sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-15 03:15 pm
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-15 03:15 pm
Entry tags:
The Bowl of Lilacs 2 of 2; R, Remus/Lily
Part One
V. EXODUS
New Year's Eve, 1980.
Ten days after the full moon.
Dear Lily and James,
I hope this letter finds you happy and not too hung over on the first day of the new year. Sorry I missed the party but Dumbledore found me a job and I had to take off for it right away. The good news is, the pay is decent.
The bad news is, it's in Canada.
I'll owl again when I have an address and all that sort of thing. It looks like I might be here for quite a while. You should come out and visit once I'm settled. We'll talk.
Love,
Remus
***
Dear Sirius,
I couldn't. I couldn't anymore. The job is real -- you'll see what I mean when you talk to James -- but I couldn't stay. And she never said I had to. She planned it so that I'd stay, but I can't, I can't watch it go on any longer. Christmas was too much.
James loves him, so it's not like he's going to be missing out on anything.
I'll owl you from Canada when I have an address.
Love,
Remus
***
Dear Peter,
I'm off to Canada! James can fill you in. Look after yourself and don't let Sirius bully you too badly, all right? You should come visit first thing, and if you're looking for a new job I think there might be something out here for you. There's a deadly dearth of good teachers.
I'm going to be a Professor, can you believe it?
There's even a game reserve nearby that's warded, so I can run around when I'm feeling a little lunatic, and not go nuts.
Love,
Remus
***
Dear Moony,
I hope you've settled in well. I understand what you were thinking. Maybe it's right, maybe it's wrong, I don't know, but I did some tests -- don't worry, nothing harmful -- around Christmas, and the results came in a few days ago. I hardly need to tell you, but he's yours. You should be bloody grateful he takes after your mother.
I did some reading, you know. Lycanthropy is a recessive gene but when it's triggered in children with a Lycanthrope parent, it manifests itself in puberty. There's no way to test beforehand, and it's unlikely seeing as Lily's a Muggleborn, so she probably hasn't any werewolf blood in her anyway.
All the same, if one of you hasn't told James by the time the boy is eleven, I will. Harry's health may depend on it.
Look after yourself. I'm coming out there in May to visit you, by hook or by crook, after I've passed my next set of exams. And you're coming for Harry's first birthday whether you like it or not. He ought to at least know who you are.
Sirius
***
Remus set down the paper and touched his wand to it, crumbling it to dust, just in case. He'd write back some nice letter full of good spirits and not mentioning Harry at all; Sirius would understand.
It wasn't just seeing Lily love Harry and James love Harry and them love each other, because they did love each other; it was precisely what Sirius was threatening in his letter. He couldn't stand to spend the next decade always afraid to see himself -- to see the wolf -- in Harry. He'd be a wreck. Every time the boy did anything even the slightest bit strange, and babies were always doing strange things, he'd worry that it was a sign, and he couldn't bear the thought of passing the curse down to his son.
His son.
When you love your child you do what you have to, and he had to leave. For Harry's own sake, so that Harry would grow up with a father and a mother, and never know. Please god, let him never know.
VI. DEATH
November 11, 1981.
Full moon.
"The rest is silence."
Remus crouched at the edge of the lake and skimmed rocks across it, thoughtfully. He glanced up at Moody, whose claw-footed wooden leg was sunk deep in the mud of the banks. The old man looked like a wading bird, with his thin legs and stocky body, his beaky nose.
"I didn't know you read Shakespeare," Remus said softly.
"It has its appeal," Moody replied. "You should be going, boy. Catch your death out here. Look like you already have."
"I'll be better," Remus said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat as he stood. "It's a lot at once, that's all. If it was..." He hung his head.
"If it had only been them and not Black and Pettigrew too?" Moody asked.
"It's an awful thought," Remus whispered.
"Ruddy mess," Moody continued. "Never thought Pettigrew would amount to much -- "
"Don't say that! He's dead, Moody!"
"Doesn't make it less true," Moody replied evenly. "James now, he was a good man. Lily was a bright, beautiful woman, wasn't she?"
Remus flinched.
"Black a promising Healer, too. Doesn't make any sense; you'd think a man trained to heal people would have a better conscience as his guide."
"I suppose perhaps Healers begin to believe they're infallible," Remus answered. "Sirius always thought that anyway."
"He's not dead."
"He is to me."
"They've asked for you."
Remus glanced at Moody. "Who have?"
"The Aurors. They want you to visit him in Azkaban. They've tried interrogating him, but his mind's gone blank. They think perhaps you -- "
"I won't go to Azkaban. I won't see him."
"Talks of you in his sleep, he does," Moody continued relentlessly.
"Stop!"
"Talks of the boy, too, and they're worried -- "
Remus launched himself at Moody, but the old man was stronger and wilier; he caught him by the arm and threw him easily to the ground. The mud of the banks was cold and slimy under his hands, sticking clumpily to the knees of his trousers.
"Don't think you're the only one mournin' them," Moody snarled, as Remus picked himself up. "Don't think for a second."
"I want Harry," Remus blurted.
"You can't have him. He's with family. He's safe."
"I'm his family."
"You can't protect him. Look at yourself. What are you going to do with a baby every full moon?" Moody asked contemptuously. Remus opened his mouth to protest that it didn't matter, that Harry belonged to him, but his accursed good sense agreed with Moody.
He had no way to provide for Harry. And perhaps these Dursleys were decent people. Petunia had been an odious, screechy woman the one time he'd met her, but she didn't seem really malicious.
"Can't I even see him?" he asked, brokenly.
"It's too dangerous. You of all people are being watched," Moody answered. "Just because the Dark Lord's gone doesn't mean his followers are."
Remus stared out at the lake, swaying slightly. He was tired and unhappy and he would never see Lily again.
"If you won't help the Aurors, the best thing for you to do now is go away," Moody said, behind him. "Go back to America, and keep a low profile."
"When he's older -- when he's at school -- can I see him then?" Remus asked. "Can I write to him?"
"That's for Dumbledore to decide."
Remus nodded. "I'd like to be alone now, please, Moody."
Moody nodded, and Remus listened to the uneven thump of his footsteps as he walked back up to the castle.
James and Lily's remains had been cremated and scattered here; Remus hadn't come to the brief memorial service. There was no one to scold him for avoiding it, after all. Peter was dead, Sirius a madman in Azkaban prison.
He hadn't bothered finding a place to sleep that night; since he'd heard he'd been in a calm, almost numb state, but he knew the wolf was waiting. If he locked himself up tonight, he'd kill himself.
When the moon rose that night, so did a single, mournful, deep-throated howl from the forest, and if Hagrid even mentioned the werewolf running wild through the trees to Dumbledore, the Headmaster did nothing about it.
VII. INTERREGNUM
Yule, 1981 through Midsummer, 1993.
150 full moons.
He shouldn't have left it so long, but there was nothing else to be done; his own cowardice and an extended illness, unrelated to the Change though probably caused by it, had kept him away. The pneumonia had kept him weak, and finally he'd been forced to seek the hospital, as opposed to merely saying he would. The Healers said he needed rest and a quiet job, needed not to be traveling or sleeping in drafty boardinghouses. And he had to see Harry.
"I can't tell you why," he said to Dumbledore, when the man came to visit him in the hospice, where he helped keep the records in order in return for a break on room and board. Hospices were for the dying, and he sometimes felt that way, but he was well enough that he could leave, soon. "I need to see him."
"Remus, I know you were friends with his parents, but do you really think this is a wise idea?" the Headmaster asked gently. Remus coughed, and was offered a throat sweet, which he took gratefully.
"It's not a matter of seeing him for the sake of seeing him," he answered. "I want to be sure he's...healthy. And happy. As happy as he can be, given the situation."
Dumbledore nodded. "I understand your concern. I worry more about your health than his."
"I'm all right," Remus said, with a smile. "I get by, you know that. I'm as good mentally as I ever was. They've let me completely reorganise the files more efficiently -- "
He had another coughing fit, and sipped some water. "These'll pass off soon too," he added. "You should have seen me six months ago."
"I've no doubt," Dumbledore said, only a trifle condescendingly.
"I won't infect anyone, if that's what you're worried about. I just want to be on the platform and get close enough to see him."
Dumbledore regarded him for a while, as he sipped some more water and straightened his shabby jumper.
"Do you know why I came here to see you today?" he asked finally. Remus shrugged.
"I assumed the owl I sent -- "
"In part, yes. You taught in Canada for a while, didn't you?"
"You know I did, you got me that job."
"Charms?"
"Defensive, mostly. They teach things a little differently over there."
Dumbledore nodded. "How's your knowledge of Dark Arts?"
Remus frowned. "I...well, I keep current on the reading. I'd guess I'm probably a little rusty when it comes to hexes...why do you ask?"
"Gilderoy Lockhart," Dumbledore said. Remus looked blank.
"The author?"
"He was hired as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor last year at Hogwarts, and proved a dismal failure. His reputation was ruined, and with it, the reputation of Hogwarts, in certain circles."
"Surely not -- "
"Not in the eyes of the general public, but as an educational institution. No teachers will take the job; if Gilderoy Lockhart failed, they say, what chance do they have of success?"
"But you've said -- "
" -- and not been listened to, as usual," Dumbledore interrupted. "The fact of the matter is, I am left without a teacher for the new school year. When you owled me, I looked back over your educational records. Quite impressive, I must say."
Remus' eyes widened. "You can't seriously be considering hiring a pneumoniac werewolf for the job?"
"If I did, would you take it?"
"I'd take any paying work right now that came with a warm bed and three meals a day, but it's -- you can't be serious."
"No one is aware of your unique condition, and there's no reason for that to change; you have experience in both the field and the teaching of it, and it would allow you nearly daily contact with Harry. Just to be sure he's not dying of starvation," Dumbledore said, drily.
Remus' heart skipped a beat, and he caught his breath, coughing. Harry. He could see Harry every day, he could be his teacher. If anything did go...go wrong, as Sirius might have threatened it would, he could be there for Harry.
"Favouritism is, of course, discouraged by policy," Dumbledore continued, "but considering what Severus gets away with, I think being taught by one of his parents' old school friends is the least of young Potter's worries. Will you consider it?"
"When do I start?" Remus asked.
VIII. RESURRECTION
First of September, 1993.
One day since the full moon.
"Professor Lupin."
The voice was familiar, even if the words certainly weren't; it was a long time since he'd been taller than Minerva McGonagall, but it was still odd to look down at her, rather than up. In his first four years at school, she had been a towering giant over all others.
"Still getting used to that name," he said, as she touched his sleeve to stop him in the hallway.
"It does take a while," she agreed. "You're looking..."
"Awful, I know," he answered. "Sorry."
"Well, you seem to have survived, at any rate," she said charitably. "We generally have a small gathering after the feast, in the teachers' common room. You're welcome to join us, although I think it will be understood if you would prefer to settle into your rooms."
He paused, indecisive; behind her, students were pouring out of the entrance to the great hall, splitting off into groups as they made their way towards the various dormitories.
"No, by all means," he said finally, eyes searching the crowd even now for Harry's touseled head of black hair. "I feel like a little celebration."
She smiled as they walked, and he realised he was keeping half-a-step behind her, just as he had at school. "You were quite the hero on the train today."
"Oh, no -- I should have stopped them even coming aboard."
"Nevertheless, there are few first-year professors who would have the forethought to send an owl ahead to the school. How is young Harry?"
Remus ducked his head. Harry was wonderful; Harry was a fine, strong young man with the Potter black hair and the Evans green eyes. He didn't look like Remus at all, and that was all right. He didn't take after his father in the slightest -- not even genetically. There was not even a hint of werewolf about him.
"He's fine," he said, when he realised she was still waiting on an answer. "Quite the trooper, eh?"
"Harry has always been rather more sturdy than anyone gives him credit for, I think," she replied, stopping before a large panel holding a portrait of a man bent over a desk with a quill.
"Password?" he asked mildly.
"Dangerous Dai Llewllyn," she said. Remus raised his eyebrows as the portrait swung open to reveal a doorway. "Filius sets the password. He's something of a Quidditch fan," she said, by way of explanation. "And certainly the students would never guess that, eh? They're always trying to break in and let loose a bludger, or spike the tea, or some such nonsense."
"Yes, I remember," he said. The password to the teachers' common room had frustrated James and Sirius for years.
"Ah, our hero of the hour," said Professor Flitwick, from a chair in the corner. "Come in, Professor Lupin."
"Thank you, sir," Remus replied. "Really, though -- "
"I heard Ron Weasley say you took on four Dementors on your own. No wonder you look a bit pale," the man continued.
"It was only one," he corrected.
"Well, one or four, it was a nice bit of wandwork!" Flitwick continued, gesturing so fiercely that he nearly knocked over the teacup on his knee.
"You do look rather like death warmed over," said a woman with peculiar eyes and short grey hair. "Have some tea, or there's mulled wine in the cauldron on the table. I'm Hooch."
"You are?" he asked, mystified.
"Madam Rolanda Hooch," McGonagall clarified. "I don't believe she was here when you were a student. She's our flying instructor and Quidditch referee."
"I never go to the feast," Hooch added, waving one hand. "I get claustrophobic, cooped up with all the children like that. I'm sure I don't know how you stand it in classrooms day after day."
"Bit of a free spirit," Flitwick murmured. Remus thought that this was possibly an understatement.
"Is Professor Snape coming?" Remus inquired. "I'd rather have liked to have a word with him."
"He rarely does," McGonagall said, helping herself to a goblet of wine.
"He's not really...the sociable sort," Flitwick said charitably.
"No, I suppose not," Remus said, accepting some wine.
"And there's Madam Pince -- I'm sure you remember -- "
"Yes, yes..." Remus offered his hand to the librarian, who smiled at him. "You always went easy with me on the overdue books."
"You made better use of them than most," Madam Pince replied. "Professor Sinistra should be -- there she is."
"Yes, and dying to meet our new ritual sacrifice properly," said a tall, willowy witch with her hair tied back, whom he'd been introduced to only briefly at the feast. She gave him a quick up-and-down look. "Not much meat on him, is there?"
"Go easy, he's been ill," McGonagall said, in what would have been a whisper if Remus didn't have keen ears.
"Well, either way, welcome," Sinistra continued. "Do tell us all about the train, everyone's talking about it."
"There isn't much really," he said, nervously. "I was uh...I was asleep, actually..." which wasn't strictly true, but the moment the compartment door had opened and he'd heard the children talking, and heard someone called Harry, he hadn't actually been able to move. He'd hardly even listened to what they were saying; just quietly strained to hear every word the child uttered. He didn't want to look in case Harry didn't look like him, or worse, in case he did.
But he'd known immediately that the boy wasn't a werewolf. He smelled too human. And adult human -- Remus suppressed a shiver at the memory. If Harry had been going to manifest lycanthropy, it would have been at least a year ago, and someone might well have died in the resulting mess.
"Looks like he might fall asleep again," Sinistra said, recalling him to the present. "Go on then, what happened next?"
"Well, there was a jolt, and a Dementor opened the compartment, and before I knew what was happening -- they'd latched onto young Potter, and the other children were terrified -- I mean, anyone would have done it," he said with a shrug.
"Done what, summoned a patronus on a moment's notice and banished the deuced thing?" Flitwick said excitedly. "I think not!"
"I can't even make one. Never have been able to," Hooch said to Pince, who looked sympathetic.
"What's yours?" Sinistra asked.
"Er..." Remus looked uncomfortable. "It's a Thestral. Anyway, they backed off a bit after that -- the children were quite helpful, really. Poor...poor Harry was just sort of..." Lying there so still, looking just like James with his eyes closed, and a small part of him had panicked madly while the rest of him was helping Harry up onto a seat and calmly offering him chocolate. But oh, that second when he thought the boy might have died... "Well, he needed chocolate, and I had to leave him there while I sent off an owl to let Professor McGonagall know...he was all right by the time I came back. And, and that's it really."
"He looked a little peaky at dinner," Sinistra said dubiously. "Are you sure he's all right?"
"Oh yes," Remus said warmly, a smile curving his lips at the way the boy had watched him, keenly, intelligently, while he explained what had happened. "He's fine. He's..." perfect "...fine."
"Glad to hear it," Flitwick said. "Can't have the Boy Who Lived coming to an untimely end on the train to Hogwarts, eh?"
"Indeed not," Remus agreed, quietly. "He seems, er...he seems bright enough, does he do well in his classes?"
"He'd do better if he applied himself more to his studies and less to making trouble," McGonagall said, somewhat sternly. "That having been said, he's smart enough when he wants to be, and he has good influences."
"Runs around with that Granger girl, doesn't he?" Hooch asked.
"Granger girl? I think I met her on the train, briefly -- "
"Oh, delightful child," Flitwick said warmly. "Very dedicated student."
"He's very close with her and one of the Weasleys," Sinistra said. "I can't keep them all straight, there's been too many of them over the years. Is it the twins or the tall one he's friends with?"
"Ronald -- the tall one," McGonagall answered.
"They travel in a pack," Pince muttered.
"Rarely see Potter without Granger or Weasley, anyway," Flitwick said.
"But they sound like they're good enough company," Remus said anxiously. Suddenly a whole new world of worries was opening up in front of him; before he had simply been concerned about Harry's survival, but now it turned out he had to worry that Harry was passing classes, and not running around with delinquints, and just what was this Granger girl up to, anyhow?
"Oh, typical Gryffindors," Sinistra said. "Bright, courageous, and not overly given to looking before leaping."
"Who's talking about me?" asked a voice from the doorway, and they all stood to greet the Headmaster, who accepted a goblet of wine and a seat near the fireplace. Talk turned to other things soon enough, and he was left more or less to himself, to contemplate what had been said about Lily's son.
About his son.
IX. THE GIFT
Hallowe'en, 1995.
7 days until the full moon.
"I need to talk with you about Harry," Sirius said, and Remus set his book down on the lamp-table, immediately all ears. Sirius was reading an ill-folded sheet of parchment with Harry's messy handwriting on it, sitting crosslegged on the hearth.
"All right," he answered, leaning back and resting his head against the wing of the chair. "What about him?"
Sirius looked pensive; he'd lost the gaunt bone-sharpness he'd had after he escape, but the hollows under his cheekbones were never going to go away completely. Remus rather liked it, in some ways; it made his face much more mobile and expressive than it had been before.
"You don't talk about him much," Sirius said.
"No, I suppose not."
"And we've never talked about you and Lily."
"No."
"Do you suppose it would be all right if we did? Now?"
Remus frowned. "Sirius, I'm not going to try to take Harry from you, if that's what you want to know."
Sirius shook his head. "That wasn't what I was thinking at all."
"Then why bring it up? It's done. She's dead, and so's James; Harry's not a werewolf. He never has to know."
"There's no reason for him not to know, either," Sirius said quietly.
"What does that mean?"
Sirius folded the letter and set it by his foot, thoughtfully. "Ever since he's been...well, back in our world, he's been told how like his father he is, how much he looks like him, how much he acts like him. But it's not true."
"But it can be true."
"Don't you want what little piece of Lily is left?" Sirius asked. "I would, if it were me."
"What more is there to have? He knows who I am, I think he likes me pretty well...I get a say in his upbringing. Hauling all that old dead rubbish into it would only complicate matters. When he's older, maybe."
"How long did it go on?" Sirius asked. Remus scowled. "I'm just curious. James was my friend. So are you."
"Almost four years, I think. I didn't keep track. It ended when I left the country. Obviously."
"Did she love James at all?"
Remus nodded. "Very much."
"So why...?"
"She just loved me...more. That's what she always said." He shrugged again. "It's not important, Sirius."
"It could be, to Harry. I'm a lousy excuse for family -- "
" -- don't say that."
"I can't go anywhere, I can't be there to see his Quidditch matches, I can't legally take him away from the Dursleys."
"And I can't afford to feed myself, let alone buy him the things he needs."
"You wouldn't have to. He needs a father, Remus." Sirius rubbed his face with his hands, the same large, capable hands that had delivered Harry, fifteen years before. "I'm not right. You know I'm not. You'd be good for him."
"No," Remus said, sharply enough that Sirius looked up in surprise. "If you tell him he'll hate me and I'll hate you. Leave things as they are, Sirius."
Sirius was quiet for a long time, and Remus had picked up his book again when he spoke.
"Listen...at least help me. With Harry. Show me what to do. I don't know how to talk to him. I don't know what he wants for Christmas, I've bought him a broomstick already. I really, I don't know him at all."
Remus bowed his head over his book. "I'll bring back some catalogues from Diagon Alley, the next time I go, and we can look at Christmas things for him."
"We'll get him something from both of us!" Sirius said, excitedly.
"You don't think he's going to think that's a little weird? I don't really have any reason to be giving him things."
"If you're not going to tell him and you're going to make me not-tell him, you have to do as I say," Sirius said.
"What? That's -- that's blackmail!"
"Rough luck. Tell him, you sod."
Remus closed the book again, studying the cover. "He'll hate me, you know, if I tell him."
"He'll get over it. He's hungry for family."
"He has you."
"Yeah, he has me," Sirius said, a trifle disgustedly. There was another long silence.
"If I die..." Sirius began.
"You're not dying. Nobody's dying."
"If I die, you have to tell him, Remus. He needs to have someone."
"Fine, if you die I'll tell him, because you're not anywhere near death's door. Can we change the topic now?"
Sirius grinned at him. "Promise?"
"I promise, Sirius." Remus rolled his eyes. "You don't have any ideas for Christmas for him at all?"
Sirius' grin widened. "I thought books. I hear his dad's fond of those."
X. REVELATION
August 2, 1996.
Three days since the full moon.
Remus had often hated the Change, for various and sundry reasons, but he had never hated it as much as he hated it the year Harry turned sixteen, because it was the day before Harry's birthday and he was too ill to move, let alone attend the party they were throwing for him at Grimmauld Place. Tonks had brought him up some cake, and Harry had stopped in briefly to thank him for the Shearsides automatic magical razor he'd given him, but he'd been tired and Harry hadn't stayed long.
It wouldn't have been right, anyway, to tell him then. Hell of a thing to give a kid for his sixteenth birthday.
But he had promised Sirius.
Now he sat at dinner with the rest of the crowd of Grimmauld Place, pushing Molly's excellent porkchop around his plate, with no appetite and certainly no desire to be there. At the other end of the table, Harry was rough-housing with Ron over the last roll, and not paying him the slightest attention; he felt sick at the thought of wrecking the boy's life.
It'd only be worse if he waited, though, and he'd promised Sirius. And there was a hunger in Harry's eyes that he wanted to fix. He did. He hated to see the boy in pain.
"Harry," he said, when the meal was mercifully over, "Can I speak to you for a minute?"
Harry glanced up at him and nodded. "Sure, what about?"
"Alone," Remus added, and the others exchanged looks. "In my room, perhaps."
Harry followed him down the corridor and into the small, dusty room that he'd appropriated for himself and filled with books from the library; it wasn't much of a home, but it was a lot better than some he'd had.
"Am I in trouble?" Harry asked, standing just inside the door.
"No, no...not trouble, exactly," Remus said, nervously. "Er...sit down, if you want."
Harry dropped himself into the wing-chair near the window, where the reading light was good. Remus watched him, studying the shape of his face; there was just a hint of his own cheekbones and nose, if he was in the right light.
"What's going on?" Harry asked, looking uneasy.
"I, er..." Remus leaned against his desk, looking down. "Before Sirius died he made me promise him something, and I'm trying as best I can to fulfill his wishes, Harry. I want you to understand that. If I had my way I wouldn't be burdening you with this."
Harry's eyes widened. "What did he want?"
"It's nothing you have to do, Harry, and you don't even have to..." Remus pursed his lips. "It doesn't have to change anything. If you want to ignore it, once it's out in the open, I'm okay with that."
"Remus, you're really not reassuring me," Harry said.
"It's just that...I'm supposed to tell you something, about your parents, that's not going to be easy for you."
Harry swallowed. "What about them?"
"They did love each other. I know they did. James was head over heels for Lily, I'm sure you know that, but I want you to bear in mind that she loved him too. She did, Harry."
"Okay..." Harry said slowly.
"But your mum was also very...listen, James wasn't...she was in love with someone else, too, someone she couldn't have in the same way she could have James," he said. "She married James because he loved her and he was good to her, but he...wasn't the only one."
"Mum had an affair?" Harry asked, eyes round.
"Yes...uh...how do you feel about that?"
"With who? With Sirius?"
Remus opened his mouth to protest, when Harry gaped.
"Is Sirius my dad?" he demanded.
"No -- Harry -- "
"Did my -- did James know?"
"It wasn't Sirius," Remus said. "But James didn't know. And he wasn't, he wasn't your father. Sirius found out about it, because he had you tested when you were a baby."
"But everyone says I look just like him -- "
"You do take after the Potters, but not necessarily James," Remus continued.
"What the hell does that mean? Who's my dad, Remus?"
Remus took a deep breath. For a moment, hysterically, he considered saying Severus Snape, and almost burst out laughing. Instead he exhaled.
"I did love her," he said.
Harry stared at him, unblinking.
Then he bolted.
Remus ran after him, and managed to catch up halfway down the hallway; from here they were audible in the living room, and he didn't want Harry to make a scene.
"Harry, stop, please -- at least..." he held onto Harry's arm when the younger man tried to pull away. "Listen to me before you run away, Harry."
"You?" Harry demanded. "And you've never been in Azkaban, you aren't dead! You?"
"Harry, try to understand," Remus said, hauling him back into the room and closing the door. "There were reasons, good reasons, not to tell you."
"Name one!" Harry shouted.
"I wasn't even allowed to see you so it's not like I could have told you for the first, oh, eleven years of your life! I couldn't afford to feed you if I had -- I was starving myself half the time. Believe it or not, you were better off with the -- "
"Nobody told me!"
"Harry, it isn't something -- "
"You taught me all year and you never said anything!"
Remus bowed his head. "I wanted to. I thought it would only complicate your life -- "
"Complicate my -- gee, having a father would complicate my life, that's brilliant, Remus, thanks!"
They stared at each other across the room, Remus near the window, Harry in the doorway.
"I'm so sorry, Harry," he said. "I told Sirius this would happen, I told him it would be better -- "
"Shut up I hate you!" Harry shouted, and threw himself across the room. Remus caught him, ready to hold the boy back -- to hold him down, if necessary -- but Harry hadn't even balled his fists to punch; instead he was clinging to his shirt, burying his face in it, and sobbing.
Remus lifted one hand and stroked Harry's hair, gently.
"Well, you've said you hate me, I'm officially a parent," he sighed. Harry made a hiccupping sound that might have been a laugh. "I meant to tell you when you were older, but you have enough problems right now...it's just that I promised Sirius. So that you'd have someone if he died. You would have had me anyway, you know."
Harry stepped back and wiped his nose with his shirtsleeve. Remus tsked, and offered his handkerchief.
"I'm not a werewolf, am I?" Harry asked.
"Thankfully not," Remus said with a smile. "It's still Potter blood, you know -- James was my cousin."
"That's a pretty rotten thing to do to a cousin," Harry said reproachfully.
"Yeah, I know. God, how he loved your mum. We both did. He just happened to be rich and not a werewolf, as well."
Harry frowned at him. "It was pretty rotten of mum, too."
"Nobody's perfect, Harry. Least of all our parents."
Harry threw himself into the chair again, blowing his nose on Remus' handkerchief.
"It's up to you," Remus said quietly. "What you want to do about it. If anything."
Harry looked down. "I'm trying to decide if having a dad is worth forgiving you for being a really bad one."
"I could be better. I still don't have any money, but you have quite a bit, so that's all right -- I could, uh..." he fumbled for words for a minute. "I could come to your Quidditch matches, and -- "
"Just, don't talk for a minute, okay?" Harry said. Remus fell silent, obediently. Harry twisted the handkerchief between his fingers.
"Dad," he said finally. "I can call you dad."
"Yeah?" Remus asked.
"Yeah. I could do that."
"All right."
"So I should uh...I should go and -- Ron asked me to play chess with him."
"I could come watch."
Harry gave him a small grin. "It's not a Quidditch match, you don't have to cheer."
"I like watching you play chess."
"You do?"
"Yeah." Remus shoved his hands in his pockets. "So."
"So you want to come watch me get thrashed at chess?"
"Sure. Ah, here," Remus said, taking the handkerchief from him. "There's something on your face..."
"Oh..." Harry brushed at his cheek, then submitted to a few swipes with the handkerchief, while Remus held his chin still.
"All right, now you're presentable," Remus said, giving Harry a light shove in the direction of the door.
"This doesn't mean I'm not mad at you," Harry said.
"You wouldn't be sixteen if you weren't," Remus answered. "Go on, I'll be there in a minute."
When Harry was gone, he covered his face with one hand, leaning on the desk once more for support.
"Thank you, Lily," he said softly, and went to watch his son play chess.
END
V. EXODUS
New Year's Eve, 1980.
Ten days after the full moon.
Dear Lily and James,
I hope this letter finds you happy and not too hung over on the first day of the new year. Sorry I missed the party but Dumbledore found me a job and I had to take off for it right away. The good news is, the pay is decent.
The bad news is, it's in Canada.
I'll owl again when I have an address and all that sort of thing. It looks like I might be here for quite a while. You should come out and visit once I'm settled. We'll talk.
Love,
Remus
***
Dear Sirius,
I couldn't. I couldn't anymore. The job is real -- you'll see what I mean when you talk to James -- but I couldn't stay. And she never said I had to. She planned it so that I'd stay, but I can't, I can't watch it go on any longer. Christmas was too much.
James loves him, so it's not like he's going to be missing out on anything.
I'll owl you from Canada when I have an address.
Love,
Remus
***
Dear Peter,
I'm off to Canada! James can fill you in. Look after yourself and don't let Sirius bully you too badly, all right? You should come visit first thing, and if you're looking for a new job I think there might be something out here for you. There's a deadly dearth of good teachers.
I'm going to be a Professor, can you believe it?
There's even a game reserve nearby that's warded, so I can run around when I'm feeling a little lunatic, and not go nuts.
Love,
Remus
***
Dear Moony,
I hope you've settled in well. I understand what you were thinking. Maybe it's right, maybe it's wrong, I don't know, but I did some tests -- don't worry, nothing harmful -- around Christmas, and the results came in a few days ago. I hardly need to tell you, but he's yours. You should be bloody grateful he takes after your mother.
I did some reading, you know. Lycanthropy is a recessive gene but when it's triggered in children with a Lycanthrope parent, it manifests itself in puberty. There's no way to test beforehand, and it's unlikely seeing as Lily's a Muggleborn, so she probably hasn't any werewolf blood in her anyway.
All the same, if one of you hasn't told James by the time the boy is eleven, I will. Harry's health may depend on it.
Look after yourself. I'm coming out there in May to visit you, by hook or by crook, after I've passed my next set of exams. And you're coming for Harry's first birthday whether you like it or not. He ought to at least know who you are.
Sirius
***
Remus set down the paper and touched his wand to it, crumbling it to dust, just in case. He'd write back some nice letter full of good spirits and not mentioning Harry at all; Sirius would understand.
It wasn't just seeing Lily love Harry and James love Harry and them love each other, because they did love each other; it was precisely what Sirius was threatening in his letter. He couldn't stand to spend the next decade always afraid to see himself -- to see the wolf -- in Harry. He'd be a wreck. Every time the boy did anything even the slightest bit strange, and babies were always doing strange things, he'd worry that it was a sign, and he couldn't bear the thought of passing the curse down to his son.
His son.
When you love your child you do what you have to, and he had to leave. For Harry's own sake, so that Harry would grow up with a father and a mother, and never know. Please god, let him never know.
VI. DEATH
November 11, 1981.
Full moon.
"The rest is silence."
Remus crouched at the edge of the lake and skimmed rocks across it, thoughtfully. He glanced up at Moody, whose claw-footed wooden leg was sunk deep in the mud of the banks. The old man looked like a wading bird, with his thin legs and stocky body, his beaky nose.
"I didn't know you read Shakespeare," Remus said softly.
"It has its appeal," Moody replied. "You should be going, boy. Catch your death out here. Look like you already have."
"I'll be better," Remus said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat as he stood. "It's a lot at once, that's all. If it was..." He hung his head.
"If it had only been them and not Black and Pettigrew too?" Moody asked.
"It's an awful thought," Remus whispered.
"Ruddy mess," Moody continued. "Never thought Pettigrew would amount to much -- "
"Don't say that! He's dead, Moody!"
"Doesn't make it less true," Moody replied evenly. "James now, he was a good man. Lily was a bright, beautiful woman, wasn't she?"
Remus flinched.
"Black a promising Healer, too. Doesn't make any sense; you'd think a man trained to heal people would have a better conscience as his guide."
"I suppose perhaps Healers begin to believe they're infallible," Remus answered. "Sirius always thought that anyway."
"He's not dead."
"He is to me."
"They've asked for you."
Remus glanced at Moody. "Who have?"
"The Aurors. They want you to visit him in Azkaban. They've tried interrogating him, but his mind's gone blank. They think perhaps you -- "
"I won't go to Azkaban. I won't see him."
"Talks of you in his sleep, he does," Moody continued relentlessly.
"Stop!"
"Talks of the boy, too, and they're worried -- "
Remus launched himself at Moody, but the old man was stronger and wilier; he caught him by the arm and threw him easily to the ground. The mud of the banks was cold and slimy under his hands, sticking clumpily to the knees of his trousers.
"Don't think you're the only one mournin' them," Moody snarled, as Remus picked himself up. "Don't think for a second."
"I want Harry," Remus blurted.
"You can't have him. He's with family. He's safe."
"I'm his family."
"You can't protect him. Look at yourself. What are you going to do with a baby every full moon?" Moody asked contemptuously. Remus opened his mouth to protest that it didn't matter, that Harry belonged to him, but his accursed good sense agreed with Moody.
He had no way to provide for Harry. And perhaps these Dursleys were decent people. Petunia had been an odious, screechy woman the one time he'd met her, but she didn't seem really malicious.
"Can't I even see him?" he asked, brokenly.
"It's too dangerous. You of all people are being watched," Moody answered. "Just because the Dark Lord's gone doesn't mean his followers are."
Remus stared out at the lake, swaying slightly. He was tired and unhappy and he would never see Lily again.
"If you won't help the Aurors, the best thing for you to do now is go away," Moody said, behind him. "Go back to America, and keep a low profile."
"When he's older -- when he's at school -- can I see him then?" Remus asked. "Can I write to him?"
"That's for Dumbledore to decide."
Remus nodded. "I'd like to be alone now, please, Moody."
Moody nodded, and Remus listened to the uneven thump of his footsteps as he walked back up to the castle.
James and Lily's remains had been cremated and scattered here; Remus hadn't come to the brief memorial service. There was no one to scold him for avoiding it, after all. Peter was dead, Sirius a madman in Azkaban prison.
He hadn't bothered finding a place to sleep that night; since he'd heard he'd been in a calm, almost numb state, but he knew the wolf was waiting. If he locked himself up tonight, he'd kill himself.
When the moon rose that night, so did a single, mournful, deep-throated howl from the forest, and if Hagrid even mentioned the werewolf running wild through the trees to Dumbledore, the Headmaster did nothing about it.
VII. INTERREGNUM
Yule, 1981 through Midsummer, 1993.
150 full moons.
He shouldn't have left it so long, but there was nothing else to be done; his own cowardice and an extended illness, unrelated to the Change though probably caused by it, had kept him away. The pneumonia had kept him weak, and finally he'd been forced to seek the hospital, as opposed to merely saying he would. The Healers said he needed rest and a quiet job, needed not to be traveling or sleeping in drafty boardinghouses. And he had to see Harry.
"I can't tell you why," he said to Dumbledore, when the man came to visit him in the hospice, where he helped keep the records in order in return for a break on room and board. Hospices were for the dying, and he sometimes felt that way, but he was well enough that he could leave, soon. "I need to see him."
"Remus, I know you were friends with his parents, but do you really think this is a wise idea?" the Headmaster asked gently. Remus coughed, and was offered a throat sweet, which he took gratefully.
"It's not a matter of seeing him for the sake of seeing him," he answered. "I want to be sure he's...healthy. And happy. As happy as he can be, given the situation."
Dumbledore nodded. "I understand your concern. I worry more about your health than his."
"I'm all right," Remus said, with a smile. "I get by, you know that. I'm as good mentally as I ever was. They've let me completely reorganise the files more efficiently -- "
He had another coughing fit, and sipped some water. "These'll pass off soon too," he added. "You should have seen me six months ago."
"I've no doubt," Dumbledore said, only a trifle condescendingly.
"I won't infect anyone, if that's what you're worried about. I just want to be on the platform and get close enough to see him."
Dumbledore regarded him for a while, as he sipped some more water and straightened his shabby jumper.
"Do you know why I came here to see you today?" he asked finally. Remus shrugged.
"I assumed the owl I sent -- "
"In part, yes. You taught in Canada for a while, didn't you?"
"You know I did, you got me that job."
"Charms?"
"Defensive, mostly. They teach things a little differently over there."
Dumbledore nodded. "How's your knowledge of Dark Arts?"
Remus frowned. "I...well, I keep current on the reading. I'd guess I'm probably a little rusty when it comes to hexes...why do you ask?"
"Gilderoy Lockhart," Dumbledore said. Remus looked blank.
"The author?"
"He was hired as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor last year at Hogwarts, and proved a dismal failure. His reputation was ruined, and with it, the reputation of Hogwarts, in certain circles."
"Surely not -- "
"Not in the eyes of the general public, but as an educational institution. No teachers will take the job; if Gilderoy Lockhart failed, they say, what chance do they have of success?"
"But you've said -- "
" -- and not been listened to, as usual," Dumbledore interrupted. "The fact of the matter is, I am left without a teacher for the new school year. When you owled me, I looked back over your educational records. Quite impressive, I must say."
Remus' eyes widened. "You can't seriously be considering hiring a pneumoniac werewolf for the job?"
"If I did, would you take it?"
"I'd take any paying work right now that came with a warm bed and three meals a day, but it's -- you can't be serious."
"No one is aware of your unique condition, and there's no reason for that to change; you have experience in both the field and the teaching of it, and it would allow you nearly daily contact with Harry. Just to be sure he's not dying of starvation," Dumbledore said, drily.
Remus' heart skipped a beat, and he caught his breath, coughing. Harry. He could see Harry every day, he could be his teacher. If anything did go...go wrong, as Sirius might have threatened it would, he could be there for Harry.
"Favouritism is, of course, discouraged by policy," Dumbledore continued, "but considering what Severus gets away with, I think being taught by one of his parents' old school friends is the least of young Potter's worries. Will you consider it?"
"When do I start?" Remus asked.
VIII. RESURRECTION
First of September, 1993.
One day since the full moon.
"Professor Lupin."
The voice was familiar, even if the words certainly weren't; it was a long time since he'd been taller than Minerva McGonagall, but it was still odd to look down at her, rather than up. In his first four years at school, she had been a towering giant over all others.
"Still getting used to that name," he said, as she touched his sleeve to stop him in the hallway.
"It does take a while," she agreed. "You're looking..."
"Awful, I know," he answered. "Sorry."
"Well, you seem to have survived, at any rate," she said charitably. "We generally have a small gathering after the feast, in the teachers' common room. You're welcome to join us, although I think it will be understood if you would prefer to settle into your rooms."
He paused, indecisive; behind her, students were pouring out of the entrance to the great hall, splitting off into groups as they made their way towards the various dormitories.
"No, by all means," he said finally, eyes searching the crowd even now for Harry's touseled head of black hair. "I feel like a little celebration."
She smiled as they walked, and he realised he was keeping half-a-step behind her, just as he had at school. "You were quite the hero on the train today."
"Oh, no -- I should have stopped them even coming aboard."
"Nevertheless, there are few first-year professors who would have the forethought to send an owl ahead to the school. How is young Harry?"
Remus ducked his head. Harry was wonderful; Harry was a fine, strong young man with the Potter black hair and the Evans green eyes. He didn't look like Remus at all, and that was all right. He didn't take after his father in the slightest -- not even genetically. There was not even a hint of werewolf about him.
"He's fine," he said, when he realised she was still waiting on an answer. "Quite the trooper, eh?"
"Harry has always been rather more sturdy than anyone gives him credit for, I think," she replied, stopping before a large panel holding a portrait of a man bent over a desk with a quill.
"Password?" he asked mildly.
"Dangerous Dai Llewllyn," she said. Remus raised his eyebrows as the portrait swung open to reveal a doorway. "Filius sets the password. He's something of a Quidditch fan," she said, by way of explanation. "And certainly the students would never guess that, eh? They're always trying to break in and let loose a bludger, or spike the tea, or some such nonsense."
"Yes, I remember," he said. The password to the teachers' common room had frustrated James and Sirius for years.
"Ah, our hero of the hour," said Professor Flitwick, from a chair in the corner. "Come in, Professor Lupin."
"Thank you, sir," Remus replied. "Really, though -- "
"I heard Ron Weasley say you took on four Dementors on your own. No wonder you look a bit pale," the man continued.
"It was only one," he corrected.
"Well, one or four, it was a nice bit of wandwork!" Flitwick continued, gesturing so fiercely that he nearly knocked over the teacup on his knee.
"You do look rather like death warmed over," said a woman with peculiar eyes and short grey hair. "Have some tea, or there's mulled wine in the cauldron on the table. I'm Hooch."
"You are?" he asked, mystified.
"Madam Rolanda Hooch," McGonagall clarified. "I don't believe she was here when you were a student. She's our flying instructor and Quidditch referee."
"I never go to the feast," Hooch added, waving one hand. "I get claustrophobic, cooped up with all the children like that. I'm sure I don't know how you stand it in classrooms day after day."
"Bit of a free spirit," Flitwick murmured. Remus thought that this was possibly an understatement.
"Is Professor Snape coming?" Remus inquired. "I'd rather have liked to have a word with him."
"He rarely does," McGonagall said, helping herself to a goblet of wine.
"He's not really...the sociable sort," Flitwick said charitably.
"No, I suppose not," Remus said, accepting some wine.
"And there's Madam Pince -- I'm sure you remember -- "
"Yes, yes..." Remus offered his hand to the librarian, who smiled at him. "You always went easy with me on the overdue books."
"You made better use of them than most," Madam Pince replied. "Professor Sinistra should be -- there she is."
"Yes, and dying to meet our new ritual sacrifice properly," said a tall, willowy witch with her hair tied back, whom he'd been introduced to only briefly at the feast. She gave him a quick up-and-down look. "Not much meat on him, is there?"
"Go easy, he's been ill," McGonagall said, in what would have been a whisper if Remus didn't have keen ears.
"Well, either way, welcome," Sinistra continued. "Do tell us all about the train, everyone's talking about it."
"There isn't much really," he said, nervously. "I was uh...I was asleep, actually..." which wasn't strictly true, but the moment the compartment door had opened and he'd heard the children talking, and heard someone called Harry, he hadn't actually been able to move. He'd hardly even listened to what they were saying; just quietly strained to hear every word the child uttered. He didn't want to look in case Harry didn't look like him, or worse, in case he did.
But he'd known immediately that the boy wasn't a werewolf. He smelled too human. And adult human -- Remus suppressed a shiver at the memory. If Harry had been going to manifest lycanthropy, it would have been at least a year ago, and someone might well have died in the resulting mess.
"Looks like he might fall asleep again," Sinistra said, recalling him to the present. "Go on then, what happened next?"
"Well, there was a jolt, and a Dementor opened the compartment, and before I knew what was happening -- they'd latched onto young Potter, and the other children were terrified -- I mean, anyone would have done it," he said with a shrug.
"Done what, summoned a patronus on a moment's notice and banished the deuced thing?" Flitwick said excitedly. "I think not!"
"I can't even make one. Never have been able to," Hooch said to Pince, who looked sympathetic.
"What's yours?" Sinistra asked.
"Er..." Remus looked uncomfortable. "It's a Thestral. Anyway, they backed off a bit after that -- the children were quite helpful, really. Poor...poor Harry was just sort of..." Lying there so still, looking just like James with his eyes closed, and a small part of him had panicked madly while the rest of him was helping Harry up onto a seat and calmly offering him chocolate. But oh, that second when he thought the boy might have died... "Well, he needed chocolate, and I had to leave him there while I sent off an owl to let Professor McGonagall know...he was all right by the time I came back. And, and that's it really."
"He looked a little peaky at dinner," Sinistra said dubiously. "Are you sure he's all right?"
"Oh yes," Remus said warmly, a smile curving his lips at the way the boy had watched him, keenly, intelligently, while he explained what had happened. "He's fine. He's..." perfect "...fine."
"Glad to hear it," Flitwick said. "Can't have the Boy Who Lived coming to an untimely end on the train to Hogwarts, eh?"
"Indeed not," Remus agreed, quietly. "He seems, er...he seems bright enough, does he do well in his classes?"
"He'd do better if he applied himself more to his studies and less to making trouble," McGonagall said, somewhat sternly. "That having been said, he's smart enough when he wants to be, and he has good influences."
"Runs around with that Granger girl, doesn't he?" Hooch asked.
"Granger girl? I think I met her on the train, briefly -- "
"Oh, delightful child," Flitwick said warmly. "Very dedicated student."
"He's very close with her and one of the Weasleys," Sinistra said. "I can't keep them all straight, there's been too many of them over the years. Is it the twins or the tall one he's friends with?"
"Ronald -- the tall one," McGonagall answered.
"They travel in a pack," Pince muttered.
"Rarely see Potter without Granger or Weasley, anyway," Flitwick said.
"But they sound like they're good enough company," Remus said anxiously. Suddenly a whole new world of worries was opening up in front of him; before he had simply been concerned about Harry's survival, but now it turned out he had to worry that Harry was passing classes, and not running around with delinquints, and just what was this Granger girl up to, anyhow?
"Oh, typical Gryffindors," Sinistra said. "Bright, courageous, and not overly given to looking before leaping."
"Who's talking about me?" asked a voice from the doorway, and they all stood to greet the Headmaster, who accepted a goblet of wine and a seat near the fireplace. Talk turned to other things soon enough, and he was left more or less to himself, to contemplate what had been said about Lily's son.
About his son.
IX. THE GIFT
Hallowe'en, 1995.
7 days until the full moon.
"I need to talk with you about Harry," Sirius said, and Remus set his book down on the lamp-table, immediately all ears. Sirius was reading an ill-folded sheet of parchment with Harry's messy handwriting on it, sitting crosslegged on the hearth.
"All right," he answered, leaning back and resting his head against the wing of the chair. "What about him?"
Sirius looked pensive; he'd lost the gaunt bone-sharpness he'd had after he escape, but the hollows under his cheekbones were never going to go away completely. Remus rather liked it, in some ways; it made his face much more mobile and expressive than it had been before.
"You don't talk about him much," Sirius said.
"No, I suppose not."
"And we've never talked about you and Lily."
"No."
"Do you suppose it would be all right if we did? Now?"
Remus frowned. "Sirius, I'm not going to try to take Harry from you, if that's what you want to know."
Sirius shook his head. "That wasn't what I was thinking at all."
"Then why bring it up? It's done. She's dead, and so's James; Harry's not a werewolf. He never has to know."
"There's no reason for him not to know, either," Sirius said quietly.
"What does that mean?"
Sirius folded the letter and set it by his foot, thoughtfully. "Ever since he's been...well, back in our world, he's been told how like his father he is, how much he looks like him, how much he acts like him. But it's not true."
"But it can be true."
"Don't you want what little piece of Lily is left?" Sirius asked. "I would, if it were me."
"What more is there to have? He knows who I am, I think he likes me pretty well...I get a say in his upbringing. Hauling all that old dead rubbish into it would only complicate matters. When he's older, maybe."
"How long did it go on?" Sirius asked. Remus scowled. "I'm just curious. James was my friend. So are you."
"Almost four years, I think. I didn't keep track. It ended when I left the country. Obviously."
"Did she love James at all?"
Remus nodded. "Very much."
"So why...?"
"She just loved me...more. That's what she always said." He shrugged again. "It's not important, Sirius."
"It could be, to Harry. I'm a lousy excuse for family -- "
" -- don't say that."
"I can't go anywhere, I can't be there to see his Quidditch matches, I can't legally take him away from the Dursleys."
"And I can't afford to feed myself, let alone buy him the things he needs."
"You wouldn't have to. He needs a father, Remus." Sirius rubbed his face with his hands, the same large, capable hands that had delivered Harry, fifteen years before. "I'm not right. You know I'm not. You'd be good for him."
"No," Remus said, sharply enough that Sirius looked up in surprise. "If you tell him he'll hate me and I'll hate you. Leave things as they are, Sirius."
Sirius was quiet for a long time, and Remus had picked up his book again when he spoke.
"Listen...at least help me. With Harry. Show me what to do. I don't know how to talk to him. I don't know what he wants for Christmas, I've bought him a broomstick already. I really, I don't know him at all."
Remus bowed his head over his book. "I'll bring back some catalogues from Diagon Alley, the next time I go, and we can look at Christmas things for him."
"We'll get him something from both of us!" Sirius said, excitedly.
"You don't think he's going to think that's a little weird? I don't really have any reason to be giving him things."
"If you're not going to tell him and you're going to make me not-tell him, you have to do as I say," Sirius said.
"What? That's -- that's blackmail!"
"Rough luck. Tell him, you sod."
Remus closed the book again, studying the cover. "He'll hate me, you know, if I tell him."
"He'll get over it. He's hungry for family."
"He has you."
"Yeah, he has me," Sirius said, a trifle disgustedly. There was another long silence.
"If I die..." Sirius began.
"You're not dying. Nobody's dying."
"If I die, you have to tell him, Remus. He needs to have someone."
"Fine, if you die I'll tell him, because you're not anywhere near death's door. Can we change the topic now?"
Sirius grinned at him. "Promise?"
"I promise, Sirius." Remus rolled his eyes. "You don't have any ideas for Christmas for him at all?"
Sirius' grin widened. "I thought books. I hear his dad's fond of those."
X. REVELATION
August 2, 1996.
Three days since the full moon.
Remus had often hated the Change, for various and sundry reasons, but he had never hated it as much as he hated it the year Harry turned sixteen, because it was the day before Harry's birthday and he was too ill to move, let alone attend the party they were throwing for him at Grimmauld Place. Tonks had brought him up some cake, and Harry had stopped in briefly to thank him for the Shearsides automatic magical razor he'd given him, but he'd been tired and Harry hadn't stayed long.
It wouldn't have been right, anyway, to tell him then. Hell of a thing to give a kid for his sixteenth birthday.
But he had promised Sirius.
Now he sat at dinner with the rest of the crowd of Grimmauld Place, pushing Molly's excellent porkchop around his plate, with no appetite and certainly no desire to be there. At the other end of the table, Harry was rough-housing with Ron over the last roll, and not paying him the slightest attention; he felt sick at the thought of wrecking the boy's life.
It'd only be worse if he waited, though, and he'd promised Sirius. And there was a hunger in Harry's eyes that he wanted to fix. He did. He hated to see the boy in pain.
"Harry," he said, when the meal was mercifully over, "Can I speak to you for a minute?"
Harry glanced up at him and nodded. "Sure, what about?"
"Alone," Remus added, and the others exchanged looks. "In my room, perhaps."
Harry followed him down the corridor and into the small, dusty room that he'd appropriated for himself and filled with books from the library; it wasn't much of a home, but it was a lot better than some he'd had.
"Am I in trouble?" Harry asked, standing just inside the door.
"No, no...not trouble, exactly," Remus said, nervously. "Er...sit down, if you want."
Harry dropped himself into the wing-chair near the window, where the reading light was good. Remus watched him, studying the shape of his face; there was just a hint of his own cheekbones and nose, if he was in the right light.
"What's going on?" Harry asked, looking uneasy.
"I, er..." Remus leaned against his desk, looking down. "Before Sirius died he made me promise him something, and I'm trying as best I can to fulfill his wishes, Harry. I want you to understand that. If I had my way I wouldn't be burdening you with this."
Harry's eyes widened. "What did he want?"
"It's nothing you have to do, Harry, and you don't even have to..." Remus pursed his lips. "It doesn't have to change anything. If you want to ignore it, once it's out in the open, I'm okay with that."
"Remus, you're really not reassuring me," Harry said.
"It's just that...I'm supposed to tell you something, about your parents, that's not going to be easy for you."
Harry swallowed. "What about them?"
"They did love each other. I know they did. James was head over heels for Lily, I'm sure you know that, but I want you to bear in mind that she loved him too. She did, Harry."
"Okay..." Harry said slowly.
"But your mum was also very...listen, James wasn't...she was in love with someone else, too, someone she couldn't have in the same way she could have James," he said. "She married James because he loved her and he was good to her, but he...wasn't the only one."
"Mum had an affair?" Harry asked, eyes round.
"Yes...uh...how do you feel about that?"
"With who? With Sirius?"
Remus opened his mouth to protest, when Harry gaped.
"Is Sirius my dad?" he demanded.
"No -- Harry -- "
"Did my -- did James know?"
"It wasn't Sirius," Remus said. "But James didn't know. And he wasn't, he wasn't your father. Sirius found out about it, because he had you tested when you were a baby."
"But everyone says I look just like him -- "
"You do take after the Potters, but not necessarily James," Remus continued.
"What the hell does that mean? Who's my dad, Remus?"
Remus took a deep breath. For a moment, hysterically, he considered saying Severus Snape, and almost burst out laughing. Instead he exhaled.
"I did love her," he said.
Harry stared at him, unblinking.
Then he bolted.
Remus ran after him, and managed to catch up halfway down the hallway; from here they were audible in the living room, and he didn't want Harry to make a scene.
"Harry, stop, please -- at least..." he held onto Harry's arm when the younger man tried to pull away. "Listen to me before you run away, Harry."
"You?" Harry demanded. "And you've never been in Azkaban, you aren't dead! You?"
"Harry, try to understand," Remus said, hauling him back into the room and closing the door. "There were reasons, good reasons, not to tell you."
"Name one!" Harry shouted.
"I wasn't even allowed to see you so it's not like I could have told you for the first, oh, eleven years of your life! I couldn't afford to feed you if I had -- I was starving myself half the time. Believe it or not, you were better off with the -- "
"Nobody told me!"
"Harry, it isn't something -- "
"You taught me all year and you never said anything!"
Remus bowed his head. "I wanted to. I thought it would only complicate your life -- "
"Complicate my -- gee, having a father would complicate my life, that's brilliant, Remus, thanks!"
They stared at each other across the room, Remus near the window, Harry in the doorway.
"I'm so sorry, Harry," he said. "I told Sirius this would happen, I told him it would be better -- "
"Shut up I hate you!" Harry shouted, and threw himself across the room. Remus caught him, ready to hold the boy back -- to hold him down, if necessary -- but Harry hadn't even balled his fists to punch; instead he was clinging to his shirt, burying his face in it, and sobbing.
Remus lifted one hand and stroked Harry's hair, gently.
"Well, you've said you hate me, I'm officially a parent," he sighed. Harry made a hiccupping sound that might have been a laugh. "I meant to tell you when you were older, but you have enough problems right now...it's just that I promised Sirius. So that you'd have someone if he died. You would have had me anyway, you know."
Harry stepped back and wiped his nose with his shirtsleeve. Remus tsked, and offered his handkerchief.
"I'm not a werewolf, am I?" Harry asked.
"Thankfully not," Remus said with a smile. "It's still Potter blood, you know -- James was my cousin."
"That's a pretty rotten thing to do to a cousin," Harry said reproachfully.
"Yeah, I know. God, how he loved your mum. We both did. He just happened to be rich and not a werewolf, as well."
Harry frowned at him. "It was pretty rotten of mum, too."
"Nobody's perfect, Harry. Least of all our parents."
Harry threw himself into the chair again, blowing his nose on Remus' handkerchief.
"It's up to you," Remus said quietly. "What you want to do about it. If anything."
Harry looked down. "I'm trying to decide if having a dad is worth forgiving you for being a really bad one."
"I could be better. I still don't have any money, but you have quite a bit, so that's all right -- I could, uh..." he fumbled for words for a minute. "I could come to your Quidditch matches, and -- "
"Just, don't talk for a minute, okay?" Harry said. Remus fell silent, obediently. Harry twisted the handkerchief between his fingers.
"Dad," he said finally. "I can call you dad."
"Yeah?" Remus asked.
"Yeah. I could do that."
"All right."
"So I should uh...I should go and -- Ron asked me to play chess with him."
"I could come watch."
Harry gave him a small grin. "It's not a Quidditch match, you don't have to cheer."
"I like watching you play chess."
"You do?"
"Yeah." Remus shoved his hands in his pockets. "So."
"So you want to come watch me get thrashed at chess?"
"Sure. Ah, here," Remus said, taking the handkerchief from him. "There's something on your face..."
"Oh..." Harry brushed at his cheek, then submitted to a few swipes with the handkerchief, while Remus held his chin still.
"All right, now you're presentable," Remus said, giving Harry a light shove in the direction of the door.
"This doesn't mean I'm not mad at you," Harry said.
"You wouldn't be sixteen if you weren't," Remus answered. "Go on, I'll be there in a minute."
When Harry was gone, he covered his face with one hand, leaning on the desk once more for support.
"Thank you, Lily," he said softly, and went to watch his son play chess.
END
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lovely
But mostly I just want to thank you for this story.
Re: lovely
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You just love giving Harry a father.
I'm on to you.
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If you are still reading/writing Remus, Lily, or Remus/Lily fics,
If not, could I at least friend you? Your writing is fantastic. :)
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Oh so Harry at 16. :) Very nice story hon :) Glad I checked it out!
Remus exhaling the he did love her part gave me the LOLZ with Harry bolting away xD
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Goodness...
You have stolen my soul Sam, and you can keep it as long as you keep writing stuff like this.
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oh dear. it's almost 7 on sunday night and i've been reading you fanfic since 9 this morning...
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Sirius is always my favourite and you do not disappoint - so understanding, so loyal to all of them. I love him, by the way ;)
I wasn't sure how I felt about the ending but however I felt about it or didn't feel about it, it's made up for by how much I love the rest of it!
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What sort of evil mastermind are you?
Brilliant work!
Yes!
(Anonymous) 2008-04-29 04:26 am (UTC)(link)no subject
(Anonymous) 2010-10-17 02:14 pm (UTC)(link)no subject
The flawed, oh-so-human foibles of everyone, and yet, Remus and Harry still come together...I'm teary-eyed but pleased. Thank you!
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(Anonymous) 2012-02-04 10:45 am (UTC)(link)I love Remus (thought people always described him with a martyr-complex that is f... annoying)!
Great fic!
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(Anonymous) 2012-07-07 07:45 pm (UTC)(link)