. Not -- not even to keep us alive, or to win the war, or to keep himself alive. Like he's here and helping us because he might as well, but if we told him, we don't need you, we can take care of ourselves just fine, he'd just let us go and go back to -- I don't know what he'd do. Spying? Tutoring? Living on handouts?"
Instead of looking blank or contradicting him, Hermione nodded eagerly, and Ron's lips tightened. Oh. That made sense to them. Oh, no. "That's it, Harry," Hermione said. "He was never this impersonal back when he was teaching, or at the Burrow..."
Harry met Ron's eyes. They were both remembering the Christmas before, when Lupin had already seemed remote from the rest of the gathering. How, other than replying to questions put to him, he'd spent most of the holiday staring into the fire rather than actively participating in the festivities. Ron quietly said, "He's had to play by different rules than the rest of us for years."
Harry scowled. "And then there's everyone thinking I think I'm above the rules."
Ron frowned at him. "We're fighting a war. The only rules that matter are the ones relevant to staying alive."
Hermione objected, "Not the only rules --"
Ron said, "Fine, fine, fine. The ones that matter most are the ones where we don't end up dead."
Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder. "I knew what you meant," she said, "and you're right. It's not going to matter who's saying what if we don't win this."
They both look as tired as I feel, Harry thought to himself, tamping down the familiar surge of guilt. And Lupin had always looked worn and ill, even when teaching.
Ron gazed back at him. "Harry, what's worrying you most? That we might lose Lupin because he has so little to live for -- or that he's already lost?"
"It makes my head hurt," Harry said. "Here he is, yet here he isn't."
Hermione said fiercely, "He has to care. No one ordered him to help us. There are so many other places he could be instead of here if he truly didn't care."
Harry said, "I suppose that's true, but --"
"But, does it really matter?" asked Ron. "I don't see what we can do." He held up a hand to forestall the others' protests. "Don't get me wrong -- I'd be happier if we could do something, but Lupin's been taking care of himself longer than we've been alive.
"What's weirding me out," Harry confessed, "is that he's started reminding me of Luna."
Hermione said, "That's not good at all." Ron simultaneously replied, "He's not that entertaining."
"No," Harry agreed, "but some of these wacky leads he's been suggesting lately -- like the enchanted polishing cloth in Bridlington? They're coming out of nowhere, and yet there's just enough in them that's close enough to right..."
"Not nowhere," said Hermione. "I fancy Tourterelle's been bringing them."
"Close enough to nowhere," said Ron. "Who knows where that creature's from."
"It's the oddest turtledove I've ever encountered," Hermione conceded. "They historically hide from wolves."
"Italy," Harry said. "It delivers the Wolfsbane compound from that chemist."
"Well, that's another sign he still cares," Hermione offered.
"That, or he can't be arsed to cancel the order," Ron objected.
"Must you always seize upon the worst possible scenario?" Hermione demanded.
"That would be how I keep beating you at chess," Ron said.
Harry clutched his head. "Arrrrrrrrrgh!"
Ron looked at him apologetically. "It's all right, Harry. I'm not saying we should wring Tourterelle's neck next chance we get." (At these words, Hermione smacked him hard.) "Oof! .... Even though roast dove would be a nice change from two-knut pasties --ow! Okay, that's it, my girl!"
As Ron and Hermione began to wrestle -- he intent on tickling her, she intent on fending him off -- Harry grinned, his worries notwithstanding. He wasn't fond of Tourterelle himself: in addition to acting consistently aloof, and at times even hostile, the bird had once spoiled one of his catnaps by shitting on his glasses. On the other hand, it seemed unusually devoted to Lupin in its fashion, constantly keeping him within its range of vision during its visits. Sometimes the creature settled itself on Lupin's shoulder; at other times, it perched on a nearby branch or hopped onto the tables the former professor conjured for the studying of their maps, notes, and artifacts.
Hedwig approved of Tourterelle -- if nothing else, the dour but lovely-voiced bird appeared to be her match in intelligence and dignity, and it clearly shared her contempt for little Pig's antics. The two birds occasionally collaborated in transporting larger packages to Hogwarts, Twelve Grimmauld Place, and elsewhere, and there were times Harry sensed them both observing Lupin with an almost eerie intensity. He knew he was being fanciful, but it nevertheless seemed to him as though they'd somehow agreed to keep watch over the man, and while that didn't amount to much -- if someone or something became truly intent on attacking Lupin, what could they possibly do? -- Harry still found the notion comforting.
La caill', la tourterelle, et la joli' perdrix --
Auprès de ma blonde, qu'il fait bon dormir.
The quail, the turtledove, and the pretty partridge --
With my blonde honey, it's so nice to sleep.
Remus Lupin was neither deaf nor blind. He was all too aware of the unflattering judgments circulating after his half-hearted affair with Tonks, and the children's surreptitious studying of him hadn't escaped his notice. However, he was too weary to care about gossip and too modest to comprehend how much he mattered to the younger Gryffindors; he'd assumed their anxious looks had to do with his less-than-stellar qualifications for helping them on their quest. In his view, a poor, prematurely aging werewolf was hardly an ideal advisor for three smart, energetic youngsters, but these were desperate times; the other trustworthy adults in the Order had jobs and families they could not afford to abandon for a wild-Horcrux chase, no matter how essential the mysterious artifacts might prove to be in defeating Voldemort, whereas Lupin had time to spare and no dependents to whom he considered himself accountable.
Curled up on the couch he had Transfigured out of a washed-up cushion, Lupin mentally reviewed the day's hunt for the looking-glass. When he finished sifting and sorting through his thoughts, he looked into the eyes of the turtledove resting in the crook of his elbow.
"Legilimens, " he muttered, beginning their nightly ritual. He found it both fascinating and excruciating, reliving each day's events from the bird's perspective. It was not unlike observing one's self via a Time Turner, albeit through a lens specially devised to magnify missed clues and subtle cues, accompanied by caustic annotations in the form of additional images.
Lupin then pointed his wand at himself, again muttering "Legilimens," allowing Tourterelle to enter his mind and travel through his own memories. Once the turtledove finished its first fly-through, Lupin conducted a second exchange of mental visions, collecting his companion's revised analysis of their efforts and conveying his strategy for the following day. There then often followed a series of shorter thought-trades, Tourterelle offering its opinions of Lupin's plans and Lupin amending them as needed.
There was sometimes a burst of snark -- Tourterelle was willing to concede the children had matured considerably since June, when it had last interacted with them in its human form, but it still regarded all three of them as overly conceited and heedless and sorely lacking in self-discipline. For his part, Lupin occasionally succumbed to the urge to inflict his ancestors' French poems and songs on the animagus, knowing full well that his colleague detested "Auprès de ma blonde" and other classic allusions to his form; that Snape had no choice but to answer to "Tourterelle" in their present situation was one of the few acts of revenge Lupin had ever allowed himself to savour.
More often, however, the two veterans' exchanges of intelligence segued into a wandless, wordless conversation, their thoughts charged with yearning and winged with each man's desire to lend what comfort he could to the other. The turtledove was not always able to spend the night, but when it could, it nestled close against Lupin's chest or settled onto his pillow.
For God’s sake hold your tongue, and let me love...
When the children found the looking-glass three weeks later, Draco Malfoy was embedded in its surface. Harry forcibly checked his own desire to punch the mirror the same instant Hermione immobilized Ron, freezing his arms and legs in place.
Ron demanded, “What’s the matter with you lot? Smash the bloody thing to bits already, and good riddance!"
Harry gritted his teeth. “I want to, dammit! But separating Voldemort’s soul into a thousand miniscule shards we couldn’t possibly round up afterwards -- even if we cleaned this little cave with your mother’s best spells? Not. So. Smart."
Hermione exclaimed, “Harry -- you thought it through!"
Her praise both pleased and nettled him. “I’m not hopeless, Hermione."
"No," she conceded, “but neither is Ron, and he didn’t."
"He hasn’t been sleeping alone," Harry said, not unkindly. “I’ve had far more time to think."
Hermione blushed. Ron said, "Oi! Did you have to say that in front of Malfoy?"
The Slytherin boy’s face was twisted into an ugly expression -- one Harry might have once read as pure hatred and disgust. But there was more to it than that, and Harry thought it almost certainly had to do with the chilly-looking silvery strands crawling through Draco’s hair, slapping at his face, sliding under his clothing, and wrapping around the bare skin at his hands and throat and feet.
"This is his revenge, isn’t it?" Harry said to Draco. "Voldemort wasn’t at all pleased with you --"
Draco shook his head vigorously, agitating the silvery strands that clung to his head.
"Then who, Malfoy?" Hermione asked. “Who would have --" She cut off as Draco shrank back, his eyes fixed on the entrance to the cave.
Following his gaze, they caught sight of Lupin glaring at the turtledove, the air around the two virtually crackling with suppressed magic. Sensing their stares, Lupin turned to face them, his features animated with both fury and affection.
"Not Voldemort, Harry. Snape."
"Snape!" Harry yelped. “What the --"
"Think, Harry, think," Lupin urged, all reserve gone. “Think of what you’ve seen and what you see. Think of how you are not like your father."
"Not like--!?" Mad. Oh, God, Lupin's finally out-Lunaed Luna. Completely around the bend... Harry looked to Hermione for confirmation, but her eyes were fixed on Lupin and Tourterelle, comprehension dawning on her face. For the first time in months, Lupin looked alive -- the man was practically vibrating with a strange, joyful exasperation. For its part, Tourterelle looked... impatient. Harry had never before pictured a turtledove sneering at him like that, and the sensation was frighteningly familiar.
Hermione said cautiously, "Remus... Tourterelle’s been visiting you for weeks now. He’s known we’ve been searching for the looking-glass..."
"Yes," Lupin confirmed. “As we were just discussing," he said, throwing another glare at the bird, “it required a fair amount of triple-dealing to get it -- and us -- to a sufficiently neutral location."
"As ‘we’...!?" Harry gaped at both Lupin and the turtledove, and then turned to Ron. "Roast pigeon is sounding right nice right now, mate."
The bird let out a throaty squawk. Lupin looked amused in spite of himself, but merely repeated, "You are not your father, Harry. I could do with some dinner myself, so how about ascertaining how you wish to handle Mr. Malfoy?"
Bloody hell, Harry thought. Bloody Snape! A mirror I dare not break but need to destroy. Bloody Malfoy looking like someone dumped a Pensieve on him--
Harry’s eyes widened. Those silvery strands...
"Remus," he said, his voice sounding slightly strangled to his own ears. “Whose memories are those in there?"
Lupin said quietly, "You know how to look, Harry, do you not?"
Harry hauled in a deep breath, nodding. He then stepped directly in front of the mirror, but before he plunged in, he looked back once more at Lupin and Tourterelle.
"You never stopped trusting Dumbledore’s judgment, did you? Not even --"
"Not even afterwards," Lupin admitted. He added, gently but firmly, “His trust was not misplaced." The turtledove emitted what sounded like a low, involuntary purr at Lupin’s declaration.
Dear God, I hope you’re right, Harry silently answered. I can’t believe I hope you’re right, he added, as he pressed himself into the looking-glass and let the silvery strands close in on him:
... a fat boy on a red bicycle ...
... a gaunt woman with mad eyes and a maniacal laugh, chanting “little bitty baby Potter"...
... the same woman, her wand pointed at Sirius... at Snape ... at Malfoy ...
... “Come over to the right side, Draco... you are not a killer..."
... “Severus ... please..."
... “Your father would never attack me unless it was four on one..."
... “Did I ever have the guts to tell you I thought you were out of order?" ...
... Bellatrix Lestrange, with Malfoy’s mother writhing at her feet ...
... Malfoy, mouth shut and mind closed, defying his aunt and their Lord...
... Snape placing Malfoy into the mirror, the glass encasing his limbs like liquid concrete...
... not a killer ... not a killer ... not a killer ...
Harry stared into Draco’s eyes, letting the words "not a killer" wash over both of them, imprinting itself again and again on hair and skin and hands and lips. I’ve got to break this spell by somehow breaking this mirror...
Draco’s mouth remained shut, but his eyes bored into Harry’s, and Snape’s voice suddenly echoed in his head:
Your life now depends on Potter choosing to break only the spell, and nothing but the spell.
"Goddammit, Snape!" Harry swore, but as he did so, the silvery strands seemed to tighten on his skin, leaving angrier, greasier trails in their wake as they continued travelling up and down his body. Struggling to calm down, he forced himself to think of Lupin. Lupin, so calm and competent and remote -- no. Not remote at all, now, not with that bloody turtledove steering them all here. What a nerve that bastard had... "Did I ever tell you to lay off Snape?"...Lupin and Snape in each other’s arms -- oh, so not going there!--
Malfoy looked equally pained at the same thought, but steadfastly maintained eye contact nonetheless. You’re sturdier now, Harry thought, surprising himself. The Malfoy I saw on top of the tower would not have had the nerve to endure this.
Malfoy still did not -- could not? -- speak, but Lupin’s voice echoed in Harry’s head, "Not like your father..." forming an insistent counterpoint to Dumbledore’s “Not a killer..." Not like your father... not a killer ... not like your father... not like a killer ... not your father...
Harry stared at Draco as the phrases beat against them like a litany, taking in the other boy’s pale skin and drawn face and uncharacteristically unkempt hair. My father always hated the Dark Arts, Harry thought. He would have hexed you without a second’s hesitation. You’re more like my father -- oh.
Damn you, Severus Snape. Malfoy’s eyes flashed in fervent agreement. Damn you, damn you, damn your greasy hair and feathers and quadruple-dealing beak and bones. Damn you for hating my father, no matter how much he deserved it. Damn you for thinking I’m just like my father. Damn...
Not like your father. Malfoy’s eyes were almost pleading now. Not a killer. Not your father. Not a killer.
"Not like our fathers -- neither of us." Harry’s hand gently cupped Malfoy’s jaw, his heart pounding as phrases from an almost-forgotten Defence lecture resounded inside his head:
There are spells that cannot be broken with words. There are prisons that cannot be shattered with steel or stone or iron without destroying what you wish to save. For all of the fluff and banalities frilling up your favorite tales of princesses, you would do well to consider precisely how their lovers proceeded to rescue them.
A princess encased in glass. A beauty suspended in sleep. Malfoy, mired in the mirror and its morass of memories, waiting--
"Neither of our fathers would have ever considered this," Harry said, and pressed his lips to Malfoy’s.
And as Draco accepted the kiss, his eyes closing as his mouth yielded to Harry’s tongue, the looking-glass seemed to sigh and shudder around them, dissolving into a thousand blue-gray feathers that then spun themselves into smoky nothingness. Harry and Draco were only dimly conscious of this, their senses enthralled with the intermingling of their breaths and the intertwining of their fingers.
When they finally broke apart for air, Snape quietly said, "There’s hope for you yet. Well done."
As one, they both turned to glare at him -- but not in time. A flash of black, a flutter of feathers, and he was gone.
Ron and Hermione were watching them, eyes huge. Lupin beamed at them -- and we got a "well done" from Snape! -- but as his hand grazed the ledge the turtledove had roosted upon, Harry glimpsed the flash of sorrow that crossed Lupin's face.
Not letting go of Malfoy’s hand, he hurried forward. Startled, Lupin halted.
"Remus..." Harry swallowed, searching for the right words. "Remus, he did say there’s still hope."
Lupin didn’t smile at this, but his eyes remained warm. "So he did," he conceded. “Welcome, Draco."
Draco didn’t speak, but his grip tightened around Harry’s hand. Harry returned the squeeze but kept his eyes fixed on Lupin. Don’t you disappear again. I’m going to need you more than ever -- no one else is going to understand this, whatever this is I’ve now got with Malfoy, and there’s still a Horcrux out there --
He hadn’t spoken aloud -- he was sure he hadn’t just said this aloud, although he was ready to plead and wheedle and threaten -- whatever it took to make sure Lupin remained engaged with the present. Stay here, Harry silently begged the older man. Please, please, please stay with us. We need you so much... plus, Snape will tear us all into tiny pieces if anything happens to you...
But Lupin was gazing back at him as if he’d heard every word, his expression compassionate and astonished and even slightly amused. And his eyes were fully alive as he answered, “Harry, I promise."
ETA: Love, mechaieh. :-)
Title: Like No Other
Rating: PG
Words: ~3,700
Pairings: Snape/Lupin, Ron/Hermione, Harry/Draco
Summary: The Trio, the werewolf, a turtledove, and a looking-glass.
Notes: Thanks to pixychelle for turtledove!Snape, and to my ever-rockin’, not-yet-namable beta. the ever-fabulous catrinella for the beta.
A year like no other this was,
testing us beyond what we'd ever imagined.
Day after day, week after week,
we found ourselves growing
and becoming sturdy
because there was no other choice.
- - Julie Forest Middleton
At the beginning of December, Harry finally admitted to himself that he was disturbed by the unshakeability of Remus Lupin's calm. He felt guilty thinking such a thought: in mentoring Harry, Hermione, and Ron all through the autumn, Lupin deserved far more recognition and recompense than the Ministry was ever likely to bestow upon him. Amongst the four of them, they had tracked down and destroyed Slytherin's locket and Hufflepuff's cup, and they were now hard on the trail of a goblin-made looking-glass, purportedly concealed somewhere along the rocky coast of Yorkshire. Lupin had tutored them in deciphering clues, steered them clear of sophisticated traps, and provided a silent but sympathetic audience whenever Harry needed to vent. He was the only person to whom Harry could confide his envy of Ron and Hermione's closeness, and he offered neither judgment nor advice on any subject other than those relating to Horcruxes.
The problem, Harry reflected, was that Lupin had become too reticent sometime over the course of the year. His display of shock and grief at the news of Dumbledore's death remained the only instance in which Harry had ever witnessed Lupin completely losing his composure, even though there had been more casualties over the summer -- an ambush here, an abduction there, and a bomb that had reduced Scrivenshaft's and all of its occupants to blackened remains. There had also been a short-lived liaison with Tonks that had sputtered into nothingness by August; Harry had overheard several conversations amongst the women at the Burrow laced with phrases such as emotionally stunted and still not over that immature mongrel, and he had felt righteously indignant on Lupin's behalf back then, but there was something unnatural about Lupin's relentlessly impassive demeanor: his former professor maintained the air of someone who expected absolutely nothing, reacting to victories with solemn approval and to setbacks with sober resignation.
Most of the time, Harry was grateful for such steadiness: he, Hermione, and Ron all had tempers sufficient to fuel a thousand Unforgivables, and they had come to rely on Lupin's serenity to help them stay grounded and focused. Even so, he had glimpsed Hermione's worried glances and Ron's thoughtful looks in Lupin's direction, and he suspected that they shared his growing unease with their friend's impenetrable stoicism.
When he finally brought it up with them, Hermione all but leaped on him in relief. "It's bothering you too? Then it's not just me reading too much into something not actually there."
Ron muttered affectionately, "You're always reading too much, 'mione, but I agree, something's off. Buggered if I can put my finger on it, though."
Harry wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his chin on top of them. "I think," he said hesitantly, "it's what's not there that doesn't seem right. I..." he faltered, fearing how stupid he was about to sound. "I... I'm not sure Lupin's all here. That... it doesn't seem like he's living for anything. Not -- not even to keep us alive, or to win the war, or to keep himself alive. Like he's here and helping us because he might as well, but if we told him, we don't need you, we can take care of ourselves just fine, he'd just let us go and go back to -- I don't know what he'd do. Spying? Tutoring? Living on handouts?"
Instead of looking blank or contradicting him, Hermione nodded eagerly, and Ron's lips tightened. Oh. That made sense to them. Oh, no. "That's it, Harry," Hermione said. "He was never this impersonal back when he was teaching, or at the Burrow..."
Harry met Ron's eyes. They were both remembering the Christmas before, when Lupin had already seemed remote from the rest of the gathering. How, other than replying to questions put to him, he'd spent most of the holiday staring into the fire rather than actively participating in the festivities. Ron quietly said, "He's had to play by different rules than the rest of us for years."
Harry scowled. "And then there's everyone thinking I think I'm above the rules."
Ron frowned at him. "We're fighting a war. The only rules that matter are the ones relevant to staying alive."
Hermione objected, "Not the only rules --"
Ron said, "Fine, fine, fine. The ones that matter most are the ones where we don't end up dead."
Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder. "I knew what you meant," she said, "and you're right. It's not going to matter who's saying what if we don't win this."
They both look as tired as I feel, Harry thought to himself, tamping down the familiar surge of guilt. And Lupin had always looked worn and ill, even when teaching.
Ron gazed back at him. "Harry, what's worrying you most? That we might lose Lupin because he has so little to live for -- or that he's already lost?"
"It makes my head hurt," Harry said. "Here he is, yet here he isn't."
Hermione said fiercely, "He has to care. No one ordered him to help us. There are so many other places he could be instead of here if he truly didn't care."
Harry said, "I suppose that's true, but --"
"But, does it really matter?" asked Ron. "I don't see what we can do." He held up a hand to forestall the others' protests. "Don't get me wrong -- I'd be happier if we could do something, but Lupin's been taking care of himself longer than we've been alive.
"What's weirding me out," Harry confessed, "is that he's started reminding me of Luna."
Hermione said, "That's not good at all." Ron simultaneously replied, "He's not that entertaining."
"No," Harry agreed, "but some of these wacky leads he's been suggesting lately -- like the enchanted polishing cloth in Bridlington? They're coming out of nowhere, and yet there's just enough in them that's close enough to right..."
"Not nowhere," said Hermione. "I fancy Tourterelle's been bringing them."
"Close enough to nowhere," said Ron. "Who knows where that creature's from."
"It's the oddest turtledove I've ever encountered," Hermione conceded. "They historically hide from wolves."
"Italy," Harry said. "It delivers the Wolfsbane compound from that chemist."
"Well, that's another sign he still cares," Hermione offered.
"That, or he can't be arsed to cancel the order," Ron objected.
"Must you always seize upon the worst possible scenario?" Hermione demanded.
"That would be how I keep beating you at chess," Ron said.
Harry clutched his head. "Arrrrrrrrrgh!"
Ron looked at him apologetically. "It's all right, Harry. I'm not saying we should wring Tourterelle's neck next chance we get." (At these words, Hermione smacked him hard.) "Oof! .... Even though roast dove would be a nice change from two-knut pasties --ow! Okay, that's it, my girl!"
As Ron and Hermione began to wrestle -- he intent on tickling her, she intent on fending him off -- Harry grinned, his worries notwithstanding. He wasn't fond of Tourterelle himself: in addition to acting consistently aloof, and at times even hostile, the bird had once spoiled one of his catnaps by shitting on his glasses. On the other hand, it seemed unusually devoted to Lupin in its fashion, constantly keeping him within its range of vision during its visits. Sometimes the creature settled itself on Lupin's shoulder; at other times, it perched on a nearby branch or hopped onto the tables the former professor conjured for the studying of their maps, notes, and artifacts.
Hedwig approved of Tourterelle -- if nothing else, the dour but lovely-voiced bird appeared to be her match in intelligence and dignity, and it clearly shared her contempt for little Pig's antics. The two birds occasionally collaborated in transporting larger packages to Hogwarts, Twelve Grimmauld Place, and elsewhere, and there were times Harry sensed them both observing Lupin with an almost eerie intensity. He knew he was being fanciful, but it nevertheless seemed to him as though they'd somehow agreed to keep watch over the man, and while that didn't amount to much -- if someone or something became truly intent on attacking Lupin, what could they possibly do? -- Harry still found the notion comforting.
La caill', la tourterelle, et la joli' perdrix --
Auprès de ma blonde, qu'il fait bon dormir.
The quail, the turtledove, and the pretty partridge --
With my blonde honey, it's so nice to sleep.
- - French folksong
Remus Lupin was neither deaf nor blind. He was all too aware of the unflattering judgments circulating after his half-hearted affair with Tonks, and the children's surreptitious studying of him hadn't escaped his notice. However, he was too weary to care about gossip and too modest to comprehend how much he mattered to the younger Gryffindors; he'd assumed their anxious looks had to do with his less-than-stellar qualifications for helping them on their quest. In his view, a poor, prematurely aging werewolf was hardly an ideal advisor for three smart, energetic youngsters, but these were desperate times; the other trustworthy adults in the Order had jobs and families they could not afford to abandon for a wild-Horcrux chase, no matter how essential the mysterious artifacts might prove to be in defeating Voldemort, whereas Lupin had time to spare and no dependents to whom he considered himself accountable.
Curled up on the couch he had Transfigured out of a washed-up cushion, Lupin mentally reviewed the day's hunt for the looking-glass. When he finished sifting and sorting through his thoughts, he looked into the eyes of the turtledove resting in the crook of his elbow.
"Legilimens, " he muttered, beginning their nightly ritual. He found it both fascinating and excruciating, reliving each day's events from the bird's perspective. It was not unlike observing one's self via a Time Turner, albeit through a lens specially devised to magnify missed clues and subtle cues, accompanied by caustic annotations in the form of additional images.
Lupin then pointed his wand at himself, again muttering "Legilimens," allowing Tourterelle to enter his mind and travel through his own memories. Once the turtledove finished its first fly-through, Lupin conducted a second exchange of mental visions, collecting his companion's revised analysis of their efforts and conveying his strategy for the following day. There then often followed a series of shorter thought-trades, Tourterelle offering its opinions of Lupin's plans and Lupin amending them as needed.
There was sometimes a burst of snark -- Tourterelle was willing to concede the children had matured considerably since June, when it had last interacted with them in its human form, but it still regarded all three of them as overly conceited and heedless and sorely lacking in self-discipline. For his part, Lupin occasionally succumbed to the urge to inflict his ancestors' French poems and songs on the animagus, knowing full well that his colleague detested "Auprès de ma blonde" and other classic allusions to his form; that Snape had no choice but to answer to "Tourterelle" in their present situation was one of the few acts of revenge Lupin had ever allowed himself to savour.
More often, however, the two veterans' exchanges of intelligence segued into a wandless, wordless conversation, their thoughts charged with yearning and winged with each man's desire to lend what comfort he could to the other. The turtledove was not always able to spend the night, but when it could, it nestled close against Lupin's chest or settled onto his pillow.
For God’s sake hold your tongue, and let me love...
- - John Donne
When the children found the looking-glass three weeks later, Draco Malfoy was embedded in its surface. Harry forcibly checked his own desire to punch the mirror the same instant Hermione immobilized Ron, freezing his arms and legs in place.
Ron demanded, “What’s the matter with you lot? Smash the bloody thing to bits already, and good riddance!"
Harry gritted his teeth. “I want to, dammit! But separating Voldemort’s soul into a thousand miniscule shards we couldn’t possibly round up afterwards -- even if we cleaned this little cave with your mother’s best spells? Not. So. Smart."
Hermione exclaimed, “Harry -- you thought it through!"
Her praise both pleased and nettled him. “I’m not hopeless, Hermione."
"No," she conceded, “but neither is Ron, and he didn’t."
"He hasn’t been sleeping alone," Harry said, not unkindly. “I’ve had far more time to think."
Hermione blushed. Ron said, "Oi! Did you have to say that in front of Malfoy?"
The Slytherin boy’s face was twisted into an ugly expression -- one Harry might have once read as pure hatred and disgust. But there was more to it than that, and Harry thought it almost certainly had to do with the chilly-looking silvery strands crawling through Draco’s hair, slapping at his face, sliding under his clothing, and wrapping around the bare skin at his hands and throat and feet.
"This is his revenge, isn’t it?" Harry said to Draco. "Voldemort wasn’t at all pleased with you --"
Draco shook his head vigorously, agitating the silvery strands that clung to his head.
"Then who, Malfoy?" Hermione asked. “Who would have --" She cut off as Draco shrank back, his eyes fixed on the entrance to the cave.
Following his gaze, they caught sight of Lupin glaring at the turtledove, the air around the two virtually crackling with suppressed magic. Sensing their stares, Lupin turned to face them, his features animated with both fury and affection.
"Not Voldemort, Harry. Snape."
"Snape!" Harry yelped. “What the --"
"Think, Harry, think," Lupin urged, all reserve gone. “Think of what you’ve seen and what you see. Think of how you are not like your father."
"Not like--!?" Mad. Oh, God, Lupin's finally out-Lunaed Luna. Completely around the bend... Harry looked to Hermione for confirmation, but her eyes were fixed on Lupin and Tourterelle, comprehension dawning on her face. For the first time in months, Lupin looked alive -- the man was practically vibrating with a strange, joyful exasperation. For its part, Tourterelle looked... impatient. Harry had never before pictured a turtledove sneering at him like that, and the sensation was frighteningly familiar.
Hermione said cautiously, "Remus... Tourterelle’s been visiting you for weeks now. He’s known we’ve been searching for the looking-glass..."
"Yes," Lupin confirmed. “As we were just discussing," he said, throwing another glare at the bird, “it required a fair amount of triple-dealing to get it -- and us -- to a sufficiently neutral location."
"As ‘we’...!?" Harry gaped at both Lupin and the turtledove, and then turned to Ron. "Roast pigeon is sounding right nice right now, mate."
The bird let out a throaty squawk. Lupin looked amused in spite of himself, but merely repeated, "You are not your father, Harry. I could do with some dinner myself, so how about ascertaining how you wish to handle Mr. Malfoy?"
Bloody hell, Harry thought. Bloody Snape! A mirror I dare not break but need to destroy. Bloody Malfoy looking like someone dumped a Pensieve on him--
Harry’s eyes widened. Those silvery strands...
"Remus," he said, his voice sounding slightly strangled to his own ears. “Whose memories are those in there?"
Lupin said quietly, "You know how to look, Harry, do you not?"
Harry hauled in a deep breath, nodding. He then stepped directly in front of the mirror, but before he plunged in, he looked back once more at Lupin and Tourterelle.
"You never stopped trusting Dumbledore’s judgment, did you? Not even --"
"Not even afterwards," Lupin admitted. He added, gently but firmly, “His trust was not misplaced." The turtledove emitted what sounded like a low, involuntary purr at Lupin’s declaration.
Dear God, I hope you’re right, Harry silently answered. I can’t believe I hope you’re right, he added, as he pressed himself into the looking-glass and let the silvery strands close in on him:
... a fat boy on a red bicycle ...
... a gaunt woman with mad eyes and a maniacal laugh, chanting “little bitty baby Potter"...
... the same woman, her wand pointed at Sirius... at Snape ... at Malfoy ...
... “Come over to the right side, Draco... you are not a killer..."
... “Severus ... please..."
... “Your father would never attack me unless it was four on one..."
... “Did I ever have the guts to tell you I thought you were out of order?" ...
... Bellatrix Lestrange, with Malfoy’s mother writhing at her feet ...
... Malfoy, mouth shut and mind closed, defying his aunt and their Lord...
... Snape placing Malfoy into the mirror, the glass encasing his limbs like liquid concrete...
... not a killer ... not a killer ... not a killer ...
Harry stared into Draco’s eyes, letting the words "not a killer" wash over both of them, imprinting itself again and again on hair and skin and hands and lips. I’ve got to break this spell by somehow breaking this mirror...
Draco’s mouth remained shut, but his eyes bored into Harry’s, and Snape’s voice suddenly echoed in his head:
Your life now depends on Potter choosing to break only the spell, and nothing but the spell.
"Goddammit, Snape!" Harry swore, but as he did so, the silvery strands seemed to tighten on his skin, leaving angrier, greasier trails in their wake as they continued travelling up and down his body. Struggling to calm down, he forced himself to think of Lupin. Lupin, so calm and competent and remote -- no. Not remote at all, now, not with that bloody turtledove steering them all here. What a nerve that bastard had... "Did I ever tell you to lay off Snape?"...Lupin and Snape in each other’s arms -- oh, so not going there!--
Malfoy looked equally pained at the same thought, but steadfastly maintained eye contact nonetheless. You’re sturdier now, Harry thought, surprising himself. The Malfoy I saw on top of the tower would not have had the nerve to endure this.
Malfoy still did not -- could not? -- speak, but Lupin’s voice echoed in Harry’s head, "Not like your father..." forming an insistent counterpoint to Dumbledore’s “Not a killer..." Not like your father... not a killer ... not like your father... not like a killer ... not your father...
Harry stared at Draco as the phrases beat against them like a litany, taking in the other boy’s pale skin and drawn face and uncharacteristically unkempt hair. My father always hated the Dark Arts, Harry thought. He would have hexed you without a second’s hesitation. You’re more like my father -- oh.
Damn you, Severus Snape. Malfoy’s eyes flashed in fervent agreement. Damn you, damn you, damn your greasy hair and feathers and quadruple-dealing beak and bones. Damn you for hating my father, no matter how much he deserved it. Damn you for thinking I’m just like my father. Damn...
Not like your father. Malfoy’s eyes were almost pleading now. Not a killer. Not your father. Not a killer.
"Not like our fathers -- neither of us." Harry’s hand gently cupped Malfoy’s jaw, his heart pounding as phrases from an almost-forgotten Defence lecture resounded inside his head:
There are spells that cannot be broken with words. There are prisons that cannot be shattered with steel or stone or iron without destroying what you wish to save. For all of the fluff and banalities frilling up your favorite tales of princesses, you would do well to consider precisely how their lovers proceeded to rescue them.
A princess encased in glass. A beauty suspended in sleep. Malfoy, mired in the mirror and its morass of memories, waiting--
"Neither of our fathers would have ever considered this," Harry said, and pressed his lips to Malfoy’s.
And as Draco accepted the kiss, his eyes closing as his mouth yielded to Harry’s tongue, the looking-glass seemed to sigh and shudder around them, dissolving into a thousand blue-gray feathers that then spun themselves into smoky nothingness. Harry and Draco were only dimly conscious of this, their senses enthralled with the intermingling of their breaths and the intertwining of their fingers.
When they finally broke apart for air, Snape quietly said, "There’s hope for you yet. Well done."
As one, they both turned to glare at him -- but not in time. A flash of black, a flutter of feathers, and he was gone.
Ron and Hermione were watching them, eyes huge. Lupin beamed at them -- and we got a "well done" from Snape! -- but as his hand grazed the ledge the turtledove had roosted upon, Harry glimpsed the flash of sorrow that crossed Lupin's face.
Not letting go of Malfoy’s hand, he hurried forward. Startled, Lupin halted.
"Remus..." Harry swallowed, searching for the right words. "Remus, he did say there’s still hope."
Lupin didn’t smile at this, but his eyes remained warm. "So he did," he conceded. “Welcome, Draco."
Draco didn’t speak, but his grip tightened around Harry’s hand. Harry returned the squeeze but kept his eyes fixed on Lupin. Don’t you disappear again. I’m going to need you more than ever -- no one else is going to understand this, whatever this is I’ve now got with Malfoy, and there’s still a Horcrux out there --
He hadn’t spoken aloud -- he was sure he hadn’t just said this aloud, although he was ready to plead and wheedle and threaten -- whatever it took to make sure Lupin remained engaged with the present. Stay here, Harry silently begged the older man. Please, please, please stay with us. We need you so much... plus, Snape will tear us all into tiny pieces if anything happens to you...
But Lupin was gazing back at him as if he’d heard every word, his expression compassionate and astonished and even slightly amused. And his eyes were fully alive as he answered, “Harry, I promise."