Title: The Revelation
Rating: PG-13, for death
Summary: The course of two lives are changed during the interlude in the Great Battle.
Challenge: Comes from the remus (underscore) draco community at live journal, which says "Fix the series ending R/D style. Did Draco find Remus and save him? Did Remus find the brat and redeem him?"
Author's Note: For some reason, I've gotten into the rare pairing of Remus/Draco lately, so when I found this challenge on lj I had to try it. Okay, so it's wild fantasy. It's completely AU. What can I say, I like it that way. :)
Without a word to Harry, Ron and Hermione walked away. Harry saw Hermione approach Ginny, whose face was swollen and blotchy, and hug her. Ron joined Bill, Fleur, and Percy, who flung an arm around Ron's shoulders. As Ginny and Hermione moved closer to the rest of the family, Harry had a clear view of the bodies lying next to Fred: Remus and Tonks, pale and still and peaceful-looking, apparently asleep beneath the dark, enchanted ceiling. -- HP and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling (p. 661 American edition)
"I --"
Ron Weasley shook his head furiously, his hands balled into fists, the expression on his face mutinous. "What to you want, Malfoy?" he demanded harshly, jumping up from the place where he had been kneeling on the floor near the body of his dead brother, Fred. Every inch of his tall form was coiled and tense, ready to strike, and he pulled an ugly face as he glared at the pale blonde, still dressed in Slytherin finery, with only a small, circular burn mark on one cuff and a thin red scratch across his cheek to show for his time in battle. "Come to mock my family, huh?" Ron asked coldly. "Come to sneer at my dead brother, eh?"
Draco shook his head, his eyes widening as he noticed the still figure resting beside Remus. Despite the enmity between his house and Gryffindor, Draco recognised the lifeless body of Fred Weasley immediately. His red hair and freckles stood out in contrast with his deathly pallor; for once, he was not laughing. Shaking his head again, Draco raised his hands steadily to Ron, palms up in surrender. "No, I just --"
"Just what?" snapped Ginny Weasley, who had come to join her brother in defending the family honour. "You want a laugh at the Weasley's expense? Well go ahead. You try it!"
"No," Draco stated, more firmly. He stiffened, bristling, the way he always did almost instinctively whenever challenged. The short fuse of his temper was lit, and if it had been any other day, he might have smirked at the two red-heads, and let cold insults about their hand-me-down clothes roll easily off of his tongue. But this was war, and there was not much time. "I wanted to see Professor Lupin."
"In case you haven't noticed," stammered Ginny, suddenly tearful. "He was killed in the battle. He died a hero, defending this castle, so don't you dare --"
"I wasn't going to hurt him!" Draco retorted, his voice rising. "Will you go? Give me a moment with him! I just want to see him!"
"No, I don't think --"
"Yes," interrupted Arthur Weasley, settling a heavy hand on his son's shoulder. His face was a mask of grief, but his expression turned stern as he settled his gaze on Draco. "You're Lucius Malfoy's son," he said. It was not a question. "Whatever business you have to settle on your father's behalf, it is not with Remus Lupin. He did your family no harm. Is that understood?" He waited for Draco to nod. "Then we'll give you five minutes. I don't pretend to know your motives, but I hope for your sake they are pure, and if not, just remember you're on our territory here. We are all fighting -- sacrificing -- for Harry, to whom Remus was a loyal friend and ally." With that, he led his children away, holding tightly onto Ron's arm as they crossed the Great Hall.
Momentarily freed of Weasleys, Draco sank down to his knees at Remus' side. The man had always looked careworn, what with his shabby clothes and his sorrowful eyes, but he looked much worse now than Draco had ever seen him. His tired grey robes were torn in several places, and there were gaping holes where cruel spells had been fired right through the material with deadly intention. Remus' face was pale, almost bluish in the conflicted light of the Great Hall. A lock of light brown hair fell over his closed eyes. Someone had returned his wand to him; it rested lightly in Remus' open hand, which was bruised.
"Professor," Draco spoke gravely. He shook his head; it sounded all wrong. The title could never encompass the full spectrum of what the man had meant to him. At thirteen, he had been too arrogant to see Remus as his equal, let alone his superior. Despite the man's kindly offers, Draco had not been interested in a mentor, a tutor who was willing to spend long hours unravelling the secrets of defensive magic to him. His attitude in class had expressed little besides contempt for the older man's ragged robes and look of perpetual ill health. It had not been until later that he had realised Remus' level of skill, and learned that the professor's modest attitude towards his talents had not been a mark of inferiority but one of quiet confidence in his own knowledge. He had not understood, until he was sixteen, the need he had for a confidante, for someone to listen without judgment and to offer help even when it was dangerous -- Remus. Now, it was too late.
"Lupin," Draco said. He bit his lower lip and reached out, pressing his palm against the man's cheek. He expected Remus' skin to feel cold, and was surprised by the warmth he felt. He bowed his head, confused by the rush of emotion that flooded through him at the touch, and struck by the sudden emptiness of the world. When Draco had been notified, via urgent owl from his mother, that his father had been arrested within the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry and was to be sent to Azkaban with no trial, Draco had thought he had plumbed the depths of misery. Once he had been consigned to Voldemort, he'd felt he was completely alone. Neither his mother nor any of the acquaintances he called friends could understand him, not anymore, but seeing Remus lying on the floor motionless, Draco felt as if something had been ripped away from him, a vital part of himself that he had not realised he had left to lose.
Tears stung Draco's eyes as he bent over the older man, though he did not let them fall. "Remus," he tried, tasting the name along with salt tears on his tongue. The knife of pain wrenched in deeper, and Draco had to clench his jaw painfully not to release the sob building in his throat. He did not understand. He was a Malfoy, and true Malfoys cared for nothing but themselves and their own gain. Hadn't he learned that very lesson at his father's knee? His whole life had been a practise of the theory, and he had always done well. Everyone he knew, he kept at a distance. Potter, his enemy, he had taunted within the safety of the classroom, then made a hasty escape to Slytherin house, where Harry could not follow to sort things out. It was easy to toss out nasty insults about Hermione Granger's buckteeth or Ron Weasley's multitude of superior brothers when he was surrounded by approving Slytherin pals, none of whom he knew intimately, few whom he could ever respect. Even his friends, those he called friends at any rate, were kept at a distance. It was all fine to allow Pansy Parkinson to muss his hair on the train, to walk arm in arm with her into a dance, but quite another to whisper secrets, to have feelings, and he had never ventured that far. Crabbe and Goyle did their best work as unpaid bodyguards, whom he occasionally teased when bored and complimented when it suited him, but never completely trusted. Even Snape, his father's friend, the man who had awarded him the highest grades in Potions without expecting any effort on his behalf, only knew a pale shadow of the true Draco. So why, why did he feel like losing Remus Lupin, a man whose classes he had barely bothered to attend when he'd had the opportunity, was the end of him?
Something rustled behind Draco and he jumped to his feet, whirling around, his hand already settling on his hip for his wand, but it was only plump Molly Weasley bustling nearer, vying for a prize spot near her dead son's head. Her face was red and tearstained, and her hands fluttered uselessly like birds as she smoothed back her son's fringe and pressed her lips against his forehead. She looked up when she noticed Draco watching her, and gave him a watery, understanding smile that was the farthest thing possible from happiness. It made Draco's heart freeze in his chest; her open kindness stung him as though he'd been stabbed. Shaking, and hating the weakness on display, Draco glared at her, but the cruel gesture twisted, so that he simply looked stricken.
"Malfoy," Molly tried. "D -- Draco --"
"No!" He leapt away as though she might try to curse him at any moment. Sneering at her as best he could through the abrupt flow of tears, Draco shook his head wildly. "No. Don't you talk to me you -- you -- blood traitor!" he spat, using the first term that came to mind.
He wanted to lash out, to injure, but Molly had already been hurt as deeply as she could be by the loss of one of her children, and she understood Draco's reaction all too well. She reached out a hand, beckoning him. "Draco, please, sit. It is -- it will be okay," she said, not believing her own condolences, which rang hollow in her ears as she glanced hopelessly down at Fred.
"Don't touch me!" Draco howled frantically, jerking aside. "Leave me alone, do you hear me? You don't have any business -- I don't need -- I didn't care about him --"
"Remus thought so highly of all his students," Molly offered, trying to make it better. "He spoke of you, once, and said you had definite talent in Defence. Harry -- dear Harry didn't think much of that -- but Remus --"
Clawing his face, Draco shook his head. "I hated Lupin -- I hated him! I hated his stupid class! He had no business being here anyway! He was a werewolf! He never should have come to Hogwarts!" he gasped, each word stabbing him painfully. He desperately wished it was all true, that he felt nothing for the dead man the way he felt nothing for the woman he recognised as a distant cousin, who rested beside Remus, or for the lifeless body of Fred Weasley.
Molly blanched, horrified. "No --"
"I hate you!" Draco screamed, collapsing onto the ground beside Remus. With his fists, he pummelled the ground, scarcely noticing as the sharp stones of the floor cut his knuckles, tearing away small bits of skin and coaxing smears of blood to drip down his fingers. Anguished, and completely at a loss as to how to cope with it, he slammed his hands against the floor until they felt numb. Hot tears cascaded down his face, dripping down his chin. "How could you die -- just -- just when I realised I need you?" he demanded of the motionless form before him. Scarcely realising that he was speaking out loud, Draco hung his head low. His hands scrabbled over Remus', desperate to feel the man's fingers tighten around his own. Opening and closing his mouth, Draco searched for something more to say, but he was spent. Dizzy, exhausted and aching, he drew back, biting his lip hard as he stared at the body of Remus Lupin.
Then, slowly, he rose.
"Draco!"
Molly Weasley's voice was urgent, but Draco was used up, and he did not turn when she called for him. It was only when she screamed his name, her tone frantic, that he glanced reluctantly over his shoulder, seeking her out with half-lidded eyes.
"What -- what have you done?" Molly stammered.
Confused, Draco followed in the direction of Molly's hand. She was pointing at Remus' still body, except it was not so still any longer. "My -- my -- Merlin," Molly whispered, awestruck and terrified, as she gaped at Remus. "Re -- Remus?"
Pressing one hand against his forehead in bewilderment, Remus sat up slowly, looking for all the world like a man who had just risen from an exceptionally long and tangled dream, so thorough a dream, in fact, that he was still undecided about what constituted reality. The colour had not quite returned to his face, though he looked slightly less blue. His eyes, glowing amber, were full of life; not the dead gaze of an Inferius or the pale white hue of a ghost. He nodded gingerly to Molly, working his body carefully as though he was not quite certain how to make it function, and then he smiled, feeling slightly more at home in his skin as his eyes met those of the young blonde staring at him in disbelief.
"Draco," spoke Remus smoothly, and his smile broadened as the young man ran to him.