FIC: Remus Lupin and the Revolt of the Creatures, Chapter 3 / 21, part one (PG-13)
Title: Remus Lupin and the Revolt of the Creatures, Chapter Three: Doubts about His Motives, Part One
Author: PaulaMcG
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: (subtly, eventually) Remus/Sirius
Era and universe: Summer and autumn 1996, an alternative world after OotP
Chapter summary: Remus doesn’t stand aside and he gets a chance to practise some Magic of Healing as well as some Magic of Images.
Word count: around 6900
Disclaimer: Remus won't help me make any money.
Notes: EDITED on the 1st of February 2010. I’m happy to declare that this 21-chapter novel can now be regarded as completed. Thanks to invaluable feedback from my f-list, particularly kellychambliss’s excellent nit-picking, I’ve mananged to fix some mistakes and to make other improvements also in this chapter, which I posted here f-locked in July, having started to revise the early chapters.
Chapter One can be found here and Chapter Two here
Remus Lupin and the Revolt of the Creatures
Chapter Three: Doubts about his Motives
In the middle of that night Remus was woken up by a sound which was not inside his dream. He was not truly alarmed. He did not even open his eyes. There were some risks in living in a neighbourhood like this and with no locks or spells on the door of his room. It would have been useless to try to prevent Mrs. Porchead from coming in, since goblins were able to open anything, even walls with no doors at all. But was there somebody uninvited in the building? Now everything was quiet again. Remus tried to fall asleep, but his restless thoughts drifted to Harry. Were there actually doubts about Harry’s safety in case any friend of his was not safe? Here he had a new reason not to become so close to Harry. He turned on the other side and opened his eyes.
Mrs. Porchead was standing in the middle of his room. She could obviously sense the presence of metal and now reached for the coins in the pocket of his robes, which he had left on the desk. A golden light was emanating from her fingers. Lack of privacy was worse than poverty itself. He considered whether to get up or not.
At that moment he heard a sound of breaking wood from downstairs.
“Burglars,” she muttered, and she disappeared with a dim flash of light, evidently rushing to protect her property.
Remus jumped up, grabbed his wand from the desk and followed. He apparated outside the door of her flat and entered cautiously.
Mrs. Porchead had fixed two ragged youngsters against the wall of her sitting room. Now she pressed her fingers on the wall on either side of them, and the expressions on the two haggard faces turned terrified, as the bodies started sinking inside the wall.
Remus dashed in. “Stop that! I’ll just tie them up.”
He turned his wand against the youngsters and, stepping closer, his left palm towards Mrs. Pochead. She jerked her head and her eyes gleamed in the steely light radiating from her fingers, as she thrust her right hand out at Remus, reaching his left. The moment she touched him he felt burning pain and then blood spurting out of his arm just above his wrist.
“Expelliarmus!” The incantation sounded from the doorway.
As his wand flew away from him, he grabbed and squeezed his wounded arm with his right hand and turned around to see who had entered. Two wizards in black robes and hoods, with their wands lifted, stepped closer.
“An inhuman creature performing illegal magic,” said one of them.
Remus glanced back and saw Mrs. Porchead standing still but with all her fingers again pressed against the wall, while the youngsters were trapped in a tight recess in it.
“By the law I have the right to put this curse on you, and I won’t lift it until you reveal the name of the goblin who had contact with You Know Who. Did you get it clear, creature?” This second wizard stretched his wand forward. “Crucio!”
“No!” Remus cast himself in front of Mrs. Porchead. And the pain cut through his body in disabling convulsions.
Then it was gone. He found himself trembling on the floor. He had twisted his arms over his head, and the blood from the wound was now dripping on his face. He struggled to get up on his knees and squeezed his arm with his right hand again to slow down the bleeding. He looked up and saw two more dark figures approach, one of them even darker than the others.
Just before fainting he recognised Kingsley’s face close to his own and heard his voice, “Exactly what I feared. When I heard some had gone to this address, I knew you would interfere.”
Mrs. Porchead was on her knees next to him, tearing a linen table cloth into strips. She reached to touch his wound with her fingertips, and Remus shuddered, but the fingers now felt soothingly cool.
“That’s all I can do. I haven’t got any healing powers more than for stopping the bleeding. And I’ll still make the veela pay their rent…”
She wrapped a strip of cloth as a bandage around his arm. The wound was still throbbing with pain and an echo of the torture continued to run through his body. Was it the loss of blood or the curse that made him feel too weak to move anything but his eyes?
Kingsley must have carried him up to his room. The handsome black man was standing in the middle of the room, looking around. A fellow auror of his was standing at the door.
“We shall see in Wizengamot, Mrs. Porchead,” Kingsley said.
He approached the corner where Remus was lying on the floor. “And, Remus, I hope you’ll be well enough to meet us at the headquarters tomorrow. If you are not, send us an owl.” He didn’t look at Remus but watched an owl, white like a ghost, fly in through one of the big open windows and settle close to Remus’s wounded arm.
“I won’t come before the evening,” Remus whispered.
He closed his eyes and when he opened them again he was alone with Hedwig.
When he was woken up the next time by a gentle peck on his nose, the lighting in the room told Remus that the sun had already risen some time ago. He was lying in the same position in which he had fallen asleep, and his body felt leaden. There was no pain left except in the wound, which now ached steadily.
He made a slight movement with his right hand to try if he would be able to get up. Then he noticed that he had been covered with a fresh linen sheet and a thick but light quilt. A glass of water and his wand had been placed next to him on the floor so that he could reach them. He took the glass and lifted his head enough to drink a little. The water tasted strange, rather bitter, but it seemed to do good to him. He was now able to sit up. He took his wand and, leaning against the wall, he summoned the tin jar and the spoon, undid the spell on the jar and ate the rest of Mrs. Figg’s chocolate mousse.
Hedwig seemed to be patiently waiting, now perched on his shoulder. Remus caressed her and said, “So you want to come with me, don’t you?”
After Hedwig had blinked affirmatively and rubbed her head against his cheek, Remus took a deep breath and started opening the bandage, and Hedwig helped cautiously with her beak. When the wound was bare, he took his wand and did his best to concentrate all the strength he had on the healing spell and on the thought: I am doing this for Hedwig.
He let his wand hand drop on the blanket and closed his eyes. Was he doing it all for Hedwig? The events of the night came to him in a clear flash and still mixed with feelings of embarrassment. Why had he actually done that? He knew he could push those doubts aside only for a while, but he had to do it now.
He fixed his eyes on the ugly wound, which was about the size of two fingers, not bleeding but fresh and garishly red. He lifted his wand again and concentrated: I want to be doing this for Hedwig.
And with a slight wave of the wand and a whisper of the spell he caused the wound to start closing. He struggled to keep his wand hand steady while a new pain surged into him in waves, which abated gradually and finally left him gasping for breath.
He had to empty the glass of bitter water to be able to stand up. When taking off his nightgown he found it hard to push aside another embarrassing thought of how Kingsley had carried him to lay him down on his bedclothes unconscious. He put on his robes and noticed that the bread crumbs were still in the pocket. Should he thank Mrs. Porchead also for not stealing them? He decided it would be kinder not to mention it.
Remus had to lean against a wall again while talking to one of the owners of the pet shop. Repeated shudders were shaking him and he knew that the ordeals of the night had upset any balance of health he had been gaining after returning to London. He tried to hold his head high and his eyes on the owner’s face to evoke some trust despite his appearance. His enthusiasm was intact, though, and must have helped him convince the owner, who listened intently to his justification and description of the idea of the painting.
The owner was a rather young wizard dressed in an elegant deep violet robe and with black hair tied in a ponytail. His skin looked more like that of a blond, though, and he had clearly applied some make-up to highlight his features. He seemed eager to give an impression of artistic sensitiveness and of a position to make decisions on his own. He could probably afford to take the risk of having to account for the expenses and make it a project of his own, if the other owners turned out to disagree. After some comments, which were formulated to sound sophisticated but to which Remus did not bother to listen, he called for the construction manager and told him to accompany Remus to buy whatever was needed for the painting and add it to the billing.
At that moment Hedwig made her impressive entrance through a window and circled above the three men before perching on his friend’s shoulder again. Remus was happy he had not persuaded her to join him traveling with floo powder, which would have stained her striking white beauty, although it had meant that he had been forced to face Mrs. Porchead alone.
The landlady had evidently been shaken by what had happened at night. She had not even put on her peacock feather hat before opening her door, and the sight of him evoked on her face a slightly different expression of discomfort from the usual. Was it possible that her voice expressed even concern, when she asked why he had got up already and taken off the bandage? Then her eyes widened in amazement and she reached for his arm so abruptly that he involuntarily recoiled.
“Don’t worry. No magic now!” She spread her fingers for him to see. “Do you think I still want to hurt you!
She spat out the last words as if deeply offended and in her usual manner, but Remus was almost sure that there was behind it a trace of regret and even sympathy.
“No, I don’t. I am sorry,” Remus said, stretching out his arm for her to examine it.
“You are sorry!” she muttered reproachfully, and Remus realised that this was the heartiest apology she could muster.
But after a pause she added, “We are like that, with such instincts…”
“Every creature has got instincts to protect his or her own interests. The more powerful and destructive towards others your instincts are, the more admirable your ability to act morally in the end.”
Mrs. Porchead did not reply, but she stroked the shiny scar with her fingers in a strangely soothing manner, which made Remus wonder if she actually let some of her goblin magic through.
“I used healing magic on it myself,” he explained. “But I could not have done it at night when I had no strength. Thank you for taking care of me then.”
She made an unidentifiable grunt and said, “So you are a real wizard, with skills like that…”
“The truly demanding form of healing magic is to apply it on yourself. I’ve been forced to practise it for a long time - as well as hurting myself. It’s almost impossible for anybody in a weak condition. It requires a lot of strength, because the true basis of healing magic is sympathy. Even with less strength it is possible, if you do it ultimately for someone else.
Mrs. Porchead surprised Remus by listening to his lecture and staying quiet, bent over his arm for a while after he finished. Then she grunted, “But where are you going now? I told you not to worry about paying your debts so urgently.” There was a slightly hopeful tone in her voice.
However, she did not reveal much disappointment when he said, “I am, in fact, going to agree on such work for which I shan’t be paid immediately.”
Before stepping into her fireplace Remus still warned Mrs. Porchead, “I know you can control your instincts, and I hope you will be careful with any such magic which could be interpreted as illegal. We must live with that decree on unforgivable curses as a fact for the time being. And I hope that we continue to live.”
The owner and the construction manager finished their conversation on Hedwig’s beauty and the owner turned to Remus with curiosity. “So are you planning to make it a real portrait? That would certainly have a considerable effect on the value of the painting.”
Remus was suddenly awakened from his musings and realised that it was the last moment for him to guarantee his rights. “I’d like us to sign a contract on - let’s say - a minimum of ten Galleons for an ordinary landscape, and a minimum of twenty in case it turns out a real portrait.”
The young owner perhaps considered it below himself to hesitate. He took out two pieces of parchment, which had been shrunk by magic to pocket size as well as a sophisticated automatic quill, and charmed the parchments to regain their normal size. After he had placed them in mid-air, the quill quickly wrote two identical contracts for him and Remus to sign.
That evening Remus entered number twelve, Grimmauld Place feeling slightly nervous about the attention which he was afraid he would get because of the events of the previous night.
The hall was full of people, all both talking excitedly and either carrying or levitating something. It was a rare scene, as the inhabitants and visitors in the house were used to staying completely quiet in the hall in order to prevent Mrs. Black’s portrait from starting to scream about the outrage which the people whom her son had welcomed as well as her son himself had brought upon her noble ancient house. Ever since Sirius’s death Mrs. Black had been sulking and not said or screamed a word even to Kreacher the house-elf. This faithful servant of hers had started taking care that the curtain always protected her privacy, and everybody normally followed the old routine of passing the hall quickly and quietly.
A witch with shiny emerald green curls down to her waist pushed in after Remus and passed without noticing him. He recognized her as Nymphadora as soon as she dropped the box she had been carrying. Its contents, some dozens of Bouncy Bubble Gum Snitches, escaped and scattered in the crowd.
“Oops, sorry… but hey, why am I not the only one making noise here!” She raised her voice towards the end of the sentence and bumped into people, while trying to catch some of the small golden balls, which were now bounding and rebounding from the walls and the ceiling and people. “Never mind, they look better left free!”
She stopped and glanced at herself in the large mirror and seemed to decide her hair was not long enough for her taste or for whatever occasion it was for, as with apparent ease, using her skills of a Metamorphmagus, she made it grow down to her knees. Her face also turned ever younger and prettier.
Then she looked around and shouted to everybody in general, “Why are we all shouting? The house-elf will be mad and curse us, no matter how quiet Sirius’s mum stays.”
“Didn’t you know Kreacher has been hiding somewhere in the attic since Harry got here?” asked Fred. He was levitating something that looked like a millstone covered with sugar icing in all the colours of the rainbow.
“Yes, now there’s no need for even filth and freaks like us to be shy. This house does not belong to the purest blood any longer!” That was George, who was wrestling with a statue representing an extremely energetic Quidditch player.
“Don’t forget Madam Narcissa has not given up…”
“Hey, Fred, that’s not something to discuss on a day like this! Do you have the candles ready on that cake? The birthday boy’s coming down any moment now…”
It was Harry’s birthday, and Remus had completely forgotten about it. He had stayed near the entrance and now he felt that he could as well leave, or maybe rather as if he had not even arrived at all - that he did not belong to the party.
At that moment the only person to notice him caught his eye. Kingsley Shacklebolt walked around the crowd and came to him. “How are you, Remus?”
Kingsley looked at him at least, unlike the previous night, although his facial and verbal expressions were both devoid of any emotion and he hurried to finish what he had got to say. “Don’t leave before we’ve talked. I think Dumbledore’s coming tonight, too. But we’ve got to go through this celebration first.”
Remus moved away from the door, as another group of members of the Order entered. Kingsley followed him and stayed by his side, but did not talk anymore and fixed his eyes, like almost everybody else now, at the top of the staircase at the end of the hall. Remus looked away from Kingsley - and was startled as he faced himself in the same mirror which Nymphadora had used so functionally.
He did not exactly take pleasure in eyeing his own figure, especially not next to Kingsley’s. He cast a glance at the image of his own face, though - which he normally seldom did - and had to agree with Phineas Nigellus. Still, he could not help feeling reconciled with the fact that he looked like himself. Even his hairdo actually appealed to him the way it had become naturally, grown to almost shoulder length and not completely grey yet but with a trace of the original light brown still discernible. But what eventually gave him reassurance that he - despite his personal exhaustion and his overwhelming general concern - still wanted and was able to participate in celebrating Harry, was a look into his own eyes.
In those eyes he first saw only sorrow and distress. But then in the warmth of their amber he suddenly recognised something they shared with another creature’s amber eyes. He knew he still had got something to offer and something to achieve. For whom would it all be, ultimately? No, he did not want to be tormented by those doubts about his motives even yet. To be ready for heartily congratulating Harry, he decided to cherish the memory of the day’s work with Hedwig.
He had kept glancing at the owl’s large round amber eyes every now and then when mixing the paints, which he had brought in with the manager, and when starting to spread on the wall the priming colour for the landscape. The odour of the paint began to help transfer his mind to another reality, and this time Hedwig joined him. He realised that her subconscious memories of the northern lands contained the light on the gentle lines of the mountains in each of the seasons, and he felt an urgency to reach and to capture it all, but he knew he had to wait for the images to come. He outlined preliminarily the figure of the owl herself. Now perched on his shoulder, Hedwig gave him a last trustful look and then hid the amber of her eyes.
She fell asleep. Her weight made his arm heavy to move, but the more effort he put on each stroke of the brush, the more he became aware of a deeper foundation for his expression than his own scattered memories of the landscapes flashing by on his seemingly endless travels. On her own Hedwig had not been able to build attainable dreams on the basis of her memories. But now she was dreaming already. He had felt the dreams evolving. He was still not sure what would happen. Could this painting eventually become a real portrait and more than that?
The crowd began to cheer and Remus felt a surprisingly cheerful amusement at himself, realising that he had been staring dreamily into his own eyes. He turned to look up where Harry had appeared and now started descending the stairs. The boy looked elegant, with the exception of his ever untidy hair, and a lot healthier than in the Dursleys’ garden. He lowered his eyes bashfully, though, and Remus was grateful on his behalf to Ron and Hermione for being there on his either side. The crowd was now singing to him. Remus took a few steps forward together with Kingsley. He was now capable of a genuine smile and even joined in the last phrase of the song.
Fred apparated from behind other people in front of Harry with his millstone cake, and as Harry blew the sixteen candles, they exploded into fireworks, obviously cool ones. People started queuing and jumping the queue to hand out their presents. Some of them only hugged Harry and pointed towards the ceiling. George’s statue had eventually escaped and was now chasing the Bubble Gum Snitches.
Remus stood near-by, smiling, and when the birthday boy suddenly noticed him, he stepped quickly to Harry and embraced him before the person next in the queue. After the hug he left his hands on Harry’s shoulders and said simply, “Happy birthday, Harry! I haven’t got a present for you. To be honest I forgot… I can hardly believe I could forget.”
Harry seemed to have adopted a smile suited for the occasion but also some genuine light-heartedness. In him it did not irritate but rather touched Remus.
Now, however, Harry’s smile turned into an expression of slight confusion, which made Remus add, “And it’s fine you don’t seem to believe it either. If I give you a present, it will be later, and a surprise.”
Remus stepped aside and almost bumped into Hermione, who was charming Harry’s presents to pile themselves up neatly and the most disturbing ones to rise higher towards the ceiling. They greeted each other briefly, as Hermione had to quickly take charge of a Note Pad for Exploding Notes to Remind you of Vitally Important Appointments. Remus was not quite sure if it was a good idea to give Harry something like that. For the most vitally important encounter ahead of him a date had not been set to be written down in a note.
All this attention was clearly due to the growing anticipation for the Boy Who Lived to approach the fulfillment of his destiny. Remus knew that Dumbledore had revealed the contents of the prophecy to hardly anyone. But more premonitions had spread since the Ministry had not hidden or disputed the information on Harry’s encounters with Voldemort so far.
It now suddenly struck Remus what the reason could have been for Dumbledore to reveal the prophecy to him after Sirius’s death. Why did he have to find it so difficult to enter Harry’s life? It was much more difficult than it had seemed three years ago, even if then he had still been hiding what he was and who he had been to Harry’s father, and to the feared fugitive. After entering their lives and leaving them again, Sirius seemed to have become an insurmountable barrier to the progress of their relationship.
No, what was he thinking about! The people in the Order of the Phoenix naturally felt like celebrating the arrival in this house of the Boy Who Lived, which presaged the defeat of the enemy. At the same time they enjoyed putting up a party for him like for a child, and most of them must have done it sincerely, without an intention of deceit.
Meeting Hermione had given to Remus the idea of sitting down on the lowest step of the staircase. People had now started conjuring chairs and small tables for themselves, and the noise was multiplied, when several pieces of furniture appeared at the same spot at the same time and hit each other. Remus felt too tired to even try what kind of a chair he could have managed to conjure.
He had continued painting until it had been made difficult by the dusk, which had also woken up Hedwig. There had been moments of rest during the day. He did not even know how long he had spent just sitting on the floor with the dreaming owl. But it had not occurred to him that he should have broken the spell on the fake bread crumbs he had in his pocket and gone to buy some food. At dusk he had asked Hedwig to fly to Harry and returned home just to change robes.
Hermione was now standing in front of him, holding two plates filled with rainbow coloured cake. He took one thankfully and was even happier when she sat down next to him.
“I was getting worried about you, Professor Lupin. We had dinner a bit earlier today because of this reception, but still I thought you should have joined us. Harry told me you had borrowed Hedwig, and she did not come back until we were upstairs, getting dressed. And then Ron said he had heard Kingsley talk about you to Moody during the dinner.”
While eating cake, which was very sweet but not really filling like anything real, Remus looked at her sincere face. He remembered the expression of fervent concentration on that face more than two years earlier, when he had been teaching her - and when she had succeeded in regaining her ability to reason rationally even in the most hazardous situation, in which everybody else had been overwhelmed by emotion.
Before he could stop himself he relived the moment of embracing the gaunt body of the man whom he had loved more than anyone else and then both hated and mourned for twelve years. And he could hear his own cruel voice, ready to utter the worst one of the unforgivable curses, answering affirmatively to his friend’s question: “Shall we kill him together?”
Remus dropped his plate on the floor and covered his face with his both hands. He was startled when he felt a tender hand on his shoulder. Why did he have to be so vulnerable to emotions these days? He looked up at Hermione attempting to smile apologetically and to see her face only the way it was now. Full of concern, indeed, but also more beautiful than two years ago, a most unique face of a young lady with a profound personality.
“I’m so sorry, Hermione. I’m afraid I wasn’t listening.”
She stood up and gave her hand to him. “I promised to meet Ron downstairs. Please, come with me, Professor Lupin.”
He doubted she was sincere now, but he was ready to let her make things simple and lead him away from the crowd without any complicating arguments. They walked hand in hand around the hall and down the staircase.
Ron Weasley was pacing the kitchen in a nervous manner, and when he looked up, alarmed by the sound of their footsteps, Remus sensed in his expression some kind of curious anticipation and a trace of relief instead of any annoyance at losing a chance of meeting Hermione alone. Remus reckoned that Ron had not caught up with Hermione in maturing. Glancing at her face gave him the feeling that she was not bothered by the fact. She grinned as if she was more than willing to engage herself in solving another mysterious case with her playmate.
She also shook her head slightly and led Remus to the table and sat him down next to herself and said, “That cake was a joke in bad taste. Please, Ron, would you bring us something to drink. And I’m still hungry, too. Can you see what was left over from dinner? I’m exhausted after fighting all those ridiculous presents. And you were supposed to help me. But I saw you start playing with Harry’s new toys instead!”
Remus admired her clever way of giving him a chance to nourish himself. By starting to eat without interfering in the conversation between the two friends he willingly let her achieve her goal. Listening to them also allowed him to further distance himself from his personal grief and tormenting doubts.
The exchange of arguments between Ron and Hermione turned into their usual bickering. Remus was amused by his observation that they already sounded like a married couple. Would there ever be a stage of full-fledged romance in their relationship? Hermione seemed to believe there would and, unlike most girls, be content to enjoy waiting for it. Remus himself saw no flaw in the quality of their interaction. It apparently concealed a deeper level of mutual understanding and affection, of which Ron must have started to become aware, too. It just was not time for them to share that awareness yet.
Ron was currently scratching his long nose and protesting, “This is not bubble gum! It’s one of my freckles! And do you have to put your nose into my nose all the time?”
Remus wished that he, when young himself, had always been able to act so innocently in front of Amelia.
Finally Remus leant back with that peculiar feeling which he experienced whenever he had eaten as much as he wanted. Looking across the table he saw the growing impatience in Ron, who had been irritated by Hermione’s constant requests for still something else from the pantry. He was not very good at summoning charms, so his task as the waiter had harmed his concentration on the debate. Hermione looked like she had got the last word and she started to clear the table, nodding slightly to Ron.
Ron opened his mouth, but Remus spoke first, “So you brought me here for an interrogation, too.”
Ron closed his mouth. He looked disappointed, as if he had worked hard on an opening sentence and now realised he could not use it, because no introduction was needed. “I heard Kingsley say something about you and the goblins to Moody, but they would not tell us anything.”
“And you didn’t find it necessary to hide things from me, when we met on Diagon Alley,” added Hermione, looking at Remus hopefully.
“You are still as curious as in your first school years. In your third year it was… Anyway, now I’m afraid it’s not any concern of yours - not the details. I just told you what everybody can see and I said it to everybody here, too.”
Remus put his elbows on the table, crossed his hands in front of his chin and closed his eyes wishing they would leave him alone.
“But it is our concern, said Hermione with insistent urgency in her voice, “if you were attacked and hurt.”
Once again he was startled by her touch. She had reached for his left arm. While he was holding it up on the table, the worn sleeve of his robe had slid down and revealed the scar.
He quickly leant back, folding his arms over his chest. “I guess I should not close my eyes in your presence. You always take me unawares.”
He tried to smile, but he knew that Hermione had understood the significance of the scar, although it did not look like a wound from the previous night.
“Why do you hide it?” she asked. “Is that where you were hurt? So you went somewhere to have it healed.”
“Kingsley said you were bleeding terribly. And Moody was angry with him, because he left you alone. Moody said you might die! And then Kingsley went back to you in the morning and did not find you at home.” Ron said all that in the same breath, and a silence followed.
“Moody always exaggerates things. I was not all alone. My landlady stopped the bleeding, and I healed the wound in the morning. I had an appointment.”
“So was it not her who wounded you?” Hermione asked.
“Please, I think I need to talk about this to Dumbledore.”
At that moment Dumbledore apparated next to Ron. This time Remus was not so much irritated by his stylish entrance, but amused to see him make the curious teenagers jump.
Dumbledore greeted each of them, smiling gently, and then said, “My dear young friends, may I ask you for a favour - for two favours, in fact. Please tell Harry I’m wishing him a happy birthday, glad that he can celebrate it here despite my foolishness, and I’ve sent him something straight into his room. But first of all, can you please ask Kingsley, Nymphadora and Moody to come and join Remus and me here.”
Ron and Hermione stood up, sighing.
Remus winked at them and said, “Nymphadora is the one whose hair suits Harry’s eyes. I’ll talk to you another time. And - thank you.”
Dumbledore took Hermione’s seat next to Remus and eyed him intently. A small smile conveyed his eventual relief, but he shook his head slightly and his voice had a tone of sadness and resignation. “One reason why I hoped you would let me order you to live in this house was I knew that there were risks - and that you would not even try to stay aside and keep yourself safe.”
“And had I been here or stayed aside, the aurors of the ministry might have tortured Mrs. Porchead into insanity! How many others did they handle last night?”
While speaking Remus saw that the three aurors had already arrived and were coming to take seats opposite to them.
Dumbledore hardly nodded to them good evening before asking them in an uncharacteristically strict tone, “Did you know about the attacks beforehand?”
“No,” Moody replied. “The head of the auror office must have kept it from us, because he knows we belong to the Order and you’ve made your opposition to the decree known.”
His scarred face was in an even more sinister frown than usual, and his magical eye seemed to be piercing through Remus’s arm and chest, as Remus was still sitting with his arms folded. Moody was probably trying to figure out how much time they had for the conversation before Remus would fall dead.
Kingsley’s face was rather blank, but he did not manage his typical nonchalance in his position, He was avoiding both Remus’s and Dumbledore’s eyes.
Nymphadora was clearly shaken, as if she had just now heard the news. Her pretty girlish face was shining white framed by the green mane, and she looked at Remus in a perplexed combination of awe and concern, as she started answering, “I got to know about the operation when I arrived at the office this morning. But only late in the afternoon, when I got back from the stealth workshop... that’s when I heard the rumours that a wizard had been injured. And Moody just told me now…” She looked like she was going to burst into tears.
“Nymphadora dear.” Dumbledore had such a twinkle in his eyes that Remus suspected he was using the first name, which she detested, in order to help her regain her usual confidence. “There is no need to worry any more - about Remus, I mean. It was Kingsley who saw how it happened, and Moody may have made it sound worse than it was. So, Kingsley, did you know nothing either?”
“I was on duty until midnight. When I went to the office to return my weapons, patrols were being sent out, and I asked one guy what it was about, as I had not heard about any special operation. He said they were going to get some good practical training on goblins. Before leaving he checked something in a list. I had a look at it and recognised Remus’s landlady’s name. I half forced my partner to join me. Young Lancelot Diggory. He told me the office had been preparing it for several days. Just the members of the Order were not supposed to know. They had hired some homeless guys to commit clumsy burglary into certain houses of goblins in order to provoke them to use magic. A couple of aurors was to enter at the right time to interrogate each goblin on the connections with You-Know-Who. One to witness the justification and the other to use the Cruciatus Curse…”
Kingsley had launched into his report looking directly at Dumbledore and continued steadily, until he suddenly stopped, before the breaking of his voice was clearly discernible.
He took a deep breath and continued to talk quickly looking away from everybody, “We arrived too late. I didn’t do anything. I just saw how Remus charged in the way of the curse, and it hit him, and then it was dropped in a moment. It couldn’t continue to function on somebody whom they had not intended to harm. But he was all covered in blood and he lost consciousness. Then the goblin put her hand on his arm and the bleeding stopped. I told those two aurors to leave. They were just trainees and still they would not take orders from me. But I said this case had turned different now that they had hurt an outsider and it would go to Wizengamot. Then they said that the goblin herself had wounded him. I asked Lancelot to take the names of the burglars, two young guys, whom the goblin had trapped in the wall and now released. Then I didn’t care if they left or not. I asked the goblin to show me his flat and I took him there. Later Lancelot came up and said that they had all gone. After some hours I left him alone with the goblin, as it didn’t seem to me she would hurt him. I was right, wasn’t I?” Only with that question did he turn to Remus and cast a quick look in his eyes.
“No,” Remus said, “she did not hurt me.”
“But she hurt you before you blocked the curse from hitting her! Why did you do that?” Nymphadora exclaimed.
“She touched my arm because I tried to stop her from using her magic on those fake burglars.”
Nymphadora did not ask you that, said Dumbledore, leaning closer to Remus. “She asked you why you sacrificed yourself to save her from the Cruciatus. Can you answer that question?”
“No, I’m afraid I can’t.”
Dumbledore stared at him for a moment and leant slowly against the back of his chair.
Moody’s hoarse voice broke the silence. “I have one more question. How did you have that wound healed?” His both eyes were now fixed on Remus’s arm, which the magical eye must have been examining through the sleeve all the time. “Why don’t you show it to the others, too? Does anyone of you think a goblin can do healing magic like that? Kingsley said the wound was wide and deep.”
Remus felt relieved that the previous question had been dropped and did not refuse to stretch his arm on the table for everybody to examine. Kingsley gasped.
Dumbledore spoke, “I know you were forced to learn healing long ago, and especially healing yourself, Remus. Still, you surprise me. After such a loss of blood and the effect of the Cruciatus I would not have expected you to be capable of managing such an impact on yourself.”
“I had an appointment this morning. I hoped at least that it was ultimately for somebody else’s benefit that I wanted to be fit enough not to miss it.”
“You hoped…” Dumbledore repeated thoughtfully. “Very well then. I think this has been enough interrogation of the victim. I trust you won’t refuse to sign a demand for legal action. We shall have the indictment prosecuted in Wizengamot, against the head of the aurors’ office, of course. You will certainly understand that it will be for the benefit of all the creatures offended by that decree.” He stood up and turned to the three aurors. “We’ll have to discuss the future of your careers in the ministry, but it can wait. Each of you needs to consider it carefully. I’d appreciate Remus’s advice in planning a change in our strategy, but now he must have a rest. Do you now agree to stay here overnight, Remus, at least today?”
“No, thank you. Now especially I doubt anything can threaten me in my neighbourhood more than the ministry’s aurors, and I don’t think they want to commit another crime against a member of the Order.”
“I hope you’re right. So you’ll be here tomorrow, but not before the sunset.” Dumbledore winked and smiled to Remus, as if he had wanted to apologise for having intruded on his privacy by mistake.
Chapter Three, part two, is here
Author: PaulaMcG
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: (subtly, eventually) Remus/Sirius
Era and universe: Summer and autumn 1996, an alternative world after OotP
Chapter summary: Remus doesn’t stand aside and he gets a chance to practise some Magic of Healing as well as some Magic of Images.
Word count: around 6900
Disclaimer: Remus won't help me make any money.
Notes: EDITED on the 1st of February 2010. I’m happy to declare that this 21-chapter novel can now be regarded as completed. Thanks to invaluable feedback from my f-list, particularly kellychambliss’s excellent nit-picking, I’ve mananged to fix some mistakes and to make other improvements also in this chapter, which I posted here f-locked in July, having started to revise the early chapters.
Chapter One can be found here and Chapter Two here
Remus Lupin and the Revolt of the Creatures
Chapter Three: Doubts about his Motives
In the middle of that night Remus was woken up by a sound which was not inside his dream. He was not truly alarmed. He did not even open his eyes. There were some risks in living in a neighbourhood like this and with no locks or spells on the door of his room. It would have been useless to try to prevent Mrs. Porchead from coming in, since goblins were able to open anything, even walls with no doors at all. But was there somebody uninvited in the building? Now everything was quiet again. Remus tried to fall asleep, but his restless thoughts drifted to Harry. Were there actually doubts about Harry’s safety in case any friend of his was not safe? Here he had a new reason not to become so close to Harry. He turned on the other side and opened his eyes.
Mrs. Porchead was standing in the middle of his room. She could obviously sense the presence of metal and now reached for the coins in the pocket of his robes, which he had left on the desk. A golden light was emanating from her fingers. Lack of privacy was worse than poverty itself. He considered whether to get up or not.
At that moment he heard a sound of breaking wood from downstairs.
“Burglars,” she muttered, and she disappeared with a dim flash of light, evidently rushing to protect her property.
Remus jumped up, grabbed his wand from the desk and followed. He apparated outside the door of her flat and entered cautiously.
Mrs. Porchead had fixed two ragged youngsters against the wall of her sitting room. Now she pressed her fingers on the wall on either side of them, and the expressions on the two haggard faces turned terrified, as the bodies started sinking inside the wall.
Remus dashed in. “Stop that! I’ll just tie them up.”
He turned his wand against the youngsters and, stepping closer, his left palm towards Mrs. Pochead. She jerked her head and her eyes gleamed in the steely light radiating from her fingers, as she thrust her right hand out at Remus, reaching his left. The moment she touched him he felt burning pain and then blood spurting out of his arm just above his wrist.
“Expelliarmus!” The incantation sounded from the doorway.
As his wand flew away from him, he grabbed and squeezed his wounded arm with his right hand and turned around to see who had entered. Two wizards in black robes and hoods, with their wands lifted, stepped closer.
“An inhuman creature performing illegal magic,” said one of them.
Remus glanced back and saw Mrs. Porchead standing still but with all her fingers again pressed against the wall, while the youngsters were trapped in a tight recess in it.
“By the law I have the right to put this curse on you, and I won’t lift it until you reveal the name of the goblin who had contact with You Know Who. Did you get it clear, creature?” This second wizard stretched his wand forward. “Crucio!”
“No!” Remus cast himself in front of Mrs. Porchead. And the pain cut through his body in disabling convulsions.
Then it was gone. He found himself trembling on the floor. He had twisted his arms over his head, and the blood from the wound was now dripping on his face. He struggled to get up on his knees and squeezed his arm with his right hand again to slow down the bleeding. He looked up and saw two more dark figures approach, one of them even darker than the others.
Just before fainting he recognised Kingsley’s face close to his own and heard his voice, “Exactly what I feared. When I heard some had gone to this address, I knew you would interfere.”
Mrs. Porchead was on her knees next to him, tearing a linen table cloth into strips. She reached to touch his wound with her fingertips, and Remus shuddered, but the fingers now felt soothingly cool.
“That’s all I can do. I haven’t got any healing powers more than for stopping the bleeding. And I’ll still make the veela pay their rent…”
She wrapped a strip of cloth as a bandage around his arm. The wound was still throbbing with pain and an echo of the torture continued to run through his body. Was it the loss of blood or the curse that made him feel too weak to move anything but his eyes?
Kingsley must have carried him up to his room. The handsome black man was standing in the middle of the room, looking around. A fellow auror of his was standing at the door.
“We shall see in Wizengamot, Mrs. Porchead,” Kingsley said.
He approached the corner where Remus was lying on the floor. “And, Remus, I hope you’ll be well enough to meet us at the headquarters tomorrow. If you are not, send us an owl.” He didn’t look at Remus but watched an owl, white like a ghost, fly in through one of the big open windows and settle close to Remus’s wounded arm.
“I won’t come before the evening,” Remus whispered.
He closed his eyes and when he opened them again he was alone with Hedwig.
When he was woken up the next time by a gentle peck on his nose, the lighting in the room told Remus that the sun had already risen some time ago. He was lying in the same position in which he had fallen asleep, and his body felt leaden. There was no pain left except in the wound, which now ached steadily.
He made a slight movement with his right hand to try if he would be able to get up. Then he noticed that he had been covered with a fresh linen sheet and a thick but light quilt. A glass of water and his wand had been placed next to him on the floor so that he could reach them. He took the glass and lifted his head enough to drink a little. The water tasted strange, rather bitter, but it seemed to do good to him. He was now able to sit up. He took his wand and, leaning against the wall, he summoned the tin jar and the spoon, undid the spell on the jar and ate the rest of Mrs. Figg’s chocolate mousse.
Hedwig seemed to be patiently waiting, now perched on his shoulder. Remus caressed her and said, “So you want to come with me, don’t you?”
After Hedwig had blinked affirmatively and rubbed her head against his cheek, Remus took a deep breath and started opening the bandage, and Hedwig helped cautiously with her beak. When the wound was bare, he took his wand and did his best to concentrate all the strength he had on the healing spell and on the thought: I am doing this for Hedwig.
He let his wand hand drop on the blanket and closed his eyes. Was he doing it all for Hedwig? The events of the night came to him in a clear flash and still mixed with feelings of embarrassment. Why had he actually done that? He knew he could push those doubts aside only for a while, but he had to do it now.
He fixed his eyes on the ugly wound, which was about the size of two fingers, not bleeding but fresh and garishly red. He lifted his wand again and concentrated: I want to be doing this for Hedwig.
And with a slight wave of the wand and a whisper of the spell he caused the wound to start closing. He struggled to keep his wand hand steady while a new pain surged into him in waves, which abated gradually and finally left him gasping for breath.
He had to empty the glass of bitter water to be able to stand up. When taking off his nightgown he found it hard to push aside another embarrassing thought of how Kingsley had carried him to lay him down on his bedclothes unconscious. He put on his robes and noticed that the bread crumbs were still in the pocket. Should he thank Mrs. Porchead also for not stealing them? He decided it would be kinder not to mention it.
Remus had to lean against a wall again while talking to one of the owners of the pet shop. Repeated shudders were shaking him and he knew that the ordeals of the night had upset any balance of health he had been gaining after returning to London. He tried to hold his head high and his eyes on the owner’s face to evoke some trust despite his appearance. His enthusiasm was intact, though, and must have helped him convince the owner, who listened intently to his justification and description of the idea of the painting.
The owner was a rather young wizard dressed in an elegant deep violet robe and with black hair tied in a ponytail. His skin looked more like that of a blond, though, and he had clearly applied some make-up to highlight his features. He seemed eager to give an impression of artistic sensitiveness and of a position to make decisions on his own. He could probably afford to take the risk of having to account for the expenses and make it a project of his own, if the other owners turned out to disagree. After some comments, which were formulated to sound sophisticated but to which Remus did not bother to listen, he called for the construction manager and told him to accompany Remus to buy whatever was needed for the painting and add it to the billing.
At that moment Hedwig made her impressive entrance through a window and circled above the three men before perching on his friend’s shoulder again. Remus was happy he had not persuaded her to join him traveling with floo powder, which would have stained her striking white beauty, although it had meant that he had been forced to face Mrs. Porchead alone.
The landlady had evidently been shaken by what had happened at night. She had not even put on her peacock feather hat before opening her door, and the sight of him evoked on her face a slightly different expression of discomfort from the usual. Was it possible that her voice expressed even concern, when she asked why he had got up already and taken off the bandage? Then her eyes widened in amazement and she reached for his arm so abruptly that he involuntarily recoiled.
“Don’t worry. No magic now!” She spread her fingers for him to see. “Do you think I still want to hurt you!
She spat out the last words as if deeply offended and in her usual manner, but Remus was almost sure that there was behind it a trace of regret and even sympathy.
“No, I don’t. I am sorry,” Remus said, stretching out his arm for her to examine it.
“You are sorry!” she muttered reproachfully, and Remus realised that this was the heartiest apology she could muster.
But after a pause she added, “We are like that, with such instincts…”
“Every creature has got instincts to protect his or her own interests. The more powerful and destructive towards others your instincts are, the more admirable your ability to act morally in the end.”
Mrs. Porchead did not reply, but she stroked the shiny scar with her fingers in a strangely soothing manner, which made Remus wonder if she actually let some of her goblin magic through.
“I used healing magic on it myself,” he explained. “But I could not have done it at night when I had no strength. Thank you for taking care of me then.”
She made an unidentifiable grunt and said, “So you are a real wizard, with skills like that…”
“The truly demanding form of healing magic is to apply it on yourself. I’ve been forced to practise it for a long time - as well as hurting myself. It’s almost impossible for anybody in a weak condition. It requires a lot of strength, because the true basis of healing magic is sympathy. Even with less strength it is possible, if you do it ultimately for someone else.
Mrs. Porchead surprised Remus by listening to his lecture and staying quiet, bent over his arm for a while after he finished. Then she grunted, “But where are you going now? I told you not to worry about paying your debts so urgently.” There was a slightly hopeful tone in her voice.
However, she did not reveal much disappointment when he said, “I am, in fact, going to agree on such work for which I shan’t be paid immediately.”
Before stepping into her fireplace Remus still warned Mrs. Porchead, “I know you can control your instincts, and I hope you will be careful with any such magic which could be interpreted as illegal. We must live with that decree on unforgivable curses as a fact for the time being. And I hope that we continue to live.”
The owner and the construction manager finished their conversation on Hedwig’s beauty and the owner turned to Remus with curiosity. “So are you planning to make it a real portrait? That would certainly have a considerable effect on the value of the painting.”
Remus was suddenly awakened from his musings and realised that it was the last moment for him to guarantee his rights. “I’d like us to sign a contract on - let’s say - a minimum of ten Galleons for an ordinary landscape, and a minimum of twenty in case it turns out a real portrait.”
The young owner perhaps considered it below himself to hesitate. He took out two pieces of parchment, which had been shrunk by magic to pocket size as well as a sophisticated automatic quill, and charmed the parchments to regain their normal size. After he had placed them in mid-air, the quill quickly wrote two identical contracts for him and Remus to sign.
That evening Remus entered number twelve, Grimmauld Place feeling slightly nervous about the attention which he was afraid he would get because of the events of the previous night.
The hall was full of people, all both talking excitedly and either carrying or levitating something. It was a rare scene, as the inhabitants and visitors in the house were used to staying completely quiet in the hall in order to prevent Mrs. Black’s portrait from starting to scream about the outrage which the people whom her son had welcomed as well as her son himself had brought upon her noble ancient house. Ever since Sirius’s death Mrs. Black had been sulking and not said or screamed a word even to Kreacher the house-elf. This faithful servant of hers had started taking care that the curtain always protected her privacy, and everybody normally followed the old routine of passing the hall quickly and quietly.
A witch with shiny emerald green curls down to her waist pushed in after Remus and passed without noticing him. He recognized her as Nymphadora as soon as she dropped the box she had been carrying. Its contents, some dozens of Bouncy Bubble Gum Snitches, escaped and scattered in the crowd.
“Oops, sorry… but hey, why am I not the only one making noise here!” She raised her voice towards the end of the sentence and bumped into people, while trying to catch some of the small golden balls, which were now bounding and rebounding from the walls and the ceiling and people. “Never mind, they look better left free!”
She stopped and glanced at herself in the large mirror and seemed to decide her hair was not long enough for her taste or for whatever occasion it was for, as with apparent ease, using her skills of a Metamorphmagus, she made it grow down to her knees. Her face also turned ever younger and prettier.
Then she looked around and shouted to everybody in general, “Why are we all shouting? The house-elf will be mad and curse us, no matter how quiet Sirius’s mum stays.”
“Didn’t you know Kreacher has been hiding somewhere in the attic since Harry got here?” asked Fred. He was levitating something that looked like a millstone covered with sugar icing in all the colours of the rainbow.
“Yes, now there’s no need for even filth and freaks like us to be shy. This house does not belong to the purest blood any longer!” That was George, who was wrestling with a statue representing an extremely energetic Quidditch player.
“Don’t forget Madam Narcissa has not given up…”
“Hey, Fred, that’s not something to discuss on a day like this! Do you have the candles ready on that cake? The birthday boy’s coming down any moment now…”
It was Harry’s birthday, and Remus had completely forgotten about it. He had stayed near the entrance and now he felt that he could as well leave, or maybe rather as if he had not even arrived at all - that he did not belong to the party.
At that moment the only person to notice him caught his eye. Kingsley Shacklebolt walked around the crowd and came to him. “How are you, Remus?”
Kingsley looked at him at least, unlike the previous night, although his facial and verbal expressions were both devoid of any emotion and he hurried to finish what he had got to say. “Don’t leave before we’ve talked. I think Dumbledore’s coming tonight, too. But we’ve got to go through this celebration first.”
Remus moved away from the door, as another group of members of the Order entered. Kingsley followed him and stayed by his side, but did not talk anymore and fixed his eyes, like almost everybody else now, at the top of the staircase at the end of the hall. Remus looked away from Kingsley - and was startled as he faced himself in the same mirror which Nymphadora had used so functionally.
He did not exactly take pleasure in eyeing his own figure, especially not next to Kingsley’s. He cast a glance at the image of his own face, though - which he normally seldom did - and had to agree with Phineas Nigellus. Still, he could not help feeling reconciled with the fact that he looked like himself. Even his hairdo actually appealed to him the way it had become naturally, grown to almost shoulder length and not completely grey yet but with a trace of the original light brown still discernible. But what eventually gave him reassurance that he - despite his personal exhaustion and his overwhelming general concern - still wanted and was able to participate in celebrating Harry, was a look into his own eyes.
In those eyes he first saw only sorrow and distress. But then in the warmth of their amber he suddenly recognised something they shared with another creature’s amber eyes. He knew he still had got something to offer and something to achieve. For whom would it all be, ultimately? No, he did not want to be tormented by those doubts about his motives even yet. To be ready for heartily congratulating Harry, he decided to cherish the memory of the day’s work with Hedwig.
He had kept glancing at the owl’s large round amber eyes every now and then when mixing the paints, which he had brought in with the manager, and when starting to spread on the wall the priming colour for the landscape. The odour of the paint began to help transfer his mind to another reality, and this time Hedwig joined him. He realised that her subconscious memories of the northern lands contained the light on the gentle lines of the mountains in each of the seasons, and he felt an urgency to reach and to capture it all, but he knew he had to wait for the images to come. He outlined preliminarily the figure of the owl herself. Now perched on his shoulder, Hedwig gave him a last trustful look and then hid the amber of her eyes.
She fell asleep. Her weight made his arm heavy to move, but the more effort he put on each stroke of the brush, the more he became aware of a deeper foundation for his expression than his own scattered memories of the landscapes flashing by on his seemingly endless travels. On her own Hedwig had not been able to build attainable dreams on the basis of her memories. But now she was dreaming already. He had felt the dreams evolving. He was still not sure what would happen. Could this painting eventually become a real portrait and more than that?
The crowd began to cheer and Remus felt a surprisingly cheerful amusement at himself, realising that he had been staring dreamily into his own eyes. He turned to look up where Harry had appeared and now started descending the stairs. The boy looked elegant, with the exception of his ever untidy hair, and a lot healthier than in the Dursleys’ garden. He lowered his eyes bashfully, though, and Remus was grateful on his behalf to Ron and Hermione for being there on his either side. The crowd was now singing to him. Remus took a few steps forward together with Kingsley. He was now capable of a genuine smile and even joined in the last phrase of the song.
Fred apparated from behind other people in front of Harry with his millstone cake, and as Harry blew the sixteen candles, they exploded into fireworks, obviously cool ones. People started queuing and jumping the queue to hand out their presents. Some of them only hugged Harry and pointed towards the ceiling. George’s statue had eventually escaped and was now chasing the Bubble Gum Snitches.
Remus stood near-by, smiling, and when the birthday boy suddenly noticed him, he stepped quickly to Harry and embraced him before the person next in the queue. After the hug he left his hands on Harry’s shoulders and said simply, “Happy birthday, Harry! I haven’t got a present for you. To be honest I forgot… I can hardly believe I could forget.”
Harry seemed to have adopted a smile suited for the occasion but also some genuine light-heartedness. In him it did not irritate but rather touched Remus.
Now, however, Harry’s smile turned into an expression of slight confusion, which made Remus add, “And it’s fine you don’t seem to believe it either. If I give you a present, it will be later, and a surprise.”
Remus stepped aside and almost bumped into Hermione, who was charming Harry’s presents to pile themselves up neatly and the most disturbing ones to rise higher towards the ceiling. They greeted each other briefly, as Hermione had to quickly take charge of a Note Pad for Exploding Notes to Remind you of Vitally Important Appointments. Remus was not quite sure if it was a good idea to give Harry something like that. For the most vitally important encounter ahead of him a date had not been set to be written down in a note.
All this attention was clearly due to the growing anticipation for the Boy Who Lived to approach the fulfillment of his destiny. Remus knew that Dumbledore had revealed the contents of the prophecy to hardly anyone. But more premonitions had spread since the Ministry had not hidden or disputed the information on Harry’s encounters with Voldemort so far.
It now suddenly struck Remus what the reason could have been for Dumbledore to reveal the prophecy to him after Sirius’s death. Why did he have to find it so difficult to enter Harry’s life? It was much more difficult than it had seemed three years ago, even if then he had still been hiding what he was and who he had been to Harry’s father, and to the feared fugitive. After entering their lives and leaving them again, Sirius seemed to have become an insurmountable barrier to the progress of their relationship.
No, what was he thinking about! The people in the Order of the Phoenix naturally felt like celebrating the arrival in this house of the Boy Who Lived, which presaged the defeat of the enemy. At the same time they enjoyed putting up a party for him like for a child, and most of them must have done it sincerely, without an intention of deceit.
Meeting Hermione had given to Remus the idea of sitting down on the lowest step of the staircase. People had now started conjuring chairs and small tables for themselves, and the noise was multiplied, when several pieces of furniture appeared at the same spot at the same time and hit each other. Remus felt too tired to even try what kind of a chair he could have managed to conjure.
He had continued painting until it had been made difficult by the dusk, which had also woken up Hedwig. There had been moments of rest during the day. He did not even know how long he had spent just sitting on the floor with the dreaming owl. But it had not occurred to him that he should have broken the spell on the fake bread crumbs he had in his pocket and gone to buy some food. At dusk he had asked Hedwig to fly to Harry and returned home just to change robes.
Hermione was now standing in front of him, holding two plates filled with rainbow coloured cake. He took one thankfully and was even happier when she sat down next to him.
“I was getting worried about you, Professor Lupin. We had dinner a bit earlier today because of this reception, but still I thought you should have joined us. Harry told me you had borrowed Hedwig, and she did not come back until we were upstairs, getting dressed. And then Ron said he had heard Kingsley talk about you to Moody during the dinner.”
While eating cake, which was very sweet but not really filling like anything real, Remus looked at her sincere face. He remembered the expression of fervent concentration on that face more than two years earlier, when he had been teaching her - and when she had succeeded in regaining her ability to reason rationally even in the most hazardous situation, in which everybody else had been overwhelmed by emotion.
Before he could stop himself he relived the moment of embracing the gaunt body of the man whom he had loved more than anyone else and then both hated and mourned for twelve years. And he could hear his own cruel voice, ready to utter the worst one of the unforgivable curses, answering affirmatively to his friend’s question: “Shall we kill him together?”
Remus dropped his plate on the floor and covered his face with his both hands. He was startled when he felt a tender hand on his shoulder. Why did he have to be so vulnerable to emotions these days? He looked up at Hermione attempting to smile apologetically and to see her face only the way it was now. Full of concern, indeed, but also more beautiful than two years ago, a most unique face of a young lady with a profound personality.
“I’m so sorry, Hermione. I’m afraid I wasn’t listening.”
She stood up and gave her hand to him. “I promised to meet Ron downstairs. Please, come with me, Professor Lupin.”
He doubted she was sincere now, but he was ready to let her make things simple and lead him away from the crowd without any complicating arguments. They walked hand in hand around the hall and down the staircase.
Ron Weasley was pacing the kitchen in a nervous manner, and when he looked up, alarmed by the sound of their footsteps, Remus sensed in his expression some kind of curious anticipation and a trace of relief instead of any annoyance at losing a chance of meeting Hermione alone. Remus reckoned that Ron had not caught up with Hermione in maturing. Glancing at her face gave him the feeling that she was not bothered by the fact. She grinned as if she was more than willing to engage herself in solving another mysterious case with her playmate.
She also shook her head slightly and led Remus to the table and sat him down next to herself and said, “That cake was a joke in bad taste. Please, Ron, would you bring us something to drink. And I’m still hungry, too. Can you see what was left over from dinner? I’m exhausted after fighting all those ridiculous presents. And you were supposed to help me. But I saw you start playing with Harry’s new toys instead!”
Remus admired her clever way of giving him a chance to nourish himself. By starting to eat without interfering in the conversation between the two friends he willingly let her achieve her goal. Listening to them also allowed him to further distance himself from his personal grief and tormenting doubts.
The exchange of arguments between Ron and Hermione turned into their usual bickering. Remus was amused by his observation that they already sounded like a married couple. Would there ever be a stage of full-fledged romance in their relationship? Hermione seemed to believe there would and, unlike most girls, be content to enjoy waiting for it. Remus himself saw no flaw in the quality of their interaction. It apparently concealed a deeper level of mutual understanding and affection, of which Ron must have started to become aware, too. It just was not time for them to share that awareness yet.
Ron was currently scratching his long nose and protesting, “This is not bubble gum! It’s one of my freckles! And do you have to put your nose into my nose all the time?”
Remus wished that he, when young himself, had always been able to act so innocently in front of Amelia.
Finally Remus leant back with that peculiar feeling which he experienced whenever he had eaten as much as he wanted. Looking across the table he saw the growing impatience in Ron, who had been irritated by Hermione’s constant requests for still something else from the pantry. He was not very good at summoning charms, so his task as the waiter had harmed his concentration on the debate. Hermione looked like she had got the last word and she started to clear the table, nodding slightly to Ron.
Ron opened his mouth, but Remus spoke first, “So you brought me here for an interrogation, too.”
Ron closed his mouth. He looked disappointed, as if he had worked hard on an opening sentence and now realised he could not use it, because no introduction was needed. “I heard Kingsley say something about you and the goblins to Moody, but they would not tell us anything.”
“And you didn’t find it necessary to hide things from me, when we met on Diagon Alley,” added Hermione, looking at Remus hopefully.
“You are still as curious as in your first school years. In your third year it was… Anyway, now I’m afraid it’s not any concern of yours - not the details. I just told you what everybody can see and I said it to everybody here, too.”
Remus put his elbows on the table, crossed his hands in front of his chin and closed his eyes wishing they would leave him alone.
“But it is our concern, said Hermione with insistent urgency in her voice, “if you were attacked and hurt.”
Once again he was startled by her touch. She had reached for his left arm. While he was holding it up on the table, the worn sleeve of his robe had slid down and revealed the scar.
He quickly leant back, folding his arms over his chest. “I guess I should not close my eyes in your presence. You always take me unawares.”
He tried to smile, but he knew that Hermione had understood the significance of the scar, although it did not look like a wound from the previous night.
“Why do you hide it?” she asked. “Is that where you were hurt? So you went somewhere to have it healed.”
“Kingsley said you were bleeding terribly. And Moody was angry with him, because he left you alone. Moody said you might die! And then Kingsley went back to you in the morning and did not find you at home.” Ron said all that in the same breath, and a silence followed.
“Moody always exaggerates things. I was not all alone. My landlady stopped the bleeding, and I healed the wound in the morning. I had an appointment.”
“So was it not her who wounded you?” Hermione asked.
“Please, I think I need to talk about this to Dumbledore.”
At that moment Dumbledore apparated next to Ron. This time Remus was not so much irritated by his stylish entrance, but amused to see him make the curious teenagers jump.
Dumbledore greeted each of them, smiling gently, and then said, “My dear young friends, may I ask you for a favour - for two favours, in fact. Please tell Harry I’m wishing him a happy birthday, glad that he can celebrate it here despite my foolishness, and I’ve sent him something straight into his room. But first of all, can you please ask Kingsley, Nymphadora and Moody to come and join Remus and me here.”
Ron and Hermione stood up, sighing.
Remus winked at them and said, “Nymphadora is the one whose hair suits Harry’s eyes. I’ll talk to you another time. And - thank you.”
Dumbledore took Hermione’s seat next to Remus and eyed him intently. A small smile conveyed his eventual relief, but he shook his head slightly and his voice had a tone of sadness and resignation. “One reason why I hoped you would let me order you to live in this house was I knew that there were risks - and that you would not even try to stay aside and keep yourself safe.”
“And had I been here or stayed aside, the aurors of the ministry might have tortured Mrs. Porchead into insanity! How many others did they handle last night?”
While speaking Remus saw that the three aurors had already arrived and were coming to take seats opposite to them.
Dumbledore hardly nodded to them good evening before asking them in an uncharacteristically strict tone, “Did you know about the attacks beforehand?”
“No,” Moody replied. “The head of the auror office must have kept it from us, because he knows we belong to the Order and you’ve made your opposition to the decree known.”
His scarred face was in an even more sinister frown than usual, and his magical eye seemed to be piercing through Remus’s arm and chest, as Remus was still sitting with his arms folded. Moody was probably trying to figure out how much time they had for the conversation before Remus would fall dead.
Kingsley’s face was rather blank, but he did not manage his typical nonchalance in his position, He was avoiding both Remus’s and Dumbledore’s eyes.
Nymphadora was clearly shaken, as if she had just now heard the news. Her pretty girlish face was shining white framed by the green mane, and she looked at Remus in a perplexed combination of awe and concern, as she started answering, “I got to know about the operation when I arrived at the office this morning. But only late in the afternoon, when I got back from the stealth workshop... that’s when I heard the rumours that a wizard had been injured. And Moody just told me now…” She looked like she was going to burst into tears.
“Nymphadora dear.” Dumbledore had such a twinkle in his eyes that Remus suspected he was using the first name, which she detested, in order to help her regain her usual confidence. “There is no need to worry any more - about Remus, I mean. It was Kingsley who saw how it happened, and Moody may have made it sound worse than it was. So, Kingsley, did you know nothing either?”
“I was on duty until midnight. When I went to the office to return my weapons, patrols were being sent out, and I asked one guy what it was about, as I had not heard about any special operation. He said they were going to get some good practical training on goblins. Before leaving he checked something in a list. I had a look at it and recognised Remus’s landlady’s name. I half forced my partner to join me. Young Lancelot Diggory. He told me the office had been preparing it for several days. Just the members of the Order were not supposed to know. They had hired some homeless guys to commit clumsy burglary into certain houses of goblins in order to provoke them to use magic. A couple of aurors was to enter at the right time to interrogate each goblin on the connections with You-Know-Who. One to witness the justification and the other to use the Cruciatus Curse…”
Kingsley had launched into his report looking directly at Dumbledore and continued steadily, until he suddenly stopped, before the breaking of his voice was clearly discernible.
He took a deep breath and continued to talk quickly looking away from everybody, “We arrived too late. I didn’t do anything. I just saw how Remus charged in the way of the curse, and it hit him, and then it was dropped in a moment. It couldn’t continue to function on somebody whom they had not intended to harm. But he was all covered in blood and he lost consciousness. Then the goblin put her hand on his arm and the bleeding stopped. I told those two aurors to leave. They were just trainees and still they would not take orders from me. But I said this case had turned different now that they had hurt an outsider and it would go to Wizengamot. Then they said that the goblin herself had wounded him. I asked Lancelot to take the names of the burglars, two young guys, whom the goblin had trapped in the wall and now released. Then I didn’t care if they left or not. I asked the goblin to show me his flat and I took him there. Later Lancelot came up and said that they had all gone. After some hours I left him alone with the goblin, as it didn’t seem to me she would hurt him. I was right, wasn’t I?” Only with that question did he turn to Remus and cast a quick look in his eyes.
“No,” Remus said, “she did not hurt me.”
“But she hurt you before you blocked the curse from hitting her! Why did you do that?” Nymphadora exclaimed.
“She touched my arm because I tried to stop her from using her magic on those fake burglars.”
Nymphadora did not ask you that, said Dumbledore, leaning closer to Remus. “She asked you why you sacrificed yourself to save her from the Cruciatus. Can you answer that question?”
“No, I’m afraid I can’t.”
Dumbledore stared at him for a moment and leant slowly against the back of his chair.
Moody’s hoarse voice broke the silence. “I have one more question. How did you have that wound healed?” His both eyes were now fixed on Remus’s arm, which the magical eye must have been examining through the sleeve all the time. “Why don’t you show it to the others, too? Does anyone of you think a goblin can do healing magic like that? Kingsley said the wound was wide and deep.”
Remus felt relieved that the previous question had been dropped and did not refuse to stretch his arm on the table for everybody to examine. Kingsley gasped.
Dumbledore spoke, “I know you were forced to learn healing long ago, and especially healing yourself, Remus. Still, you surprise me. After such a loss of blood and the effect of the Cruciatus I would not have expected you to be capable of managing such an impact on yourself.”
“I had an appointment this morning. I hoped at least that it was ultimately for somebody else’s benefit that I wanted to be fit enough not to miss it.”
“You hoped…” Dumbledore repeated thoughtfully. “Very well then. I think this has been enough interrogation of the victim. I trust you won’t refuse to sign a demand for legal action. We shall have the indictment prosecuted in Wizengamot, against the head of the aurors’ office, of course. You will certainly understand that it will be for the benefit of all the creatures offended by that decree.” He stood up and turned to the three aurors. “We’ll have to discuss the future of your careers in the ministry, but it can wait. Each of you needs to consider it carefully. I’d appreciate Remus’s advice in planning a change in our strategy, but now he must have a rest. Do you now agree to stay here overnight, Remus, at least today?”
“No, thank you. Now especially I doubt anything can threaten me in my neighbourhood more than the ministry’s aurors, and I don’t think they want to commit another crime against a member of the Order.”
“I hope you’re right. So you’ll be here tomorrow, but not before the sunset.” Dumbledore winked and smiled to Remus, as if he had wanted to apologise for having intruded on his privacy by mistake.
Chapter Three, part two, is here