A Black Wind Chapter 1: Decisions, a harry potter fanfic

07/22/2003

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling is the author of Harry Potter; Hayao Miyazaki is the creator of Spirited Away; Woo Hyuk Lee is the author of Demon Exorcist Chronicles. I am just borrowing (respectively) their characters, imagery, and concepts for my own amusement. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

Note: Major OotP spoilers. Please read Book 5 first.

A BLACK WIND
by Punisher

--- Decisions ---

Remus Lupin did not know why he thought the letter sounded suspicious. Ron had not noticed anything wrong, and truth to be told, the letter looked quite innocuous even after the second read. Remus, however, couldn't get rid of the nagging doubt that persistently tugged the nerves in back of his head.



	… How are you? I'd like to say I'm doing fine, but 
	since you won't believe me, I'll say I'm managing.

	I have headaches everyday, but you already know that.
	Oh, and I still have those dreams. They're rather
	entertaining. No really, they are.

	What are you doing now? No. I shouldn't ask that. You
	aren't allowed.

	Can't think of anything else to say. Good luck, 
	whatever you're doing.

	Harry

That was it. No real mentioning about his state of being except for some vague references about headaches, and certainly nothing about Sirius. But the letter sounded too impersonal; too contrived; too … fake. He had been warned to expect the thin veneer of sarcasm, which concerned him despite Ron's assurances, and understood the reluctance to tell his emotional state, which frustrated Mrs. Weasley. What troubled him the most, he would realize in retrospect, was the almost unnoticeable hint of bottled-up anguish.

And it was only the first letter.

Remus massaged the spot between his eyebrows. He was worried about Harry more than he could even admit to himself. And yet … what could he do about it? Harry best hope for security and protection was with his muggle relatives. He would be alive, as Dumbledore kept on stressing, alive. Fine. Harry would be alive in body, but what of his spirit?

He was contemplating this when someone quietly approached him.

"Checking up on your pup, Lupin?" a soft voice asked. "How touching. Quite a job isn't it, filling in the mutt's mangy shoes …"

The inevitable derisive snort was exhaled. Remus could even tell the number of seconds between it and the vitriolic comment.

"I'm sure the pup would appreciate your concern," continued the voice relentlessly. "And why wouldn't he? We are keeping him safe and locked up while you take care of all the … scary … details."

For some reason, that hurt him even more than anything. And why did he have to be reminded he was unemployed … again?

"Personally, I don't know why you bother. The brat has already proved himself a fool and a menace to all those around him…"

"Good day to you, too, Severus," Remus muttered.

He folded up the letter, put it in his robe pocket and walked away. All the while, he felt the satisfied smirk boring into his head.

---oo00oo---


	Don't have much to say. At least you know I'm still 
	living and breathing.

	Nothing's going on around here. The Dursleys aren't
	being horrible as they could have.

	As for my homework, I'll start sometime next week.

	Harry

"Mum, Dad, can we invite Harry over now?"

Remus looked up. He had been reading Harry's second letter in front of an open window when he heard the rather high pitched voice of Ronald Weasley coming from the kitchen. Ron had read the letter first, as it was addressed to him, and had looked quite agitated when he handed it over to Remus.

"Ron," said the tired voice of Arthur Weasley, "If I told you once, I told you a thousand times: we can't invite Harry over anywhere until the Order takes care of Grimmauld Place." He paused, hesitating. "And Dumbledore has to figure out what he is going to do with Kreacher."

Remus nearly dropped the letter he was holding. There he stood, his ears ringing and back rigid, dimly listening to the birds chirping from a far distance. He knew about this. He shouldn't get upset. He was not going to loose control. He was not a monster…

"DUMBLEDORE'S KEEPING THAT—THAT—THAT THING … ALIVE?!"

Remus froze. He hadn't imagined that Ron would be particularly happy to learn Dumbledore was yet to do anything to Kreacher, but the fierce, unchildlike rage in Ron's voice shocked him deeply. He waited, expecting that at any moment Mrs. Weasley would begin telling Ron off for being rude, but she seemed just as stunned at her son's reaction as he was.

It was Arthur who recovered his voice first.

"Ron—you don't—Ron, think about what you're saying!" he stammered. "Surely you don't want to kill—"

"It's his fault we went to the Department of Mysteries, it's his fault Sirius' dead!" Ron exploded. "Harry wouldn't've had to go through all this, if he hadn't squealed to the Malfoys!"

Silence fell, and Remus heard the oblivious birds again. Then he heard heavy stomping of feet. Presumably Ron was storming around the kitchen, fuming.

"That little—we should—I'd—I'll string that— (Ron shouted something unprintable) — by his testicles and feed him to the spiders in the Forbidden Forest!"

This broke Mrs. Weasley out of her trance. "Ronald Weasley, I'm going to wash your mouth out with soap!" she shrieked.

"It's your fault too!" snarled Ron, rounding on her. "If you didn't make fun of Sirius all the time, he wouldn't have been so keen to leave!"

With that, Ron stormed out the kitchen, slamming the door behind him with such force that the whole house shook. In his mind's eye, Remus could almost see Mrs. Weasley swelling with anger. After several heaving breathes, he heard her burst into tears.

"Molly, don't—he didn't mean it—don't cry …" the tight voice of Arthur drifted out.

But Mrs. Weasley cried all the harder, muffled though it became.

Remus was rooted to his spot, gripping the piece of parchment and staring at the wooden floor. Then a familiar shirt between two clenched fists fluttered into his view. He looked up. Ron was inches away from him, his face deep red and twisted into an expression of such rage that he was scarcely recognizable.

"What are you doing here?" he spat. "Do you care about Harry or not?!"

Remus felt as though he had been punched in the gut. Ron eventually stomped away, banging and radiating fury. But even after the Burrow had fallen silent again, Remus continued to stare at where Ron had been, his breath coming in short pants.

Do you care about Harry or not?! Voices screamed in his head. They sounded awfully like James. And Sirius. Do you care about Harry or not?!

Do you care about Harry or not?! Do you care about Harry or not?! Do you care about Harry or not?!

I do, Remus protested weakly.

THEN WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!

I…

WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!

WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!

WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!

Remus slumped against the wall, clutching his chest.

What was he doing here…?

---oo00oo---

"Shouldn't we at least send someone to talk with the Dursleys, Dumbledore?" asked Arthur Weasley. He was fidgeting with his hands. In his peripheral vision, Remus saw Dumbledore's beard quiver.

At length, he heard a deep sigh. "I wish I could say yes," said Dumbledore softly. Remus felt his heart drop sickeningly to his stomach.

Harry had studiously sent his third letter—status report—whatever—three days after the second one had arrived. Its arrival did not give Remus any more comfort than the two previous ones. Besides the letter itself, Hedwig had stared at him with an unmistakable air of accusation before taking off, not bothering with a reply. Remus tightened the grip around the small piece of parchment he held between his hands as he read it again. And again.


 Doing well. Not much to say.

 Please keep in touch.

 Harry

"He shouldn't be there," whispered Remus, his voice quivering against his will. He cursed his ears when he heard the hateful sniff of impatience.

"Keep your thoughts to yourself, Snape," Moody growled two seats away. "And don't tempt me!"

Snape apparently did not, as no one spoke for another minute or so. It didn't matter, though. Remus could seriously attest the point that Snape's sneer could be felt a mile away, even in the dark.

"Can you tell me anything new about the appeal from the Malfoys?" asked Dumbledore, breaking the silence.

"Quite a bit," Arthur answered immediately. He sounded very grateful at the change of topic.

Two weeks after Lucius Malfoy was incarcerated in Azkaban (which was now sans Dementors) Narcissa Malfoy, along with preparing an elaborate (and expensive) defense for her husband, made a discreet appeal to the Ministry of Magic to unfreeze the Black family's assets and property. Her reason was that since Sirius Black, the only surviving direct descendent of the Blacks, was virtually—and in all likelihood physically—dead, she wanted to have her mother family's mementos and use them to support her 'wrongfully imprisoned husband.'

"Fudge believes her of course," said Arthur in a disgusted tone. "Honestly, even after arresting Lucius in the Department of Mysteries, he thinks Malfoy was held under the Imperious curse and was forced to do things he normally wouldn't do."

Nearly everyone manufactured various noises of derision and disbelief.

"Fudge came to talk with me personally yesterday," said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep voice. "He asked if I had any clues to whether Sirius Black was … dead or not." Kingsley cleared his throat a bit too loudly. "I told him that there was no conclusive evidence to support either." An uncomfortable silence. "He wasn't very happy to hear that."

Remus made no comment. Neither did the rest of the Order.

"He did look really put out," continued Nymphadora Tonks at length. "And I heard him muttering something about talking to the Wizengamot and changing a few laws on how to determine the death of a wizard or witch—to include disappearances of seven months or something similar."

"He can't do that!" exclaimed Dedalus Diggle. "Do you know how many wizards and witches would be declared dead simply because they 'disappeared' a few months?"

"It will not happen," said Dumbledore firmly. "Certain laws cannot be touched, even by the Wizengamot or Minister of Magic. The Death of a wizard or witch is determined by body or spell—it has been this way since Merlin's time, and it shall remain so."

"But that's where the second problem comes in," said Arthur with a sigh in his voice. "The last time I checked, Narcissa was pressuring the Ministry to perform the Verifisio Funus charm. Fudge is all for it, but most of the high court is rather reluctant. It won't be long before they issue their consent, though. I mean, it's not standard procedure to perform the death verification spell on a … er, 'officially' escaped criminal, but other than that, they have very little reason to deny her." He sighed. "I afraid we're fighting a losing battle here, Dumbledore."

"We do not know that, not until the end," said Dumbledore serenely. "As for myself, I have a feeling that the situation is not a hopeless as it appears."

Snape snorted at that comment.

"Why is Narcissa raising such a fuss anyway?" asked Charlie Weasley. "And why do we have to keep her from winning the appeal? I mean, we'd loose Grimmauld Place, sure, but it's not like we'd leave anything for You-Know-Who to find." He tapped the table with his fingers several times. "Of course, we'd loose our headquarters, but—"

"It is not much about loosing Grimmauld Place than loosing our control over Kreacher we have to worry about," explained Dumbledore. "There is a little-known rule for house-elves, now all but forgotten to most wizarding folk: When the family dies out but the house-elf has not been freed, then the Elf's next master will be the new owner of the house the elf is bound to."

The members of the Order made noises of comprehension and alarm.

"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed. "As you might have guessed, if the Malfoys inherit Grimmauld Place, then Kreacher will be under no obligation to hide the secrets of the Order."

The dread in the air was almost palpable.

"But it is not as bad as it seems," Dumbledore assured. "If worse comes to worst, we do have the option to either perform the Fidelius Charm, or order the Hogwarts elves to do a house-elf equivalent of a memory charm on Kreacher." He sighed. "I devoutly hope we will not have to resort to such desperate measures. It is my belief that it would be for the best interest of everyone if we found Sirius' will, if such a document exist, and learned its terms."

"Hestia and I are working on that," said Kingsley wryly. "It was actually Fudge's idea. We're checking records and contacting lawyers. So far, nothing and no one showed up." He lifted his palms off the table and waved them around in a helpless gesture. "Who would have thought a house-elf could cause so much trouble?"

If Remus was capable of laughing, then he would have done so rather hysterically. The very thought of so many important wizards and witches squabbling over the ownership of a single house-elf was a concept so absurd as to be hilarious. But all humour had bleed out of him, so Remus made no sound. No one fought over Grimmauld Place for any of its virtues—they simply wanted to own the wretched elf Kreacher. And no one fought over Kreacher for any of his values as a servant—they simply wanted him for information.

All in all, the situation was hilariously bad.

"How are we keeping Kreacher in that house?" asked Bill Weasley. "I doubt he'd leave Grimmauld Place, but you never know … and I'm not sure if the usual house arrest spells would work."

Dumbledore sighed again. "For those very reasons, I was … obliged … to order several elves from Hogwarts to keep Kreacher under house arrest and constant surveillance." The silver beard shook. "The last time I checked, Dobby had Kreacher bound, gagged and furious."

Serves him right sneered a part of Remus' mind that sounded awfully like Sirius.

The Order discussed other issues and problems of varying importance. Remus zoned them out. He knew he should be listening, but he couldn't handle all these facts and people about the current Magical world when all he could think about was a boy who currently lived in the Muggle counterpart.

"That is all we can do for now," said Dumbledore at length. "This meeting has adjourned."

Everyone shuffled around and scrapped their chairs against the floor. Remus pulled himself out of his stupor and placed Harry's letter into his pocket. His fingers brushed against the two previous ones.

"Remus, may I have a word?" Dumbledore's voice called out.

I will not say yes. I will not say yes. I will not say— "Yes?" Damn, damn, damn!

"Any luck with your searches?" asked Dumbledore. He assumed the Headmaster was peering at him.

"Very little," Remus parroted dutifully. He kept his glance firmly on the white beard. "But I did get an interview for a book keeping job."

"Well," Dumbledore began, "one of my colleagues is looking for a research assistant—" a short pause— "perhaps you would consider…?"

"I'll think about it … sir," said Remus tonelessly. He quickly turned around.

"Remus?"

Remus stood still, but did not turn around again.

"We are all facing dark and difficult times. Some have already suffered directly at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Some had families torn asunder. And you—you have lost a dearest friend. But you must not loose hope. Though you must remember those you have lost, never forget those who are still by your side."

Remus started to walk away. But Dumbledore's last words still reached his ears.

"Remember the dawn. Though you do not see it, there is hope. Hope in the future."

---oo00oo---

Remus watched the red sun go down beneath the hills through an open window. The sky still radiated faintly golden-orange, bathing the trees with its rich color. Cool wet breeze whispered in the air. In the background, there was the sound of gentle clinking of dishes, running water, and several pairs of heavy foot steps.

But Remus had long since failed to register such things. He was waiting, and that was all he could focus on. Waiting, waiting, and waiting; waiting for that white speck to appear from the sky; waiting for a letter he should have gotten hours ago.

Was Hedwig being stalled? Did Harry forget? Was he completely loss for words?

Did he no longer care?

"Any sign of Hedwig?"

Startled, Remus turned to his right and found Ron and Ginny standing next to him. Both of them looked rather pale and haggard, and yet they peered at Remus with something akin to desperate hope. Remus felt like a villain and murderer when he shook his head.

"Oh," muttered Ron. Ginny nibbled her lower lip. "Okay."

Remus quickly returned to his watch. The skies were turning darker, and the golden-orange on the trees faded to dark green, merging into black. Some distance away, gray storm clouds had gathered around the horizon. Then he heard a dry clap of thunder. Storms are brewing tonight…

"Do you think he's all right?" Ginny asked apprehensively.

Remus looked at the two of them again. He felt his heart seize when he noticed the suspicious wetness around Ginny's eyes. Almost by instinct, a stream of nothings creped up to his throat, but died away before it could pass his lips. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't it. How could he give them assurances when he didn't believe them himself? Ron watched him struggle, and dropped his glance to the ground.

"I know," he muttered. "You wouldn't know either…"

They stood in silence.

Then Ron balled-up his fists.

"We—have—to—get—him—out—of—there!" he hissed through gritted teeth. "I don't care if Dumbledore thinks it's safer for him to stay with those Muggles—it's not right to lock him up like that!" He stomped his foot. "Why can't he see it? Harry's so miserable in there, he gets angry!" He swallowed convulsively. "I don't want to see another angry Harry anymore…" Then the rage came back: "would it kill to take the risk and let him heal for a change?!"

Ron savagely kicked the wall. And there he stood, silently fuming next to Remus, who couldn't breathe properly because of the lump in his throat. Dimly, he heard Ginny fervently muttering her agreement as if from a distance.

The wooden floor creaked loudly behind them.

"Ron, Ginny, your mother is calling you. Why don't you two go the Kitchen and see what she wants?"

The three of them whirled around and found Arthur Weasley standing right behind them. Ron and Ginny glared at their father mutinously. Arthur stared coolly back. At length, the two younger Weasleys stormed towards the Kitchen, banging and raging all the way.

When the last bang died with a house shaking 'BOOM', Arthur turned to face Remus.

"You should take a break, Remus. You look awful."

Remus did not meet his eye, and turned his face towards the window.

"No really," Arthur persisted. "You've been standing in front of this window all day…"

Remus just shrugged. An awkward silence fell between them. Remus commanded himself to ignore it.

"Have you sent a letter to him this afternoon?"

Remus nodded.

"Then he must have got it by now."

He knew that, so he nodded.

"It's only been three days. I'm sure he's fine."

How could he know? How could he be so sure? Many things could happen within three days.

"Malfoy's appeal will wrap up one way or another. We'll be bringing him over—soon."

He heard that often enough to make him feel sick just thinking about it. What was more, they said that to Harry last year, and they have left him in Privet Drive for more than four weeks. He couldn't call that 'soon'.

Arthur let out an exasperated sigh.

"Please, Remus," he pleaded. "You've been here for almost two weeks, but we hardly got a handful of words out of you! The children are getting worried…"

Did they? How intriguing.

"I know you're worried out of your mind—we all are! But you don't have to bottle it all up. It's not good for you or Harry—"

That stung deeply. But Remus still refused to turn, and drew into himself even more.

"I know you don't like the current arrangements." Arthur sounded extremely miserable. "I don't like it either. But between comfort and safety, I prefer safety."

Remus said nothing. He knew Arthur was trying to help, and he appreciated the sentiment. But he couldn't articulate his growing fear, his steadily increasing misgivings. But what was it that he feared? Why was he so anxious? All he knew was that it had something to do with Harry… and himself.

"Remus?"

Remus forced himself to look up. Arthur was looking at him with deep concern. For some reason, he thought Arthur looked old. With his face lined and vivid red hair dulled with streaks of grey, Arthur looked as though he aged another fifty years within a year. How many burdens does he carry? Remus wondered as he crumbled under the intent gaze.

Remus dropped his glance to the floor.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I… I just…" he waved his hands around helplessly. "I can't explain this." He shoulders slumped. "Can you excuse me for a moment? I—I need some air."

"……All right," said Arthur reluctantly. He moved his hand towards Remus as if he wanted to put it on his shoulder, but Remus backed away. Arthur put his hand down. "Come back when you're ready," he said instead.

Remus nodded and quickly left the Burrow.

---oo00oo---

Remus stumbled through the yard, passed the hedges, up the hill, and into the Weasley's orchard. He stopped in front of a gnarled apple tree and leaned his back against it with his head thrown back. When breathing became less painful, Remus sank to the ground and hugged his chest.

What are you doing here? Do you care about Harry or not?!

Ron might have only spoken out of anger, but Remus had been asking those two questions to himself ever since it had been uttered.

What are you doing here?

What was he doing here, indeed? He was staying at the Burrow while Grimmauld Place was fought over and he was unemployed. Just like the Order suggested, in fact. Duty bound him to answer the Order, and he was more than willing to do so. But that was only addressing what the people around him wanted or expected from him. What about himself? Why did he stay at the Burrow when his heart screamed to be at Harry's side?

He knew what he wanted: He wanted to protect Harry; to bring back the boy he remembered from two years ago; to relieve all the anguish and sorrow he could feel through the letters like faint wisps of smoke. But above all, he wanted to actually be there for him, not just be someone he corresponded with letters.

Were such intentions selfish? They were, actually, if he considered the rest of the Wizarding world. There were duties only he could perform, and going to Harry meant that he was relinquishing (giving up, a voiced whispered treacherously) such duties. How many nameless and faceless people would die while he tried to protect just one boy (who meant something to him) from sadness?

But then again, he might be only fishing for excuses. Like he did during his school years when he turned a blind eye at James' and Sirius' bullying of Snape; and when he distanced himself from his friends fifteen years ago; and, most recently, how he let himself drift away from Harry for the past two years. He never took the initiative to contact Harry, though he always waited for a little note from him (with shameful anticipation). It never came of course, and those letters of concern and inquiry were sent to Sirius (Don't think about it). Later, he had been convinced (still trying to convince himself) that Harry already had what he needed and wanted from Sirius (Stop it), and there was no need for a tag-along parent figure. But now … even a tag-along parent figure would do some good to Harry. At least he wouldn't sound so hollowingly lonely in his letters …

Remus sighed to the night sky. No matter how many times he agonized over the matter, he still arrived to the same damn conclusion. He had only two choices: He could either put Harry's needs first and go against the Order, or put the Order first and simply hope for the best. There was no middle road at this point, and once he chose his path there was no turning back. The question was, where should he go?

It was often said the choice was between what was right and what was easy. But what if both choices blurred on the lines of righteousness and neither was easy? Whatever others might think (particularly Snape), carrying out his 'selfish' choice was no walk in the park. As Harry could not stay in the Wizarding world, at least during the summer, Remus would have to give up magic and stay with Harry in the Muggle world.

No Magic … Remus felt his limbs and insides freezing up at the mere thought of it. No Magic. Two whole months without magic if he was lucky; for an indefinite period of time if he wasn't. No Magic. If the Ministry found him out, he would be one trip away from being locked up in a werewolf halfway house with his wand snapped. No Magic. Remus suppressed another shudder. No magic. He couldn't wrap his mind around it. No Magic. He was born and raised in the Wizarding world—magic was a part of his life. No Magic. Convulsively, Remus reached for his wand and held its wooden length. No Magic. He could still remember the time when he bought it—being utterly amazed at the fact he was allowed to have one at all—and vowing to never loose it. No Magic. No Magic. No. No. No …

Remus buried his face in his arms. From a distance, he heard more dry claps of thunder. The sound steadily drew nearer, and the winds were getting cooler and more wet. The gnarled apple tree behind him swayed, its dry leaves roaring as they fought against the wind together. Was a storm coming to pass? He did not know … he was too caught up with his confusion. Never before had he felt so torn in his life, where he knew what he could to do, but too terrified to carry any of it out … And in the mist of his confusion, past conversations he had with Sirius that now seemed as though they had happened in another lifetime surfaced.

Moony, you're a good friend and all, but you have to speak up here and now then.

What about you, Sirius? You're a good friend and all, but you have to stop and think here and now and then.

"You didn't listen," whispered Remus to the darkness. "You never listened. Even after Azkaban, you didn't change." He swallowed painfully. "But then … neither did I."

The night grew steadily colder, and dark shadows seemed to coil around Remus' shivering frame. But he took no notice. He was lost in his mind, heedless of the outside world. The surrounding orchard of apple trees might have been a barren wasteland for all that he cared. More than ever, he hated to be alone, but in the same time he couldn't bear the idea of company.

If anything happens to me, you take care of Harry, all right?

Don't worry about Harry, Sirius. And what makes you think something's going to happen to you?

I distinctly remember you accusing me for rashness …

For a very good reason, I'm sure. Don't worry so much. And as for if 'something' happens to you, what do you think I'd do, let him starve?

"Why did I have to right on that occasion?" Remus murmured, vaguely aware of his stinging eyes. "You should have stayed alive, if only to spite Severus. Or me. Why?"

For several hours, Remus kept his head buried in his arms, caught in a sea of fear and indecision that would not release his grieving mind. He shivered as the winds became stronger, and Remus wrapped his arms more tightly around himself, painfully conscious of the fact that the one person who might have been able to pull him from the misery was not there.

Eventually, exhausted by his grief, Remus pulled his head up and stared at the leaves above him. He could still see the stars in between, twinkling resolutely through the clouds. "Sirius," he groaned, wishing with all his might that he would wake and find this to be naught but a dream.