Nothing in particular to say …

Harry Potter does not belong to me …

Yay …

(11/26/2012: Minor edits)

# # # Chapter 3 # # #

Still coming to terms with the disturbing conclusion that the events of the previous night may not have been just a dream after all, and either way unwilling to break the promise he had made, Remus dragged himself down the hallway from the Shrieking Shack to the Whomping Willow and up towards Hogwarts proper.

He didn't notice anyone else out wandering the grounds; as the chill wind bit through his cloak like it wasn't even there, Remus acknowledged that getting back inside sooner rather than later sounded like an excellent idea. He often enjoyed his treks back to the school proper … but then, he also usually gave his inevitably exhausted and often fever-wracked body an extra day to recover.

Finally within sight of the doors to the Great Hall, he paused, leaning against a nearby fencepost to catch his breath.

"I see you're returning a bit early." Remus jumped. Was that really …? "Ordinarily we wouldn't be blessed with your presence until late this afternoon or early tomorrow morning."

He turned to look over his shoulder, surprised to see that it really was Snape, even though the voice was unmistakable. Bemused, part of him wondered how long the other boy had been following him unnoticed; another part of him noted that it didn't really matter anymore, now that Snape apparently knew the secret he had been trying to hide. And then, drowning all other thought, a rush of relief so strong it bordered on euphoria, for there the man was – just as greasy and irritable and rude as always. Alive. Unhurt. "What do you want, Snape?"

From the wary look that got, Snape had paid less attention to the words and more to the fact that, by his tone, Remus sounded positively happy to see him. "Why, nothing at all, Lupin. Just hoping for the health of whatever relative of yours it was that fell ill this month."

He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Remus to, after one last bracing breath, shove away from the fencepost and continue back towards the castle, shaking his head. He was pretty sure that was the closest the two of them had come to having a real, non-hostile conversation since … well, ever.

Maybe this is still part of my fever dream …

# # # # #

"I assume your cousin is on the mend?" Professor McGonagall asked politely when Remus entered the classroom a few minutes before class started. She was clearly startled, although she hid it fairly well – and no wonder, since as Remus' Head of House, she was one of the few who really knew where it was the werewolf disappeared to each month. She studied his face. "You don't look too good, Mr. Lupin. Would you like to go to the Hospital Wing?"

Truth be told, he was tempted, but he shook his head firmly. "No thank you, Professor. I promised someone I'd be in today."

"Who?" Who knew how to find you? Was her real question, no doubt.

He smiled. "A hallucination. But I'm still going to keep my promise."

Seeing him admit so openly to hallucinating obviously worried his professor, but with him so determined to stay, she didn't push the issue further. "Very well, Mr. Lupin. Find your seat."

"Nice to see you back so early, Moony." Peter whispered his greeting as Remus slid into a seat beside him – the two frequently sat together in classes that were set up for pairs, since of the four, James and Sirius were always together. "You won't believe what's happened since I saw you last."

I've got an interesting story or two of my own to tell, he thought, amused, but silent. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to share the story yet, especially given that his friends tended to be even larger mother hens than the teachers; speaking so matter-of-factly about a hallucination would worry them.

"Try me." Remus leaned his head on one hand and looked at his friend, allowing his amusement to show on his face.

Peter hesitated. "Well … I guess I'm not sure quite where to start." A glare. "And don't you dare say 'the beginning'."

Remus closed his mouth.

"Let's see … I guess it started when James and Sirius decided to do something about Snape." The blond frowned. "Something … permanent."

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Remus could see how the story was going to end. "They told Snape about the entrance to the Whomping Willow."

Peter blinked. "How did you know?"

Crap. Up 'til then, Remus had held out some small hope that he – that Harry had been wrong, had misconstrued the situation somehow. (Or, still the likeliest theory, had never existed in the first place.)

Wait. Harry. His head shot up and he stared at Peter, pain and exhaustion temporarily forgotten. "Harry is real? Really real?"

Peter squinted at the apparent non sequitur for a moment, then his face cleared. "So that's who told you." Hesitation. "… I … you might not want to take everything Harry said at face value. I mean, he was certainly right about … Snape and that situation … but I get the idea that he doesn't like James too much. So he might …" Peter floundered.

Poor Wormtail. Remus knew from experience how much his friend disliked being negative, particularly when his friends were involved. He tended to view the world through rose-tinted lenses at times. "… his relation of events might have been a bit biased?" Remus suggested.

"Yes, that's it, exactly!" Peter agreed with a grateful smile.

"Then I'm even more impressed. I got the idea that he didn't exactly approve of either of them, but he didn't say anything outright, and he downplayed his role. I don't know that he was planning on telling me about his role in the" how to put it? "events that night at all, until I started going all hysterical on him. Thinking that I really had …" He trailed off. The fear that conversation had sparked was still with him. Fear that someday he really would go out of control with someone innocent nearby.

He shook his head. "So who is Harry, really? A foreign exchange student? What year is he? What's his last name? When did he get here? Why …"

"Whoa!" Peter held up his hands, laughing. "I … we still really don't know all that much about Harry; he's been really close-mouthed about just about everything. He's not a student here, though."

"How can he be not a student? He was wearing a school robe … and he was far too solid to be a ghost."

"Not precisely a ghost … more a spirit. He possessed James in order to save Snape. Now, as far as we can tell, James is himself during the day, and Harry as soon as the sun goes down. They seem to be able to communicate, whoever's in control, though."

Laugh-lines creased Remus' eyes. "That must be … hard on James." Serves him right.

Peter nodded, trying vainly to suppress his own smirk. "You should have seen him at breakfast yesterday. It looked like Harry was on the verge of giving him a migraine."

"Good for Harry." Remus said firmly. "So, he's just Harry?"

"Just Harry." Peter nodded. "Aside from his first name, we know that his dad was a wizard and his mum Muggleborn, but he ended up raised by Muggle relatives – so obviously something must have happened to his parents. Maybe they were killed …"

Remus bit his lip. "I hope not. Though you're probably right … he gives me this feeling, like nothing ever goes right with his life. He looks a lot like James, but as far as personality is concerned …"

"It would be hard to find two people more different." Peter agreed. "Although I'm pretty sure Harry is or was or will be or … whatever, you know what I mean … a Gryffindor. He knew his way around the Tower too well."

"He also knew about the entrance under you-know-where." Remus added. "And even among students that have been here for all seven years, there are only four of us – well, five now, evidently – who know that particular secret."

"About that." Peter hesitated. "I'm sorry, Moony. It's my fault that the other two wanted to get rid of Snape that badly. They were only … well, as much as it grates to say, they were only trying to protect me."

Remus chuckled. "Don't we all want to get rid of Snape? Just … not quite that permanently." His face grew serious. "Now I'm going to paraphrase Harry at you: 'Even if something had happened – which it didn't, thanks to Harry – it would not have been your fault. If anyone's, it would have been James' and Sirius' fault for being so stupid.'"

Peter reluctantly smiled. "Yeah, I suppose."

Remus tossed that topic away with a shake of his head as he leaned towards Peter. "Now … if you don't mind, let's get back to gossiping about Harry."

# # # # #

When James entered the Transfiguration classroom, he stopped for a moment in the doorway, surprised to see Remus sitting on the far side of the room next to Peter – who had made a point of sitting as far away as possible in all the classes they had had since That Night – looking very worn, but still chatting away merrily. For a moment, he thought he caught something similar to pleased surprise emanating from Harry, before the spirit suppressed it.

He wondered where Harry had learned such emotional control. It was kind of creepy, the way it seemed that the spirit could almost obliterate his emotions when he felt it necessary, yet go back to being 'normal', if somewhat quiet, the next moment.

He sat by Lily, who greeted him with her usual welcoming smile. He had always valued his girlfriend highly, yet in the past few days he had discovered new levels of appreciation for her. When it seemed that all his friends were leaving him – Peter and, evidently, now Remus as well – Lily was steady as a rock by his side.

:Steady as a rock? How unpoetic.:

Another irritating thing about Harry was the way the annoyance seemed to be able to read anything and everything he was thinking, on a whim. When James was consigned to the back of their head, there were times when he could barely even keep track of the most basic of Harry's surface thoughts.

He narrowed his eyes. :Stop doing that. And whaddaya mean, 'poetic'? Don't tell me you're trying to steal my girlfriend, too!:

:Me and LILY? Gack!:

He got the impression that, had Harry had his own body, he would have been curled up in a fetal ball about now. :No! That is … that is just so incredibly wrong. There are not words strong enough to describe just how wrong that is.: A pause. :Hey, wait … what do you mean, 'too'?:

:Well, you've certainly done a good enough job at turning Wormtail and, evidently, Moony as well, away from me.:

Out of an obscure sense of insult, he added, :And what do you have against Lily anyway? Are you gay?:

Now that would be uncomfortable. What if Harry started fancying one of his friends? … That would be so uncomfortable, being forced to look at his best friends like that.

Erk. Come to think of it … what if Harry started fancying him?

:Not if you were the last man on Earth.:

Harry sniped, apparently choosing the thought James least wished for him to have seen, to respond to first. James wished, idly, that he could do that to Harry, or at least learn to shield his surface thoughts as well as Harry could. :Even if I was gay. Which I'm not. I don't think.: A pause. :Anyway. I'm certainly not the one whose actions drove the rest of the Marauders away. At least you still have Sirius. And good riddance to both of you.:

Harry's presence retreated into the back of his head, possibly to sleep. Goodness knew James felt tired enough, and he had had a full night's sleep the previous night. As alone in his head as he ever got anymore, he sighed. When had it all started to go so wrong?

Well … at least he still had Lily.

# # # # #

Although he usually ate lunch with his friends, some days James would end up staying after Transfiguration to chat with Professor McGonagall. This sometimes –more often recently than in earlier years – involved additional practical applications too, which had the twin benefits of being fascinating and helping him to maintain his position as the top Transfiguration student of the year.

Occasionally, the two of them became sufficiently involved in their discussions or practice that he missed lunch entirely – although the stomach of a teenage boy with a healthy appetite functioned as a pretty good alarm. James would swear up and down that the fact that he was staying extra late today had absolutely nothing to do with a niggling desire to avoid Remus. He was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors aren't cowards. Today's subject was just really interesting, that's all. So many potential avenues of deeper investigation – of course he had a lot of questions.

Eventually it was Professor McGonagall who called their session to a halt, pleading hunger of her own. As he assisted her in straightening up the last of the supplies, she paused to peer at him consideringly. "Is something the matter, Mr. Potter? You appear a bit ill-at-ease."

One of my best friends isn't talking to me, and I don't know how much another one knows, but if he knows the full story he probably doesn't really like me much right now either. Oh, and I have a crazy spirit living in my head who takes over my body at sunset.

He smiled his sincerest smile. "Oh no, I'm fine." The only thing she might be able to help with was the matter of Harry, and though he really wanted to see the spirit gone, he didn't think it was quite important enough a matter yet to be bothering his head of house about. Not when Harry seemed to be fairly benign so far. Extremely irritating, but benign.

The last of the straightening up done, he popped his back and then gathered his supplies, swinging his book bag over one shoulder. "Thanks for the extra help, Professor."

She smiled back. "It's been a pleasure, as always."

The halls were pleasantly empty at this hour – most people long gone from lunch to their next destination – and James was not terribly surprised (and traitorously, a bit relieved) to see that only Sirius was still in the Great Hall waiting for him.

"They've come and gone already." Sirius remarked, tearing into his food in a manner much tidier than it looked. It never ceased to amaze James just how much food the other boy could pack away, especially given that he had probably been eating off and on since the normal hour. "Remus was looking a little grey, and didn't eat much. I wonder what brought him back early."

That was a question James didn't feel like he could address on an empty stomach. Given the late hour, he opted for a smaller lunch than usual, and finished a commensurate amount quicker. Idly watching as his plate obediently disappeared, he shoved himself to his feet. "Knowing the way these past few days have been going," he finally commented dryly, "I have no doubt that it's somehow Harry's fault."

"And Snape's." Sirius added.

James blinked. Not that he didn't agree with the sentiment on general principles, but …

"Remember? It's always Snape's fault." Sirius' easy grin provoked a matching expression on James' own face as his best friend also stood. "Now come on, let's go get our homework over with. I'll help you with History if you'll share some of the new stuff McGonagall showed you. You stayed late enough today that I bet it's worth it."

James laughed and punched Sirius' shoulder. "When you're offering a trade, you really ought to offer something that's actually appealing. After seven years, you should know that I know that you're no better at History than I am." Of course, that in no way meant that he wasn't going to show off McGonagall's tricks eventually – Sirius always managed to find some way to worm them out of him.

Bickering companionably, they wandered back up to the Gryffindor common room, and it was there that James finally came face-to-face – or rather, face-to-back – with Remus. He froze for a moment, then smiled weakly. "Hey, Moony."

The werewolf also froze at the sound of his voice, and ever so slowly turned to fully face him. "When you were making your plans," he hissed, "did it ever occur to you to stop and consider my probable input?"

But … it was Snape! For some reason, though, that answer seemed less adequate than when he had used it before. Perhaps wisely, he kept his mouth shut.

Remus sneered, probably seeing the answer in James' face. "Next time you want someone torn to pieces, why don't you do it yourself?"

He turned on his heel and walked away.

# # # # #

"What year were you in?"

Harry looked up from his cross-legged position on the floor in front of James' Charms homework, still biting his lip a bit. "I was a couple weeks from graduating from fourth year." He grinned. "That is, assuming I didn't have to stay back because I failed Potions."

Peter laughed. "Amen to that. I live in constant fear of totally failing Potions. Of course, know-it-all Remus here has none of those sorts of problems." While coming from someone else it might have been intended as an insult, Peter used the epithet 'know-it-all' with enough clear fondness to show that he meant nothing of the sort.

"I have – had a friend like that." Harry corrected his tense, staring into the fire with a drawn face neither of them had seen before. "I hope they don't take my … death … too hard …" He shook his head, pointedly returning his attention back to the parchment in front of him.

"Do you want help? James stinks at Charms, so the quality doesn't have to be great … but it is still seventh-year curriculum." Remus offered, provoking a raised eyebrow from Peter, who could count on one hand the number of times he remembered Remus volunteering to help one of them with their homework.

"Heh." Harry looked mildly embarrassed. "You know, that hadn't even occurred to me. I may take you up on that offer later – if I stay around that long – but I don't really need the help for this assignment."

"Is that the essay on the Patronus Charm?" Peter sat up. "Forget Harry, Moony. I'd like your help!"

A choked sound caught both Marauders' attention and they turned towards their new friend with concern. Harry looked as if he was about to go into convulsions, he was trying so hard not to laugh. When after a few seconds his willpower failed him, the resultant peal of joyous sound surprised them both.

"What's so funny?" Peter sounded highly insulted, a sure sign that he was faking it.

Harry reached up under his glasses to wipe tears out of the corners of his eyes. "Nothing, really. You just reminded me of the way Ron and I are always begging 'Mione to let us copy her homework." Again he shook his head, as if trying to dislodge the memories from his mind. "For this one assignment, I'll help you, if you want it."

"Would you? I'm having particular trouble with this, even worse than usual." Peter abandoned the nearby chair he had been sitting in to join Harry on the floor.

"Remus? Would you like to join us?" Harry sounded almost hesitant as he motioned towards the rug. "There's plenty of room down here for you."

Remus worked alone. Yet … looking at Harry's hopeful face, how could he refuse? He had already made the mistake of letting the younger boy within his guard; now he was having an increasingly hard time trying to force his customary aloofness back into place.

Besides, what would it hurt, just this once? He sat down beside Harry and Peter and was immediately rewarded with beaming smiles from both of them. One thing itched at his curiosity bump, though … "Harry? Where did you learn about the Patronus? I don't think it's in standard fourth-year curriculum anywhere?"

A twisted smile. "Dementors like me." He paused, as if debating whether he should say any more. "I had to learn it in order to protect myself – the Ministry forced our Headmaster to allow them to guard the school last year. My DADA professor gave me private lessons."

Dementors like me. That statement made Remus even more certain that Harry's life had not been a good one – the awful things thrived on bad memories, and the more bad memories there were, the better.

But Harry was continuing. "Anyway. Are you supposed to perform the charm or just learn about it?"

"In previous years, I think they just had to learn about it, but with You-Know-Who becoming a greater threat, this year Professor Flitwick wants us all to learn how to cast the charm." Remus stated.

"In more peaceful times, it was barely even a sub-topic." Peter interjected. "The usual tactic was to give a lot of extra credit to those so anal as to actually bother to learn it. Or at least, that's what my brother said."

"You have a brother?" Harry was clearly surprised, more than Remus would have expected as a reaction to so little a thing as finding out that a person you had only recently met was not an only child. He turned to Remus. "What about you?"

"Older brother and a younger sister. Sarah, she's in third year, a Hufflepuff. Mark graduated … lessee, four years ago now." Peter clarified.

Remus shook his head. "My parents were planning on having another child, but it just never quite happened. Especially not after …" He trailed off. After I was bitten.

Peter and Harry both grimaced sympathetically. Peter had learned the story along with Sirius and James in second year; given that Harry had known that Remus was a werewolf in the first place, he wasn't too surprised the enigmatic spirit also knew the circumstances.

Now, how Harry knew as much as he did was an entirely different question; one he hoped to someday learn the answer to, but one he suspected he wouldn't get very far with if he just asked outright. "What about you, Harry?" In his quest to turn the subject to a more favorably one, his mouth ran before his mind had a chance to catch up. Stupid! Grew up with Muggles … his parents are probably dead, remember?

"I'm an only child. I suppose you could call my cousin Dudley a foster-brother, since I have lived with him ever since my parents died." A wry grin. "Though I'd rather you didn't."

Even though he had suspected as much, Remus still felt that tightening in his gut of horror/sorrow/sympathy/suppressed relief that it had not been him who lost a loved one. The feeling that made him want to rush home in fear that his parents would have somehow disappeared before he made it back. No matter how strained their relationship had been since he was bitten, he still loved them and knew that they loved him. "I'm sorry." Peter said quietly.

"I am too." Harry seemed entirely too calm. "Everyone – well, nearly everyone – I've talked to seemed to hold a very high opinion of them; they sound like nice people to have known." His mouth quirked for a moment; Remus wondered what he could possibly find funny about that thought.

"You sound so …" cold.

"… clinical? Uncaring?" Harry drew his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them as he focused his entire attention on the two Marauders. All three essays lay on the ground, abandoned for the time being. "I care. I would love nothing more than to have them back again, to have two real parents and a real home and maybe real brothers and sisters too; a real family. A normal family."

He closed his eyes. "I get so tired, sometimes, of the way my life is never normal. Even this …" he shook his head. "But no matter how much I care, I don't mourn their death 'properly'. I can't, because I don't have the right sense of loss. It is the loss of the family-that-might-have-been that I feel, not the loss of people that I knew and loved."

He gestured with one hand, helplessly. "I never knew them, was never given a chance to. They were killed when I was only fifteen months old; my only memory of them is of their voices the moments before they died, a flash of green light, and Voldemort's chilling, high-pitched laughter in the background."

He put that hand down on the stack of parchment that was his/James' essay. "Did you know that a large part of properly performing the Patronus Charm is truly wanting to? More than just summoning up the happy memory, it involves truly wishing for the Patronus to appear." Even given the variability of the flickering firelight, his eyes seemed several shades darker than before.

"That's why it took me so long to get it right. Because I hated the Dementors, but. But whenever they were near, I could hear my parents' voices – the first time I had ever heard them. Their last moments, yes – my father telling my mother to take me and run, my mother pleading with Voldemort, trying to bargain for my life if not her own – but still their voices."

"Before I could perform the Patronus, I had to find within me the strength to throw away that last connection to my parents. To deny the horror that spoke with my mother's and father's voices."

He grinned, suddenly whimsical. "Then again, the Dementors also caused me to lose a Quidditch game. I guess that shows where my priorities lie, huh?"

Harry plays Quidditch. I wonder which position? Remus filed that bit of information away for later perusal, noting that, from Peter's expression, he was doing much the same thing. Focused on the details, because the rest of the story he wasn't sure he could think about with aplomb just yet.

Purposefully, Harry picked his quill back up. "Well, now that I've indulged in self-pity, shall we get some actual work done?"

As the three of them bent back over their parchments, an earlier comment of Harry's drifted back into Remus' mind. 'Last year' … he learned to control the Patronus Charm as a third year? I wouldn't have thought that possible …

Then again, this is Harry. Sometimes, I wonder if Mystery isn't his proper middle name … whatever his real one ends up being. I get the feeling that he's been through and done a lot that most people his age – heck, even most people my age! – haven't.

Well, one thing's for sure … no matter how good he is at magic, to have learned the Patronus Charm at fourteen … or perhaps even thirteen, if he has a late birthday …

He must have had a damn good teacher.

21 January 2003
27 August 2011
28 August 2012