sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-07 01:12 pm
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-07 01:12 pm
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Laocoon's Children, Year III, Ch. 25
On the final day of the Easter holiday, Remus left Sirius and Harry playing chess in the garden and walked along the raised path that skirted the Forbidden Forest, heading up to Hogwarts. It was a bright day, sunny and windy, and the walk did him good -- invigorated him, dropping as he was into the relative calm of the early waxing moon.
When he reached the rooms they'd given him to live in as a professor, rooms he used rather less than anyone knew, he went first to the windows to open them and let in the fresh air. Then he turned, leaning against the bookshelf next to the window, and regarded the object hanging from the far wall warily.
Draco's Firebolt, tested extensively and all but dismantled in the hunt for whatever hexes might be on it, dangled quietly from a broomstick-mount. As far as he could tell, it was clean; he'd given it one last examination and set one last detection charm on it, a charm that had been left to run all week while he occupied himself with Harry and Sirius, Draco and Anne. Harry and Sirius were occupying themselves, Draco was safe at Hogwarts, and Anne had gone back to London; it was time to admit that the broomstick was clean.
He sighed and took it down, holding it at arm's length as if he could see what was hidden in it just by staring at it. Perhaps there weren't any hexes. In fact, by now he was fairly sure there weren't. Still, it worried him to give it back to Draco, and not only because it was a fast, professional-grade broom that he wasn't entirely sure the mild little Hufflepuff could handle.
Still, nothing to be done about it now. It was the boy's by right.
"Denbigh," he called. "When you have a moment, it's Professor Lupin."
There was a pop as the head of the Kitchen Elves appeared. Denbigh executed a low bow and looked up expectantly.
"How can Denbigh be helping Professor Remus Lupin today?" he asked. "Has Professor Remus Lupin had his breakfast?"
"Yes, thank you. Actually, I'm looking for Draco; I had a suspicion you might know where he is," Remus said. Denbigh nodded.
"Master Draco Malfoy is being in the kitchens with the house-elves," he said. "He is being very entertaining to the house elves, Professor Remus Lupin."
"Very well," Remus said with a smile. "I'll be down shortly. Don't tell him I'm coming, please?"
Denbigh saluted and vanished again. Remus strolled down to the kitchens idly, carrying the broomstick in one hand. If you paid close attention you could almost feel the reined-in power in the Firebolt. Even Remus could appreciate the champion-grade, suspicious or not.
He tickled the pear outside the portrait entrance to the kitchens, feeling a little like an illicit fourth-year again, and opened it just enough to peer inside.
In the hot, good-smelling kitchen, Draco was trying to silence a band of laughing house-elves. When they finally settled down, he bowed.
"For my next trick," he said, and pointed at a large raw chicken, sitting in a roasting pan. "Coquo Dilisius!"
There was a fizzling noise, and a small sandwich sat where the chicken had been. The house-elves burst into applause.
"That was quite good, Draco," Remus said, and the elves fell silent. Draco whipped his head around, turning pale. "No need to be startled," he added, propping the broom against the outer wall and stepping inside. He picked up the sandwich, bit into it, and chewed thoughtfully.
"Any second-year can turn a chicken into a chicken sandwich," Draco said shyly.
"Any second-year can make a sandwich out of a cooked chicken. With a couple of slices of bread, even a Muggle can do that," Remus said. "Raw chicken..." he gestured at the counter, "...cooked chicken sandwich."
He indicated the other half of the sandwich, still sitting in the roasting pan. "Sliced, even. And with just the right amount of mustard."
Draco frowned. "It's not that hard."
"Isn't it?" Remus asked, taking another bite. Draco watched him chew. "All that remedial Transfiguration -- isn't so remedial, is it?"
"It used to be. I got better."
"You have a talent for it."
"No," Draco shook his head. "I just work hard."
"Like a good Hufflepuff," Remus said with a smile. He set the sandwich down and walked back to the portrait-door. "At any rate, I have a reward for your patience and hard work. Here it is -- we've done everything we could think of, and there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with it at all. You've got a very good friend somewhere."
He turned around, broomstick in hand, and Draco's eyes got wide as saucers. The boy came forward almost reverently, taking the Firebolt from his hands.
"I can have it back?" he asked Remus, examining it with wary care. "Seriously? It's safe?"
"As far as I can tell. There's only one test left, of course," Remus added. "That's to put you on it and see how it flies. I couldn't really do that test on my own."
"I can ride it?"
Remus nodded. "Carefully, at first. But if you like, this afternoon we can fly all the way to Hogsmeade. Well, the edges, anyway. How'd you like to show off your broomstick to Harry?"
"I'm not supposed to leave the grounds," Draco answered.
"Draco, I'm going to give you a piece of advice that is going to get both of us in a lot of trouble someday," Remus said, bending and putting a hand on Draco's shoulder, their faces on the same level. The feeling came back to him again, the one of being a young man, the sort of boy who helped James and Sirius execute intricate plots. "There are some times when life requires that, for our own sanity, we break a few rules."
From the air, riding a school broom with terrible aerodynamics, it looked like Harry and Sirius had given up their game of chess and were playing one-on-one football with an old decommissioned Quaffle. He saw Draco drop like a stone and halt smoothly, leaping off the broomstick and leaving it to hover obediently in midair. He would give the young Hufflepuff this much: put him on a broomstick and he was fearless. Draco never ceased to surprise him. Then again, he did have that daring, arrogant, brilliant Black blood in his veins.
Harry tackled Draco cheerfully and the two wrestled for supremacy until Sirius hauled Harry, nominally on top, up by the collar. Remus touched the broomstick down just as Harry was begging pleadingly for two minutes on the Firebolt.
"You're certain it's safe?" Sirius asked, over the heads of the two boys.
"Well, it's a stick meant to hover in the air and support a teenage boy while turning sharply and moving at high speeds," Remus replied. "So, it's certainly not safe. But as for hexes...no."
"But you can't have it at the Quidditch match," Draco said to Harry as the other boy straddled the Firebolt. "We're playing Slytherin and I'm going to kick your arse with this."
"We'll just see about that," Harry said, and the broom took off like a rocket.
"I assume you got permission to bring Draco off school grounds," Sirius said.
Remus glanced at Draco and winked at Sirius. "Course I did."
Draco's smile as he watched Harry try to tame the wayward Firebolt was the biggest Remus had seen since the holiday began.
***
"Okay," Padma said. "I've done it."
She placed an index card flat on the table between herself and Neville. He picked it up, squinting at it, then sighed and dug in his pockets, producing five Sickles.
"What's all this?" Harry said, gesturing at the card with his spoon. School was back in session and entertainment thin on the ground; if there was mischief he wanted to be a part of it. "What are we betting on?"
"Neville's been complaining all week about who he's supposed to root for in the match," Padma said, "because he's too coward and stubborn to flip a coin."
"This much we knew," Draco said gravely.
"So, I told him it was really just a simple formula, weighing pros against cons," Padma continued.
"I bet her she couldn't turn it into a formula," Neville said, passing the card over to Harry. He studied it, perplexed.
set a (if N = S then 0D + 1B)
set b (if N = H then 1D + 1B - 1H)
set c (if (N != S) and (N != H) then -5P)
Ret X (where X = 5N) if (a = b and P = >0) OR (N GROWS A PAIR)
"How do you know it's any good?" Harry asked, tilting his head.
"I don't," Neville replied. "But it looks very official."
Padma rolled her eyes. "It's quite simple. If Neville roots for Slytherin then Draco will be annoyed and it'll seem like Bad Sportsmanship. If Neville roots for Hufflepuff then Draco will be happy but Harry will be annoyed and it'll still seem like Bad Sportsmanship. If Neville doesn't root for Slytherin or Hufflepuff then I'm going to smack him. If Neville balances Slytherin and Hufflepuff without annoying me any further, or grows a pair and picks a team, we return Success. That's 5N, for 'lots of Neville'. You know. Go Neville and all."
"Padma, you're the only girl I know who can make Arithmantical death threats," Draco said. "I -- "
He was interrupted by a cry of "Malfoy!" followed shortly by a different voice calling "Potter!"
The two captains stood in the doorway, Cedric and Marcus, each glaring at their teammates.
"No fraternising," Marcus Flint called. "Time to get ready."
"Good luck," Neville said, as Harry and Draco glanced at each other. "Don't be nervous, if I can't pick a team Padma'll beat me up and then neither of us will see the game anyway."
Harry put out his hand and Draco shook it. Marcus made a disgusted noise.
"When you two are done bonding, we have a game to play," he said.
"Leave them alone. Come on, Malfoy," Cedric said, elbowing Marcus. This was probably a mistake.
"I'll say whatever I want when they're acting like idiots," Marcus answered, elbowing back.
"Shut your mouth," Cedric replied angrily.
"Oh, you want to get into it with me, Hufflepuff?" Marcus demanded, turning to face Cedric. "Go ahead. I know you're dying to knock me out so Slytherin will forfeit -- "
"I wouldn't dream of giving your masochistic soul the satisfaction," Cedric answered.
"I am not a masochistic!"
"Gentlemen," came a new voice, and Professor McGonagall appeared behind both boys. Madam Hooch stood nearby, already in full flight gear. "I believe you have a game to prepare for."
Harry and Draco followed dutifully, pretending not to notice that Madam Hooch gently knocked Flint and Diggory's heads together on their way to the pitch. They parted ways and went to their respective teams, preparing for the last game before the Quidditch Cup, the one which would decide who would play Gryffindor for the House championship. Hufflepuff had already lost to Gryffindor once, but if Draco hadn't tumbled from his broom the outcome might have been very different -- and Draco had a Firebolt now.
Harry knew he wasn't the only one weighing up Draco and his new broomstick as Marcus and Cedric shook hands, but he bet he was the only one worrying about having to play against one of his best friends. At least Draco wasn't playing Seeker; still, a Beater could do a Seeker a lot of damage if they wanted. Harry wasn't sure whether he wanted Draco gunning for him or not. If he did, at least that would show that he could play the game without letting personal feelings enter into it, like Harry did when he was playing against Oliver Wood.
Madam Hooch gave the signal and the teams kicked off from the ground, the Chasers jumping into immediate action while Harry and the Hufflepuff Seeker rose high above the game, circling the Pitch. Down below, somewhere, Lee Jordan was nattering on about the Firebolt as Draco executed sharp turns and bursts of speed to get himself between the other players and the Bludgers; Professor McGonagall kept having to remind him to talk about the game and not the broomsticks.
The Slytherin girls were hogging the Quaffle from Pucey, the only male Chaser on the team now; Mary scored for Slytherin just as Harry spotted a glint of gold near one of the barriers, well under the general level of play. Even as he dove he saw that he was going to have to cut straight through the action, and sure enough --
Well, he thought, as a Bludger whistled past his ear, clearly Draco didn't have any trouble playing to win. He ducked and lost sight of the Snitch; when he looked up again all he could see was Towler hitting the Bludger back towards Draco, and the Firebolt leaping upwards even as Draco leaned low and swung under his knees to hit it wide.
Harry was pleased with what he saw when he rose up out of gameplay again, looking for a flutter of silvery wings or a spark of gold in the sun. Ever since Slytherin had begun to play on levels and not just back-and-forth, and the other teams had picked up on it, the game seemed to be faster and more ruthless, which was how Harry liked it. He felt a little twinge of pride that he had helped to cause the improvement in play --
And then he realised he ought to be looking for the Snitch, which...yes...there, by the Slytherin goalpost. The last he'd heard, Slytherin was up twenty points, which meant that whoever had the Snitch won the game.
He accelerated madly, noticing as he did so that not only Cedric but also both Beaters were following him. Another Bludger whizzed past him, knocking his broomstick slightly sideways. If he could just get to the goalpost before the Cedric saw where he was going...
Harry dropped suddenly into the fray, nearly crossing broomstick-handles with Draco, who pulled back and gave him a startled look. Cedric, taller and riding a larger broomstick, couldn't follow him into the tight knot of Beaters and Chasers, and he hadn't yet seen the Snitch.
He practically had to elbow his way through the scrum. Even as he dropped again, aiming for where the Snitch still hovered by the goalpost, he heard someone shriek. Several people, in fact; Towler, bellowing a warning, was pointing down at the Pitch where three hooded figures were gliding slowly -- almost serenely -- towards Harry.
Dementors.
Harry didn't stop to think about why there were only three of them or why he didn't feel anything at such close quarters; he jerked his elbow, sending his wand out of his sleeve and into his grip.
"Expecto patronum!" he shouted, thinking of the happiest memory he and Remus had managed to unearth for him: the day he got his Hogwarts letter. It wasn't a very impressive patronus, still not much more than a white mist, but it seemed to knock all three Dementors flat while Harry zoomed past, still aiming for the goalpost. With his wand in his hand he couldn't very well grab the Snitch; in a moment of decision, he let his wand fall, hoping he'd be able to find it afterwards, and brought his hand around in an arc, neatly capturing the small, flighty gold ball. The whistle sounded; the game was over.
Harry turned his broomstick to find six green blurs headed straight towards him, and a second later he'd all but been knocked off his broomstick by the congratulatory violence of his teammates.
Beyond them, however, he saw the Dementors moving again; rising, yes, but also...
Picking up the hems of their robes, and running.
Harry cocked his head. That couldn't be right. He was pretty sure Dementors didn't wear Hogwarts trousers under their robes. He could see Professor McGonagall and Madam Hooch both aiming stunning hexes at the so-called Dementors, but the hooded figures were dodging deftly, and after a moment they had disappeared around the corners of the stands, into the Forbidden Forest.
"What the hell was that?" Harry asked Cedric Diggory, who had already dismounted his broom and was walking with perhaps slightly exaggerated dignity towards Flint. He slid respectfully from his broomstick, waiting while they shook.
"Don't know," Cedric replied, rubbing the back of his head curiously. Draco pulled to a stop next to him breathlessly, almost tumbling off when the Firebolt braked faster than he expected. "Prank, I reckon."
"Did you see that?" Draco mock-punched an invisible enemy. "You flattened them, Harry!"
Cedric put a hand on the back of Draco's neck warningly.
"Good game," he said, and forcibly turned Draco, marching him back to where the Hufflepuff team was receiving consolation from their House.
"That was quite a Patronus," said a new voice in Harry's ear, and he turned to find Remus grinning down at him, looking a little shaken but mostly pleased. He passed Harry his wand, a little dirty but none the worse for its momentary abandonment. "A shame you couldn't have tried it on the real thing."
"I was wondering why they didn't affect me," Harry sighed. "Too good to be true, I suppose."
"Ah, looks like they've caught one," Remus added, looking over Harry's head. In the distance, Professor Snape and Madam Hooch were dragging a hooded, protesting Dementor along by the arm, both looking furious. "I think I'll let Snape be the one to lose his temper this time; you carried yourself off quite well and I have no complaints. Well done, Harry."
Harry gave him a nod. "Thanks, Professor."
Remus' grin widened a fraction, and Harry swore he saw a flicker of a wink.
"Well, Potter," Snape said, one slim hand still clenched tightly around his victim's arm as they approached. "Seeing as you are the conquering hero, would you care to attend to the unmasking? You gave our anonymous costume-lover quite a fright."
"An unworthy trick," Madam Hooch said coolly, smacking the still-hooded student in the back of the head as McGonagall approached. "Very unsportsmanlike."
Harry, still much shorter than his opponent, stood on tiptoe to grasp the tip of the hood and pull it off. A messy-haired, red-faced Ravenclaw fourth-year emerged. Harry recognised her, vaguely, but he couldn't place her name.
"Detention," McGonagall pronounced severely. "This way, Ms. Turpin."
She took custody of the girl from Snape, and Harry watched as the girl tripped over her robe, trying to keep up with McGonagall's pace.
"Did you catch sight of the other two?" Remus asked Snape, as the students began to pour forward and around them, congratulating Harry on his win.
"No," Snape said. "Only that they were taller. That robe's tailored for a bigger person."
"That doesn't narrow it down," Remus sighed, watching the Ravenclaw as she was led away. "We've no idea who it was?"
"None at all."
***
"I think I know who it was," Harry said, setting his books down on the library study table. Draco, busily copying notes from Padma, didn't look up.
"Well, let's cream 'em," he suggested, as Padma and Neville closed their books and looked at Harry, who slumped down into the library chair. It was Saturday, but not yet warm enough to spend much time outside; most of the students had taken to the library, where they could gossip and amuse themselves as long as they maintained at least the illusion of trying to be quiet.
"I think it was Gryffindors," Harry continued, leaning in close so that they wouldn't be overheard. He felt slightly sick and headachey; the Slytherins had been celebrating their victory and the fact that they were now going to the Cup against Gryffindor. They'd been up until nearly one in the morning, at which point a lookout had signaled that Snape was coming and everyone scattered before the wrath of their Head of House could descend, Harry grateful for the reprieve and the comfort of his bed.
"Ravenclaw and Gryffindor?" Draco asked. "The Houses don't normally work together like that. Well, 'cept for us, of course," he added conscientiously.
Harry tapped his quill thoughtfully on the table, his eyes darting away. His friends followed his gaze to where Fred and George Weasley were pretending to study together, heads bent over some new project of theirs.
"Not the twins," Neville said. "I mean, do you really think?"
"Who else is going to pull something like that, especially when they've got it in for me after Remus scared the hell out of them?" Harry asked. "Snape said they were tall, and they're just the kind who could get someone from another House to join in."
"Then we've got to get them," Padma said. All three boys looked at her. "What? I can't be angry they played a dumb trick and made my House look bad?"
"You aren't normally, that's all," Neville said.
"Well, then this time is an exception. What do we do to them?"
"Nothing," Harry pronounced. Draco frowned. "We're going to leave them alone."
"But they're vicious, careless boys," Padma said.
"So are we sometimes. No -- I want to let them off before this gets any worse. Remus is always going to come down on my side if we get into a prank war, which isn't fair, and anyway they've got OWLs coming up."
"Are you sure you're a Slytherin?" Draco asked. "'Cause what you're saying sounds awfully like something one of my Housemates would say."
"I've thought about it," Harry said. "That's the thing. I kind of think it's good that it was them and a Ravenclaw."
"He's lost it," Neville told Padma. "Studying's gone to his head, it's making him go all funny."
"I haven't," Harry protested. "I don't think what they did was very good, but I flattened them then and...I don't want to punish them for this. Not for working together with Lisa Turpin."
"Working together to be mean," Draco said. "Don't forget, I was up there too. All of us saw the Dementors and flipped out."
"Yeah, but at the same time -- well, we've always been stronger because we come from different Houses, right?" Harry asked. The others nodded hesitantly, not wanting to give Harry too much leverage in this fight. "We always know what the other Houses think because we're friends, and that's more important than Houses. Now other kids are learning that it's easier to pull something off if they work with the people who are the most helpful, not necessarily their friends in their own House."
"Stronger for what?" Padma asked.
"Well, Hogwarts is a target for trouble, it's been attacked twice in the last two years, more or less. If something really big ever comes down at the school, we'll be more ready for it. We'll be more unified, as a school," Harry said.
"Nothing like that could happen here," Neville said. "Dumbledore'd protect us."
"Well, either way, I'm putting bans on us going after Fred and George, and I'm going to make sure the Slytherins don't lynch Lisa. How mad are the Hufflepuffs?" he asked Draco, who shrugged.
"It was a well-played game," he replied.
"You Hufflepuffs," Harry grinned, shoving Draco affectionately. "If the world ended you'd all shrug and say that it was a very pretty Armageddon."
***
Remus had no hallway-patrol duties that weekend, and he needed to rest at any rate; the full moon was fast approaching, and he seemed to have caught temporary arthritis from this one. Sirius was more than happy to have him come down to Hogsmeade and be fussed over. For once Remus allowed it, sitting in a chair by the window and marking papers with worrying slowness. Sirius, cheerfully quiet and idle, wanted nothing better than to sit nearby in the window-seat and shred the Daily Prophet's Saturday edition, working his way slowly from front page to back, flinging pages aside when he was done with them.
"The Sports section's gone all to shit," he remarked, tossing aside the offending page. "Skeeter's got a shill to do a paragraph about the game, and the rest is all gossip-column about the Firebolt and Harry. And us," he added, annoyed. Remus noticed he was trying to hide just how annoyed he was. Poor Sirius; such a fireball of feelings, to be the -- what, lover? boyfriend? He supposed they qualified under common law for husbands by now -- the partner of a man who did not deal well with high-running emotions.
He leaned over, hearing his spine crack and protest, and picked up the offending page.
"I'm going to write a letter to the Prophet," Sirius continued, as Remus scanned the article.
"Best not," he murmured. "I'm sure plenty others will, and we can ill-afford the publicity."
"Yes, well. Your idea of not sitting together didn't even work." Sirius leaned over and stabbed the paper with his finger. "Proud Godfather Sirius Black was much in evidence, though not seated as usual with Professor Remus Lupin, well-known close friend of the famous bachelor. Dare we surmise the friendship has its rocky moments? Professor Lupin, seated with Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, certainly seemed pained by the lack of his friend, cheering half-heartedly and often seen to grimace."
"I was in pain," Remus said. "That bench is horrible."
"Didn't miss me?" Sirius asked.
"Of course I missed you, but I happened to know that in five or six hours you'd be cheerfully rubbing anti-inflammation salves into my shoulders," Remus said.
"Very erotic, those."
"You seemed to think so!"
"Aww." Sirius kissed him. "Upset that I find you irresistible?"
"No," Remus murmured, setting the paper aside. Sirius slid off the window-seat and helped Remus stand creakily, wrapping his arms around his waist. They stared out at the valley together, Remus tracing his fingers along the knuckles of the man holding him.
"You're not going to distract me from being angry about that article," Sirius said in his ear. "I'll start a campaign or something."
Remus sighed, half-bliss, half-perplexity.
"Sirius," he said. "I know you find plenty of occupation in Hogsmeade, but have you ever thought about having a regular job again?"
"Like what?" Sirius asked, nuzzling under one ear.
"I don't know, something to focus your energy on so you're not always fretting about Rita Skeeter. Or Harry," he added. "There are a few empty storefronts in Hogsmeade, you could open a shop again. Another bookshop, even, like Sandu -- "
"No." The word was sharp and sudden, and Remus could feel his body tense.
"It's only a suggestion. You like books."
"I'm not opening another bookshop," Sirius said. There was an edge to his voice that Remus rarely heard.
"It was just an idea."
"I don't want to hear about that again."
Remus pulled away and turned, studying Sirius' face. It had closed off completely, eyes shuttered against scrutiny, mouth set in a thin, hard line.
"It doesn't have to be Sandust," he said gently. "We could put fireproofing charms -- "
"We're not discussing it," Sirius said. Remus raised a hand to cup his cheek affectionately.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't know it would upset you."
"I'm not upset."
"Sirius, you're practically vibrating with anger."
Sirius ducked his head and turned it away, looking out the window. He glanced back at Remus, looked off in the distance again. His hands were balled into fists, and Remus watched in amazement as the normally cheerful, relaxed Sirius Black forcibly calmed himself.
"I'm going out," Sirius said, turning away and lifting his cloak off the hook.
"Sirius -- "
"Moony, no." Sirius didn't look at him, which was possibly the worst sign of all. "I'll be back for dinner. You have marking to do."
Remus watched as he swirled the cloak around his shoulders and slammed the door. All was silence for a few minutes.
"Well, fuck," he said, and sat down again. He did have marking to do, and notes to prepare for when Kingsley would take over for him in a few days; he owed Anne and Ellis letters, and Dora had written to him to ask if he would look up a particularly complex charm for her.
Instead, he sat and stared out the window, quill tapping idly on parchment, watching the front walk. Sirius would probably just stop and have a drink at the pub, which in itself was not comforting, but Remus didn't know what else to do. There was an unwritten law between them that they didn't discuss Sandust. He'd broken it without meaning to, but five years should be enough to mourn the death of something that hadn't even been alive to begin with.
"If we hadn't had Sandust we wouldn't have Harry," he said to the empty room.
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