Disclaimer:Not JKR or Charles Dickens, though I thoroughly enjoyed turning Remus into Scrooge.
A/N: This fic was written for the LJ Metamorficmoon challenge, using the prompts: A Weird Sisters concert, Imperturbable Charm, Day of forgetfulness and Humor.
A Summer Sonata
Sirius Black was dead, that was a fact beyond doubt or reservation. Remus Lupin had witnessed his death personally, having seen him fall through the inescapable, yawning maw of the Veil at the Ministry of Magic a year prior. He was, as a matter of fact, deader than a doornail, or perhaps a coffin nail, except of course there was no coffin.
Despite his partners' deaths (for there had been others lost besides Sirius) Lupin had never removed their names from the projects they had worked on together. The Marauders' Map, for instance, still bore the names "Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs" with pride, and still functioned as well as it had when they'd created it. Had anyone these days referred to the Marauders, Lupin would answer for all of them, for it was all the same to him.
Remus, always a restrained and reticent sort, had become more so in the year since Sirius's death. He threw himself into his duties with single-minded determination, disregarding any activities that may have brought him delight. No one ever stopped him in the streets to exchange pleasantries or ask the time. Indeed, many crossed the street or ducked into alleyways simply to avoid meeting up with him on the walking path. He had a frosty look about him: No warmth seemed able to thaw him, and cold seemed to have no effect on his spare frame, perpetually furrowed brow or thinly pursed lips.
As a known werewolf, he expected such treatment. But what did it matter to him? It was how he preferred it, he told himself, repelling all efforts at human sympathy from acquaintances.
It so happened his duties had brought him to Hogwarts one evening in early summer. Dumbledore had enlisted his assistance patrolling the school. Death Eaters had stormed the halls, and in the melee, Dumbledore himself had been killed.
Lupin left the school alone with his thoughts that night. He took a meager meal in a melancholy tavern and, his mind fuller than his stomach, went home to bed. He lived in quarters which had once belonged to his deceased partner, in a gloomy suite of rooms.
The fog hung so thickly about the old gateway to the Black house, it seemed dementors hung about the threshold, breeding in baleful bacchanalia.
For a disconcerting moment, the knocker seemed to shift into a familiar face, but Lupin pushed the ludicrous thought aside with a muttered epithet and entered, closing the door with a bang.
The sound echoed through the house, and a familiar shrieking pealed, though it did not make the house any less lonely for the noise.
He ascended the stairs, reached his room and entered, closing the door. With a flick, he'd lit a small flame in the hearth. He stared into the fire before his gaze drifted to the mantel tiles. In the shadows and smoke cast by flickering flame, the same familiar face seemed to form. He shook off the gloomy pall with a muttered, "Peppermint Humbugs!"
As though his utterance had triggered something altogether more horrifying than mint candies, the bell in his room began clanging, as did all other bells throughout the house. Whether minutes or hours, Lupin could not say, but when the din subsided, he became aware of a more worrisome sound. A dragging, clanking noise began far below, deep within the house, creeping nearer and nearer, thumping and banging up the stairs until it burst through his very door.
"Sirius?" Remus stared incredulously at the hazy shape before him. For it was Sirius: the lank hair, steely gray eyes and wizard robes he remembered so well. He noted the chains around his middle, wrists and ankles, and a scarf tied round his head and chin.
"Yes, t'is I." Sirius mournfully clinked his chains, helping himself to a chair.
"Since when are you a ghost?" Lupin asked skeptically.
"It seems the merest blink to me," Sirius began hollowly, "but I suspect it has been seven years."
"No, actually," Lupin corrected. "Just the one."
"Well it's not like I have a watch," the spirit said, his glare full of reproach. "And no time spent on regrets makes up for wasted opportunities in life!" He said, dramatically flourishing his chains.
"You took every opportunity life presented you with," said Lupin, raising a brow. "And a fair few it didn't." He stared at the spirit closely. "Are you a ghost all the time? You didn't really seem the unhappy soul type."
"No, no, I came back just this once to give you a warning," said Sirius hastily, clearing his throat before continuing in a sepulchral voice, "Heed the warning! You will soon be visited by three spirits! One at a time." He heralded his announcement with much clinking and jangling of chains.
"Three?" Lupin frowned. "When am I supposed to sleep? Can't they all come at once and get it over with?"
"No, and if you don't shut your incessant whinging and pay attention, you'll be doomed to share my fate," Sirius growled.
"Just what is your fate?" Lupin asked, not entirely desperate with curiosity.
"Eternal bachelorhood," said Sirius, melodramatically covering his eyes with the back of his hand.
Lupin snorted, shaking his head. "Have you a purpose for the chains and headwrap?" he asked.
"Ah." Sirius gazed heavenward, scratching behind his ear. "Emmeline and I were playing dentist. She said it's a, erm, Muggle game."
Lupin raised a brow. "And the chains?" he prompted.
"Just for fun," Sirius wiggled his eyebrows. He took a step back and seemed to stumble, his body arching almost gracefully, in slow motion, tumbling backwards and falling, falling through the window, causing the curtain to waver gently as if a breeze had tugged at it.
Lupin grimaced. "Sirius, you have got to learn to stay away from curtains."
ooOOoo
Lupin awoke to the sound of clock chimes. Twelve gongs resounded through the ancient manse. He knew this to be impossible, for he had not gone to bed until past two. He was not overly concerned, and merely dismissed the reliability of a grandfather clock that continually shot bolts at passers-by.
He considered again the words of Sirius Black as he absently listened to the clock chime the quarter hour three separate times. He briefly entertained the idea of rising to find a book when he heard a single resounding gong that marked the early hour.
He waited expectantly. With a sudden flash of light and yanking of bed curtains, Lupin found himself face to face with an unearthly being. It was a strange figure, like a child – yet not like a child so much as an old man wearing women's garments. Its hair was white with age; and yet the face had nary a wrinkle and glowed with good health. The arms were long and strapping, and like the feet, were bare. The tunic was radiant white, as if lit from within. In one hand was a curious bouquet of fresh holly and summer flowers. Strangest of all was the beam of light emanating from the top of the spirit's head. His hat was tucked under his arm.
"Are you the first spirit Sirius mentioned?" Lupin asked.
"I am," the voice gently replied, sounding far away. "I the first of the three Wyrd Sisters of fate to visit you tonight. I am Urth, Norn of the Past, although you may know me best as one of the three faces of Hecate, for I am also Luna, the maiden phase of the moon."
"You look rather like Albus Dumbledore," Lupin commented slowly, his brow furrowed.
'Urth' gave a swift glance around the room, leaning in with a conspiratorial air and a telltale twinkle in his eye. "Perhaps, but who am I to pass up such a delightful opportunity as an evening escapade?"
The spirit placed his hands on each of Lupin's shoulders, appraising him closely. "I hope you are not grieving overmuch for me," he said gently. "Death is the next great adventure, and while not a true spirit, I am not as far departed as some would believe."
Lupin blinked quickly, pressing his fingers to his lips as he tipped his face ceilingward. He cleared his throat to dislodge the lump that had formed there before asking, "So you are here to talk about the past? Shall I fetch tea, perhaps?"
"Not just the past," said the spirit, smileding genially. "Your past. Come." He placed a palm upon Lupin's chest.
Together, they passed through a solid wall and emerged in a country lane. They meandered along the path, and Lupin exclaimed in delight several times. "Just there! The tree I used to climb, until I fell and broke my finger. And there! The pond where I nearly drowned learning to swim!"
They approached a comfortable-looking bungalow. Upon sight of it, Lupin fairly crowed with excitement. They neared the home and Lupin hastily moved to peer through a window. "My old schoolroom," he said, smiling fondly. After a moment, he noticed a small boy alone at a desk, reading. "Ah, such tales I read! The friends I discovered and places I visited." He continued to observe the boy, who –as if sensing interlopers – put down his book and neared the very window from which they watched him. He knelt on the window seat with his elbows on the ledge. Loneliness was etched into his small face, and sadness glimmered his eyes.
"It was difficult to always be alone." He paused then, staring down at his own feet. "I had forgotten."
Urth prompted him. "What is the matter?"
"It's nothing." Lupin pressed his lips together. "Only… I wished for a moment that I had spent time with Harry as he grew." He paused. "He was better off without me in his life, though, I'm sure..."
They turned, but rather than facing the country lane they had wandered, Lupin was surprised to see the familiar streets of Hogsmeade. They slipped through the wall of the Three Broomsticks and Lupin saw faces that made his heart leap. "James! Sirius! Peter…" And then he noticed a young version of himself, quite happily using his wand to help clear the floor of tables and chairs.
Someone started music playing and young people clapped and tapped their toes to the rhythm. Before long, a sprightly tune began and couples began to take to the floor, robes swirling and billowing as they twirled. "Ah, there," he said, pointing. "James and Lily." He smiled as he watched, reflecting, "James convinced her it was her duty as Head Girl to dance with him at the Halloween Feast and they were inseparable by Christmas. We came here after the Leaving Feast. James had somehow talked her into sneaking into Hogsmeade with us."
They stayed awhile, enjoying the happy scene. In a dimly lit corner, a couple he did not recognize caught his eye. The man was dark with silver accents highlighting his hair. A young woman smiled adoringly up at him, leaning forward to murmur something that made him laugh.
"An unlikely pair." Lupin inclined his head to indicate the couple.
"Where is the rule that makes happiness unlawful as we grow older?" the spirit asked. "You believe it preferable to have them both miserable and alone because of his age?"
Lupin gave the spirit a sharp glance, but before he could form a retort, the spirit guided him to another – and very recent - scene.
There were people gathered in a hospital room, sitting and standing near the bedside of a young man who was being tended by his fiancé.
"You see!" A strained voice on the other side of the room carried to his ears and twisted his stomach. "She still wants to marry him, even though he's been bitten. She doesn't care!"
"It's different…" Lupin heard his own voice trail off in a near whisper.
"But I don't care either, I don't care!" The slip of a girl had seized the front of his robes and shaken him. "I've told you a million times…"
Lupin's jaw clenched as he watched the scene unfold. "What right have they to marry? There would be nothing but pain, disappointment and poverty."
"True wealth cannot be measured in Galleons, but by the heart," Urth chastised. Poverty within is as dire as poverty without." The spirit gave him an unfathomable look and as the mists swirled again, Lupin heard the echo of Professor McGonagall's voice: "Dumbledore would be happier than anybody to think that there was a little more love in the world." Lupin found himself alone again in his bedchambers, where he collapsed, exhausted, on his bed.
ooOOoo
The clock gonged again, startling Lupin from his slumber. Remembering Sirius's words, he sat up, waiting and watching for the second spirit. The minutes ticked by, and Lupin frowned. Finally, when the clock chimed the quarter hour, he arose from his bed. The moment his hand touched the knob on his door, he heard a soft, feminine voice call his name.
He turned to behold the largest woman he had ever seen. She was bedecked in voluminous emerald green robes trimmed with white fur and jewels fairly dripping from her ears, neck and fingers. A wreath of holly and roses adorned her brow.
"I am Verthandi, the second of the Wyrd Sisters. I am Norn of the Present. You may know me as Hecate's second face; Diana, the goddess of the mother phase, or full moon."
"Are you from France?" Lupin inquired. "You resemble someone I've met."
The spirit gave him an imperious look that discouraged questions. "Touch my robe."
Lupin shrugged slightly and complied. No time like the present, he thought wryly.
With a gentle twist, he found himself gazing upon a scene in a home he knew well. Arthur and Molly Weasley had arrived at the Burrow, presumably after leaving their eldest son in a hospital bed at Hogwarts.
"Bill won't be coming home for some time," Mrs. Weasley said sadly, brushing soot from her shabby robe.
"No," her husband consoled. "But Charlie, Fred and George are here now, and Ron and Ginny will be home soon. And we'll have Harry as well."
Mrs. Weasley nodded and determinedly began bustling around the kitchen, readying a meal. She was soon joined by a pair of young Weasleys who were whirlwinds of motion as they noisily drew up chairs while their elder brother set the table.
As the family gathered and claimed seats, Mrs. Weasley brought out roast chickens and a bowl of potatoes whipped to glorious fluffiness. She surveyed the table with some small amount of pride as she watched her family fill their plates and appetites. When the meal had all but vanished, she brought out a treacle tart that had her brood moaning in anticipation.
Before cutting into the tart, Mr. Weasley held aloft his chipped tea mug. "To Dumbledore, and the Order of the Phoenix." It was shortly joined by battered goblets and a glass that had once been a jelly jar, sloshing pumpkin juice as they clinked together following the others' murmured "To Dumbledore." They surreptitiously glanced at the ominously empty spaces around their table with trepidation, but gave one another fortifying looks all the same.
As Lupin and the spirit departed, Lupin wondered aloud how it was possible for such a family to find any happiness in the world. "Their robes are patched and frayed, their shoes worn, yet despite their hardships and the inevitable peril ahead, they persevere. They've been through war before. They brought seven children into the world during that horrible time!" He shook his head in disbelief.
The spirit smiled enigmatically. "They are Gryffindors."
In a moment the scene swirled and flickered past other families together at other tables, finally pausing to observe a morose young woman, dragging her feet as she walked slump-shouldered and quite alone down a dark sidewalk, seemingly heedless of her surroundings.
"That's not safe," Lupin exclaimed, aghast. "She cannot be so miserable and angry that she neglects her own safety and welfare."
"You have forgotten. She does not care," the spirit reminded, repeating, "She does not care."
With a flick of a robe, the scene vanished again, to be replaced with his bedroom once more.
Lupin noticed a scrabbling paw emerge from under the spirit's robes. "What have you there?" he asked distractedly.
The spirit moved the fabric aside without hesitation. Two house-elves crouched under the voluminous layers, eyes aglow and skin like dried and crumpled parchment.
"Are they yours?" Lupin asked.
"No," the spirit replied, looking down at them. "They are yours. One is named Martyr and the other is Altruism. Beware them both, for allowed to roam at will, are capable of great harm."
"How is it possible for either to be a threat?" Lupin scoffed.
"You hold them too dear," the spirit replied. "Even good things can be detrimental when they are overdone and unnecessary."
Lupin regarded his scuffed slippers, ridiculously recalling the poetic warning from his old Herbology professor. "Dragon dung makes flowers fit, but too much makes a pile of…" Lupin glanced up to speak to the spirit, but she was gone. Down the hall, the clock gonged again, twelve times. He gazed upwards, noting spiders spinning, suspended from the ceiling. When he brought his eyes down again, he beheld the approach of the final, and most frightening, phantom.
ooOOoo
The figure glided ever nearer, hovering in the darkness, filling Lupin with the prickly dread that accompanied the proximity of a particularly hungry dementor.
"Are you are the Norn of the Future Fate, by the name of Skuld?" Lupin asked. "Also known as Hecate's third face, the Crone moon?"
The spirit did not answer, but the black fabric folds that formed the hood wrinkled, and seemed to indicate an affirmative answer.
"Lead on then, spirit," said Lupin grimly. "I know you have a lesson to teach and time is of the essence."
The spirit turned and Lupin followed in its shadow. As before, the bedchamber faded, but this time was replaced by a busy street in London. He saw a familiar face that gave him a pang. The dark, unruly hair and wire-rimmed glasses were the same, but the form was no longer that of a boy. Here was a full-grown man, having a conversation with a peer.
"I don't know the details," Harry said. "I just know he's dead."
"Will there be a funeral, do you suppose?" his friend asked.
"I don't know," Harry responded with a shrug. "I suppose I will find out. If nothing is planned, I will have something put together for him, since he was a friend of my father's."
A chill stole through Lupin's heart at those words. Who was this dead friend of Harry's father? Hagrid, perhaps? He looked around for some older version of himself, wondering over the answer.
The spirit shook its garment and the scene faded, replaced by the inside of a flat Lupin knew well. A middle-aged woman sat alone on the bed, sorting items in a shoebox. Photographs, knick-knacks and mementoes spilled over the sides. A carefully pressed flower, a scrap of paper from a fortune cookie and a ticket stub from the cinema all found their way to the trash bin next to her dangling foot. He noted several colourful shirts had been binned as well, along with an assortment of bright hair clips and socks. He gave the woman a closer look and was distressed to note her brunette locks were pinned back in a chignon nearly as severe as McGonagall's.
"Take me away from here," he commanded the spirit.
The spirit obliged, and the pair next found themselves overlooking a cemetery. The spectre wound its way through the graves and Lupin followed in its wake, though his feet became most unbearably heavy and unwilling. The spirit halted quite suddenly, and Lupin felt a chill that may have been from brushing the edge of its cloak, or perhaps a foreshadowing of the sight he beheld a moment later.
A small stone sat off-kilter, a good bit away from the others. Lupin crept forward, dreading the name he knew he must certainly read upon the plaque. Still, seeing his own name engraved in the granite knocked the breath from his lungs. "No," he gasped wildly. "Spirit! Tell me the future is not so set in stone as the names on these monuments! Why show me these things if there is no hope?" Lupin clutched at the spirit's robe. "Please, tell me I may yet change the shadows you have shown me!"
The spectral hand shook slightly. In his agony, Lupin grasped it tightly, struggling to hold fast even as the spirit fought to free itself. With one last plea to have his fate reversed, Lupin held out his hands in entreaty. The spirit paused, hovering for a split second before collapsing in upon itself.
ooOOoo
Lupin gasped as he jolted upright, fingers tightly wrapped in the bed curtains of his very own bed. His old Headmaster's voice echoed a reproach in his mind, "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."
"No, sir, I will not forget again!" he fervently vowed to the empty air.
He leaped to his feet, dressing speedily in his best garments. He raced out of doors and Apparated to another part of London, rushing out of the alley only to promptly collide with a pedestrian. "My apologies, sir!" he cried, helping the stranger to his feet. "Could you tell me the date?"
The answer heartened him, and he raced up a set of narrow stairs to his destination. He knocked at a door, holding his breath, listening anxiously for the pad of soft footsteps on the other side.
"Who's there?"
"It's Remus," he said, an earnest tremor in his voice. "Please, may I come in?"
"What's my favourite haircolour?" asked the suspicious voice from within.
"Light brown with streaks of grey?"
The door opened a crack. "Why are you here?"
"I want to talk to you, and to apologise. I've been wrong – so terribly wrong – and I'm more sorry than I can say. Please, may I come in?" he implored.
She slowly opened the door enough to admit his entrance, closing it firmly behind him.
"What finally got through your Imperturbably thick skull?" she finally asked as he stood before her, hat in hand.
"The Wyrd Sisters haunted my dreams all night," he said gravely. "They were very persuasive." He reached for her hand and tried to project his sincerity through his gaze. "Do you have it in your heart to forgive and forget?"
His breath caught as she gave him a measuring look. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together before turning her back on him, pulling her hand away. His stomach plummeted… until he heard Tonks mutter security charms on the door. She turned back to face him, arms akimbo, challenge glinting in her eyes.
"Does this mean I can hire them to play at our wedding?"