Alive 2/2

[sam_storyteller]

Chapter 3: Fought My Way Back

Dumbledore was in the middle of lunch in his office when the message came through.

"Gone?" he asked mildly. Molly Weasley, brushing ash from her clothing, handed him a scrap of parchment.

"Gone to see Healer," he read. "Not to worry, all is well. Ta, Tonks. Remus." He looked over the tops of his spectacles at Molly. "Seems innocent enough."

"That was five hours ago," Molly said angrily. "He left the children alone, asleep, before Tonks showed up -- it wasn't her shift, you know, he asked her to look after them so he could do some errands at Diagon Alley. He never came back."

"And yet you don't suspect foul play."

"He'd never say 'all is well' unless something wasn't. Tonks floo'd St. Mungo's," Molly continued wrathfully. "He's checked himself into the fourth floor."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "Spell damage?"

"You know that's just a euphemism," Molly snapped. "I spoke to Smethwyck. Lupin thinks he's gone insane."

"Well, at least he's had the good sense to recognise it and not go about with his socks on his ears," Dumbledore said, leaning back. "Did he say anything more about it than that?"

"He claimed patients' privacy and when Tonks pulled rank said it wasn't his ward," Molly answered. "We have to do something!"

"Such as?" Dumbledore asked mildly. "It seems to me, if he is indeed still sane, St. Mungo's can do him no harm, and if he isn't, we certainly can't help as well as they could. Has he been acting oddly, at all?"

Molly paused.

"Arthur and I both thought he looked as though he wasn't sleeping much, but we thought it was probably just that he's been having to mind all the children in the house. And...Kingsley said he was rather nervous, but Lupin's never been what you might call the most mentally balanced of men to begin with," she said.

"So we have ignored his condition, then?"

"He could have asked me!" Molly said sharply.

"Ah, then you were at the house frequently?"

She frowned. "You've made your point, thank you kindly, that we have only ourselves to blame for this. Still, if he was mentally competent enough to leave a note for Tonks, one would think -- "

"Indeed," Dumbledore said. He stood, pushing the remains of his lunch away, and dusted off his sleeves. "Let us go to St. Mungo's. I assume Tonks has no other duties this afternoon?"

"She's had Em Vance come to watch the children. I asked her to wait for me at the hospital."

"Excellent." Dumbledore waved a hand at the fireplace, and followed her though.

They found Tonks waiting anxiously outside of reception. She ran to greet them, tripping over a chair on her way, and led them directly past the witch on front-desk duty, towards the stairs.

"He's in a closed new-admissions ward," she said, as they climbed. "I got that much out of them. They didn't want to talk much, I can tell you that -- even an auror can't get a straight answer out of anyone around here." She paused as they rounded the third-floor landing. "It can't be very serious, don't you think? He was planning on going on errands yesterday, and he seemed completely all right then -- well -- all right for Remus..."

Dumbledore gave Molly a significant glance.

"Then again it's always the quiet ones, so they say," Tonks mused, as they reached the fourth floor. She led them confidently past several doors, stopping at a desk which was flanked by two more corridors. "Excuse me," she said to the nurse, "We were wondering if -- "

" -- if you had our passes up here," Dumbledore said smoothly, cutting her off. Molly and Tonks exchanged a confused look. "The front desk said they were missing them, and we thought perhaps they'd been sent ahead up here."

The nurse gave him a slightly suspicious look. "Only passes that come up here are for closed-ward patients."

"Yes, that's right," Dumbledore continued pleasantly. "Consulting on Remus Lupin's chart -- fascinating case. Patient number..." he glanced expectantly at Tonks, who consulted something scribbled on her hand, covertly.

"Twelve-nineteen-eight," she said. The nurse's smile brightened.

"Ah, Mr. Lupin, such a charming young man," she said. "I'm glad someone's finally figured out what to do with him, he's been waiting for hours. So patient. I'll send you back," she added, unlocking one of the corridor gates and waving them through. "Second door from the end on your right."

Tonks was staring at Dumbledore, dumbfounded, as they walked.

"Just like that?" she asked.

"Indeed," he replied.

She sighed. "I didn't get very good marks in Investigational Lying."

"There's a class in that?" Molly asked.

"Yes," Tonks replied glumly. They had reached the designated door.

Inside the room was brightly lit and antiseptic white, though there were a few tables, some comfortable-looking chairs, and a small, tattered bookshelf of the kind often found in visitor waiting-rooms. Remus was seated, one leg drawn up against his chest, in one of the chairs; when they entered, he lifted his eyes expectantly.

Then he dropped them again. He didn't bother to say hello.

"Remus," Dumbledore said, expectantly. Remus did not move.

"Yes, Headmaster," he said, dully.

"This is an unexpected place to find you," Dumbledore continued.

"Yes, Headmaster."

Molly moved slowly around the tables and touched him on the shoulder. He glanced up, then back down again. She ruffled his brown hair.

"The witch at the desk said they didn't know what to do with you," she said quietly.

"Lycanthropic Degenerative Neuropathy," he said.

"Lycawhat?" Tonks asked.

"It's an irreversible progressive brain disorder found in werewolves," he recited, as if from a textbook. "First symptoms include temporary blindness, muscle tremors, and delusions, escalating to hallucination, violent episodes, permanent loss of sight or hearing, and eventual dementia."

"And you've got it?" Molly asked, horrified. He shrugged listlessly.

"They don't know. They're testing for it now," he added, rubbing a raw red patch on the back of his hand. It was perfectly square; some sort of skin sample, apparently. "I must have been here longer than I thought. There's no clock," he added. "I hope nobody was worried."

"You left the children alone," Dumbledore said, voice impassive.

"Tonks was coming to look after them. I didn't want to be there when she came or she'd have made me take her along."

"I like that," Tonks said sourly. "Thanks."

"I didn't ask you to come find me," he answered. "I didn't ask any of you to come find me."

"Are you having those things?" Molly inquired. "Blindness and spasms and all?"

"Not yet," he said, turning his head so that he faced as far away from her as possible, resting his cheek on his knee. If you discounted the grey in his hair, and couldn't see his face, he might be seventeen. "Not all of -- "

Molly felt his body tense, and he raised his head. He was staring, anxiously, at a spot on the wall. They all turned to regard it.

"Delusions, Remus?" Dumbledore prompted, his voice suddenly gentle. Remus, still staring at the wall, caught his breath.

"Hallucinations," he answered. "It takes some people without warning."

Molly almost thought she saw a flicker of shadow herself, where Remus was staring, but just then there was a smart rap on the door, and a Healer entered, carrying a clipboard with parchment piled on it.

"I believe this is a closed ward," he said slowly, when he saw the others.

"We're family," Molly said firmly. The Healer eyed Remus.

"It's all right," Remus said tiredly. "I'd have to tell them soon enough anyway."

"Well, at least you'll be able to tell them good news. Our Potions men say you're clean for LDN."

Molly and Tonks both smiled. Remus shrugged.

"Then what is it?" he asked, shoulders slumping.

"Well, could be any number of things. We've pretty much cleared that you haven't been hexed -- one of my colleagues says perhaps it's some kind of extreme allergic reaction to Wolfsbane potion, but I doubt that. Frankly, I don't know that it's magical. It may be a plain old-fashioned Muggle Psychology," the Healer said.

"A Psychology?" Tonks asked.

"Yes, it's a Muggle disease, sort of -- really more of a condition. We've found magical treatments don't work very well. There are several garden-variety Psychologies it could be -- I'm not an expert, but I've studied a little bit. You haven't been taking Muggle drugs by any chance, have you?"

Remus shook his head.

"No cocaine, methamphetamine, opiates?"

"No."

"That's good, those are the worst sort. There's also neurosis, socio...pathy -- are you impotent?"

Tonks covered a laugh with a cough. Molly looked disapproving.

"No," Remus said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Excellent. And of course there's Stress Disorders. Have you experienced any personally traumatic events recently? Assault, the death of a loved one, that sort of thing?"

They were all four silent for a moment.

"I see," said the Healer, somewhat knowingly. "Well, there's not much we can do for you just at this moment, if it is something like that. We can keep you for observation -- "

"Certainly not," Molly declared. "He's coming home."

"Molly, perhaps I ought to," Remus whispered. "If the tests were wrong I might hurt one of the children."

"There's very little chance of that," the Healer interjected. Dumbledore, who had been silent for much of the interview, subtly shepherded the Healer towards the door.

"If we might discuss things," he said, firmly, "we will summon you shortly."

The Healer's protests were shut off in the click of the door.

"Obviously he can't stay here," Molly said, as soon as Dumbledore had returned.

"Yeah, they're allowed all sorts of things with the patients -- they might give him veritaserum or something," Tonks added. "He knows too much."

Even Remus spared her a curious glance for this one.

"What? It's true," she said defiantly.

"While I agree that it is not my first choice," Dumbledore said slowly, "The best interests of the children are to be considered."

He turned to Remus, who very nearly flinched.

"These hallucinations are your only symptom?"

Remus nodded.

"And, if your display a few minutes ago was anything to judge from, they do not seriously impair you?"

"I don't lose complete touch with reality, if that's what you mean," Remus said, sounding slightly peevish. "Yet."

"What do you see?" Molly asked.

There was a drawn-out moment of silence, and Remus breathed slowly.

"Sirius," he confessed. "I see Sirius. More clearly every time."

Molly held his head against her hip, and glanced across to Tonks. They both looked at Dumbledore, but his face was unreadable.

They left shortly after, Remus tamely following Molly, trailed by a watchful, worried Tonks.

***

Looking at a calendar -- hardly avoidable, since a large one hung in his bedroom and was in his line of vision at the moment, the full moons marked carefully in green ink...not that he needed the markings anymore; and why did he have a calendar, at any rate, it wasn't as though it was anything more than a way to mark days spent being unemployed --

His mind was wandering.

Looking at a calendar he could tally up the time since he'd started seeing Sirius; nearly six weeks now, a little over a week since Molly had brought him back, not to 12 Grimmauld Place but to the Burrow, where only Ron and Ginny actually lived in the summer, and them only half the time, preferring the company of Harry and Hermione at Grimmauld Place. He'd spent two days with the Weasleys and hadn't seen Sirius at all, and thought perhaps it was merely overwork, that the Healer had been right about the Psychology and if he slept enough and ate enough it would fade.

Molly had attempted to help him undress, that first day, though a man's trousers were his own business and it would be a sad day when he couldn't get his own belt buckle undone. Not that it had mattered; when she'd helped him off with his shirt and seen what he spent most of his time trying to hide -- the thin waist, prominent ribs, skin stretched tight over collarbone -- she'd shrieked about underfeeding, and gone off to make him an enormous meal.

He didn't starve. He just ate frugally. He didn't see what all the fuss was about.

Wandering again.

On the morning of the third day, just when he'd thought he might actually be returning to some sort of competent state, he saw Sirius cooking breakfast. He was actually halfway through a plate of eggs before Molly came in and was delighted that he'd made himself breakfast, and he'd replied no, Sirius had -- which was true, he distinctly remembered Sirius giving him the plate of food --

Her face had fallen, and he'd stopped mid-word.

"I mean -- " he stammered. "I did, yes."

He must have, after all. Someone had made the food, and hallucinations, he was pretty sure, could not work frying pans.

That night he went back to Grimmauld Place, albeit with his arms weighed down by sacks and sacks of food from The Burrow.

Sirius was waiting to take the food from him and help put it away.

Remus set them down, slowly, and put out a hand. Sirius obediently stood very still, chin tilting slightly as Remus' fingers groped towards his jaw. He had never touched skin-on-skin with the hallucination before --

There was a crackle of wild electricity and the air was heavy for a moment, and then Remus was thrown backwards against the kitchen counter, so hard his ribs bruised.

Sirius had vanished.

He leaned over the counter, and buried his face in his hands, and allowed himself one good, purgative sob before sucking it up and continuing to put away the food.

That had been five days ago and since then Sirius had been more or less a constant companion, if only out of the corner of his eye. Sirius watched the children, Sirius sat at the breakfast table and sometimes stole bites of toast from Harry's plate. Sirius sat on his bed and read while Remus worked. He sometimes found open books on his desk, signs that the hallucination had been there.

Like this morning.

He held the book in his hands, thoughtfully. It had turned up on his bedside table, and Sirius was mercifully absent this morning. He turned it around so that he could properly read the text of the page it had been open to. As he did so, he felt the familiar white bookplate on the inside cover -- it was one of his own books, brought with him here, not one of the house's books. Property of Remus J. Lupin; If Found, Please Return.

Mind wandering. Focus, please. He could hear his own voice, demanding the thing of his students. May I have your attention up here, please -- Jordan, I hope you brought enough for everyone -- Malfoy, I see that -- Potter, I don't want to separate you and Miss Granger -- Weasleys, don't think I won't be able to tell which one of you put a Sticking Charm on Flint's desk --

"ille etiam Thracum populis fuit auctor amorem in teneros transferre mares citraque iuventam aetatis breve ver et primos carpere flores..."

He shut the book, quite suddenly, startled by the thrill across his skin that the Latin, read aloud, brought with it.

Now thro' the noiseless throng their way they bend,
And both with pain the rugged road ascend;
Dark was the path, and difficult, and steep,
And thick with vapours from the smoaky deep.
They well-nigh now had pass'd the bounds of night,
And just approach'd the margin of the light...

"Remus?"

He looked up, and saw Harry standing in the doorway.

"I thought I heard someone talking," Harry said, with the peculiar shyness that comes of a young man feeling he is intruding on another's privacy.

"I was reading," Remus said, putting the book away. "It...calms me."

Harry nodded. The children, as per Dumbledore's usual policy, hadn't been told anything much; just that Remus was ill, and they should attempt to curb their natural exuberance just slightly. They were, it was true, perplexed as to why they needed to be told this, since obviously he was ill three or four days out of the month anyway, surrounding the night of the full moon...

"I'm sorry, Harry, what?" Remus asked, returning to the present.

"Did you want some bacon? Only we're about to go make breakfast," Harry said. Remus swung his legs out of bed and reached for his dressing-gown, following Harry down the stairs.

"Hermione says she's thinking of going vegetarian," Harry said, as they descended. Remus decided that the light, chatty tone of the boy's voice probably meant he was being Handled. He wondered if Molly had slipped Harry a little extra information.

"Any particular reason?" he asked, coming up on the kitchen doorway.

"I think she thinks red meat is cutting down on her thinking abilities or something," Harry sniffed. "Though I don't -- "

He stopped as they entered the kitchen. Remus, walking a few paces in, and paused.

Ron and Hermione were seated at the table, in their pajamas, silent and surprised-looking. The hallucination, now quite familiar, was leaning on the counter.

"What is it, Harry?" he asked. Harry's mouth worked silently, and he raised a finger, pointing. Remus turned.

Sirius gave him a slightly cocky smile.

"He just walked in," Hermione said, in a hushed voice.

"Can't you see him?" Harry asked.

Remus locked eyes with Sirius.

"Yes," he said slowly, "But I didn't think anyone else could..."

Without thinking he thrust out his hand again; if the hallucination had been real his hand would have hit his chest, palm flat over his heart.

There was another electric jolt, and the familiar weight of the sluggish air, but this time it was Sirius who fell backwards, stumbling into the counter.

"Stop it!" Harry shrieked, as Remus moved forward again and his hand wrapped around the collar of Sirius' shirt. Harry grabbed his other arm, but Remus shrugged the boy off like a fly, and lifted --

Sirius, a real, true weight, dragged on his arm, trying to regain his footing. Static buzzed in their ears.

"Sirius," Remus whispered.

Sirius threw back his head and howled in pain.

And then fiery pain burned its way up Remus' arm, and he let go.

There was a clatter and a thump as Sirius fell to the ground.

For a full ten seconds nobody moved; the only sound was the labored hhht...hhht...hhht of Sirius breathing.

Sirius.

Breathing.

Harry skidded past him and slammed into the cupboards, dropping to his knees to wrap his arms around Sirius' neck. Remus stood over them as Hermione and Ron dove out of their chairs, Ron joining Harry in a spirited attempt to throttle him, Hermione trying to push them off so that she could see his face.

But when Sirius lifted his head, his dark eyes, huge with pain and surprise, fixed on Remus.

"You came back," Remus said shakily. "I wasn't going crazy."

Sirius shook his head, slowly, and pushed himself to his feet, Harry still hanging on his shoulders. There was another moment where the world seemed to freeze, and then he nodded, once, and turned to Harry, wrapping the boy in his arms.

***

The story was told many times, not that it mattered to Harry, who refused to leave his godfather's side for the entire day. Nor did it matter to Remus, who devoured each movement of his hands, each expression, each glance with almost fever-hungry eyes. He didn't hear, really, anything Sirius said, about traveling through the afterlife or one single chance to return, or the touchstone in reality he would have to use to get back. None of it.

He wasn't even aware of the Order slowly trickling into the house until he looked up to find Tonks handing him a glass of water, and saw Dumbledore, Moody, Kingsley, Molly and Arthur, the twins -- and many others, nearly the entire Order, filling the small room. He couldn't see Sirius, and for a moment he panicked, until the dark-haired man loomed behind Tonks, and ruffled her short hair.

"Lupin and I ought to talk," he said, and she took the hint. Sirius dropped down on a chair next to him.

"Drama queen," Remus said softly, with a small smile. Sirius shrugged.

"When the world gives you the opportunity to make a grand entrance..." he said, spreading his hands. "Are you all right? I wanted to talk to you earlier but Molly made me eat in the five minutes I wasn't telling people..."

"Me too."

"How are you?"

"My arm's still sore."

"How's your head?"

Remus held up a hand, wavered it. "I thought I was going insane, you know."

Sirius lowered the hand with his own, before withdrawing it respectfully. "I'm sorry."

"All those times -- you really were here -- "

"Mostly. I don't remember it much."

Remus stood, abruptly. "I'm exhausted -- not been well -- I should...go."

"Wait -- here..." Sirius touched Dumbledore's arm, and the Headmaster turned. "I'm beat. It's not easy coming back from the dead, you know."

Dumbledore looked from one man to the other, and nodded gravely. "Remus, if you would help Sirius to a bed..."

It took them a while to push through the crowd, Sirius with his arm amiably slung over Remus' shoulders, resting his weight on the other man. When they finally stumbled into the hallway and against the banister, Remus let out a breath of relief.

"You didn't have to -- it's a celebration for you," he said, but Sirius shook his head, arm still over his shoulders.

"I wanted to," he said quietly, face perilously close. He tipped Remus' chin up, and kissed him, slowly and thoroughly, in the dark hallway.

"Six weeks of hell," he murmured against Remus' mouth. "Six weeks of knowing what I was doing to you..."

"Sirius, what if they take you back..." Remus pushed him gently away, stepping back and nearly falling on the stair. "What if you're still not -- not here -- not for good?"

Sirius stood where he was, but his eyes burned.

"They won't," he said, voice low, in the tone that always drew a pleasurable pain down from Remus' heart into his belly.

"I -- you left twice -- if you left again -- "

"Please," Sirius said urgently. He moved, pulling Remus to him, forcing their eyes to meet. "Please. Don't run -- you don't know if we've hours or years."

"Yes, that's why I'm afraid -- "

"Don't be afraid," Sirius whispered. "Trust me. Go upstairs. Don't look back."

Remus drew away, confused, but Sirius' gaze was even and sober.

He turned, and climbed the stairs. Fourteen steps. He wasn't sure if Sirius was behind him or if it was still madness --

He couldn't hear him following --

Don't look back --

Around the corner and down the hallway to his room -- their room -- leaving the door open, walking to the bed and unbuttoning his shirt, certain it must be a hallucination, the final descent into complete delusion. He pulled the shirt off, sure that now it must be all right to turn around, since obviously Sirius wasn't going to be there and he had finally gone mad.

Warm arms wrapped around his waist.

Warm breath ghosted across the back of his neck.

"I'm here," Sirius whispered in his ear. "I'm real."

"You're real." Once it had been a catechism to anchor Sirius' sanity to him; now it was all that kept him from going mad.

"Real," Sirius said.

"Real," Remus repeated. He did turn, then, and Sirius smiled.

"Will you welcome me home?" Sirius asked.

Remus closed his eyes and swayed forward and lost himself in a perfect, solid, warm, and real kiss.

END