Chapter 4 – Wrapping Vines
Ginny watched amiably from the front doorstep as Harry sat relaxingly in the knee high grass. Genevieve pranced excitedly about him, shooting questions his way whenever something curious popped into her head, no matter how silly it seemed to ask. Though the day was young, Ginny could see already that Harry's energy was being drained by all the attention, Genevieve could run for hours so it seemed, though she dared not stop it. Harry was enjoying himself immensely despite looking a little out of breath. Eleven years of catching up between father and daughter looked destined to go on until either one of them collapsed… so far that appeared to be Harry, though he made a good enough show to keep up with the young girl, who looked eager enough to learn all of her father's movements since the day she was born.
Harry turned his head towards Ginny and gave her a delighted smile, which she returned happily. All those years alone had served her well it appeared, Harry's homecoming was the happiest thing that had happened for some time. At last her family was back together… at least, now it was a family, where once hope dwindled on the prospect of him ever coming home again, and that was before Genevieve was even born. Now with the morning sun peaking above the horizon, and cool air caressing her face, Ginny could feel a sense of contentment that she'd feared was long since lost. Father and daughter were a match made in heaven, and she could only imagine how he must feel now to know that his life held meaning. A smile formed at the corners of her mouth.
'What's Hogwarts like Dad?' Genevieve asked playfully, her big green eyes as wide as saucers. Harry laughed heartedly as she smiled, propping himself up. He'd never felt so alive in his life.
'Hard to say,' he answered truthfully, his own memories of the school swirling dully about in his head, 'It's been a long time since I went there. Let's see…' and he began counting the years with his fingers. Genevieve broke out laughing as her father quickly lost count and started all over again, scratching his head in confusion.
'Never mind Dad. Mum says it's a great place, I can't wait to go there myself!'
Harry chuckled at his daughter's enthusiasm.
'You'll love it, I guarantee. But I don't want to hear you being sorted into Slytherin you understand?!' And he waved a casually admonishing finger at his daughter, who went cross eyed watching it wave from side to side, '… But I don't think that will happen, you're a good kid. Try to go in Gryffindor, that's my old house. Your mother's too.'
'Really?! Both of you! Wow.' Genevieve looked to Harry with seeming awe, her mouth hanging open unconsciously until she snapped it shut again with a giggle. 'I better make sure I go into Gryffindor then. Okie dokie!'
'That's my girl.'
Harry smiled again, and ran his fingers through her hair, tinges of red and black shining in the morning sunlight, before the two of them began laughing until their throats grew sore, dropping into the green grass. He couldn't tell how many years it had been since he'd laughed so hard. Or laughed at all for that matter. Perhaps it was a sign of things to come.
Ginny stood over him, blocking out the sun's rays. She looked even prettier there than he'd last remembered, the light forming an angelic aura about her as she stood there, a smile broadening on her face.
'Having fun you two?' she asked curiously, Genevieve staring up to her, stray blades of grass sticking out of her hair.
'Yeah, Dad was telling me about Hogwarts… and you know, how you two were both in Gryffindor together. Did you two become like, girlfriend and boyfriend during school or something?'
Ginny looked slightly abashed by the girl's question, but resumed her grin nonetheless, her composure returning. Her daughter had no subtlety at times, only curiosity. Though her query wasn't far off the truth.
'Yes actually. I think… Harry was it sixth year we got together? I believe it was.'
Genevieve swung her head about to face her father, who'd sat upright to answer his wife.
'Yeah, that sounds about right. I remember it well.'
Ginny blushed slightly, raising a hand to her cheeks. The man could sweep her from under her feet with just a few words at times, no matter how innocuous they may seem. It was a talent the man had over her when it was least convenient, though she'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be under his spell. That was how long he'd been away from the family. A good thing that affair was all over at last.
'You do eh?' Ginny asked off handedly, raising a suspicious eyebrow, 'How much do you remember exactly? That was a long time ago.'
Harry looked curiously to her, as though searching for a trick to her words, but smiled back mischievously all the same, offering little more than a shrug for an answer. Ginny remembered then a piece of advice her mother told her of men when she and Harry were still eyeing each other hopefully. "A man who claims to know nothing, often knows more than he lets on…" Ginny eyed the man askance as she tried to figure out what she'd meant exactly. Though truth be told, men were a mystery in themselves… sometimes.
Looking to her right, she saw Genevieve sitting quietly next to Harry, a rather confused expression set about her face.
'What's wrong?' Ginny asked her curiously, at a loss to her daughter's sudden change in temperament. Genevieve sat still a bit longer, looking completely absorbed in her own world, before she jerked her head suddenly, as though just realizing she'd been spoken to.
'Oh… what? Nothing!' she answered a little too quickly, a small blush coming to her cheeks. Harry turned his head to her, focusing his attention on the young girl before him.
'Nothing?' he questioned, his brow furrowing slightly at the baffled look on Genevieve's face, though his boyish grin persisted.
'Well… I don't think it's anything to worry about, but…'
'Oh Genevieve, darling, I really think you shouldn't…' Ginny looked to her slightly worried, a small spark of realization wiping over her face as her daughter glanced between them. But Harry wouldn't have it, and leant closer to her until he was almost touching her nose.
'It's alright, really. If there's a question on your mind I'm happy to give you the answer.'
Genevieve stared somewhat idly at Harry's smiling face, casually noticing the lightning bolt scar that laid seared into his forehead, partially hidden by scruffy black hair, before she took a deep breath.
'Well… it's just that, you and mum met at Hogwarts right? But then you married a long time after you both left. Then I didn't see you for eleven years after that. Where were you? What were you doing then? And why weren't you with mum when I was born? Surely whatever you were doing couldn't have been that important! I hear her sometimes, crying in the night, calling for you…' and she trailed off as she looked at Harry's face.
Ginny looked grimly to her husband, who now looked spellbound where he sat. She was afraid something like this was going to happen, right from the moment he came home, and hurriedly rushed to Genevieve's side, holding her by the shoulders. The ever present smile on Harry's face suddenly faltered, his expression darkening to a grim mixture of sadness and remorse as his head dipped low to the ground, skin paling to a dead white.
'I… just wanted to know…' Genevieve finished, but her own face began to pale at that moment as well, utter confusion flowing over her features as she got up and took a hesitant step backwards. Harry had begun muttering to himself in a barely audible voice, his fist opening and closing every so often as silent tears flowed down his cheeks. Ginny felt the air about her constrict slightly, becoming heavier with each breath as she stood, and she gradually pulled Genevieve away step by step. Harry's gaze laid firmly attached to the ground where he sat motionless, the two females eyeing him tensely from there vantage point.
'Genevieve…' Harry spoke shakily, tearing apart the silence about him, 'Go and wait in the house please.' Genevieve looked questionably to him and back to her mother who seemed just as taken aback by the request.
'But Dad…' she pleaded, trying in vain to break away from her mother's white knuckled grip on her.
'Now!' Harry finished, his voice beginning to crack slightly in strain. Genevieve darted back a step in surprise, clear hurt spreading over her face, and barely registered the icy slick of sweat covering her father's skin before she turned and ran back home, the red bow of ribbon in her hair flying behind her as she went. Ginny stood there mouthing uselessly for a moment, before she knelt down at Harry's side, placing a comforting hand on his back.
'I'm sorry Harry,' she spoke softly to him, her voice more like a whimper than an apology, 'Genevieve can get curious at times, she doesn't know what not to ask. Not yet. She's young Harry, don't hate her for that.'
Harry sniffed slightly, raising his head to meet Ginny's eyes. The sight was more than she had been hoping to see of her husband. Harry's face was deathly pale, and glistened in the dull light about them. Ginny only realized then that the seemingly clear sky had roiled most quickly with dark, storm clouds, that threatened rain of a sort. But she kept her eyes firmly on Harry as he sat there and touched his cheek. Ginny drew back at the feel of his skin, that had undertaken a stiff, icy chill to it, and couldn't help but feel sympathy for him despite having sent his daughter away.
'No Ginny,' Harry answered her a choked voice, another tear beginning to roll down his face as he spoke, 'I don't hate her at all. It's understandable that she'd want to know… hell, she wouldn't be my daughter if she didn't at least try.' That last bit sounded a little too rueful for Ginny's liking, and she wasn't entirely sure she was meant to hear that part, but Harry went on, 'It's just hard Ginny… my past is something I'd prefer to forget if I could, Genevieve just caught me unawares I guess… oh, I shouldn't have sent her away like that. Damn I'm paranoid!'
Ginny rubbed his tense back idly as he fought the urge to abandon all respect and cry openly. She could feel his thoughts to a certain extent, and she considered it women's intuition, as her mother had always spoken so fondly of. Regardless of that though, she felt sympathy for him nonetheless. But what fixed her most what that stare of his. She could remember with distinction when Harry's eyes were the deepest shade of emerald green she'd known, so unique compared to her own family of predominate shades of brown. But now, after so long apart, Harry's eyes had dulled to a mournfully grey, that of all things, seemed to radiate an absence or loss of life, where once it had been abundant.
'No you're not Harry,' Ginny spoke soothingly to him, as he eyed her doubtfully, 'You're just tense that's all. But the last few years have been hard for you Harry. I understand…'
At that, Harry's face hardened so that he could've shaved slices off a rock, his gaze turning to ice. Ginny felt naked under that stare, and unwittingly inched back from him as he seemingly stopped breathing, the air about them thickening further until it became very obvious, though it never affected him in the slightest.
'You understand?' he asked softly, which sounded more dangerous than she'd hoped from him, yet his gaze never wavered, 'You really understand?!'
Looking to him with a feeling of exasperation, Ginny didn't know whether to nod her head or shake it grimly, such was the short amount of expression that he showed on his face. She chose instead to sit mute, as his eyes began drilling holes into her head.
'No Ginny, somehow I don't think you understand, and perhaps you wouldn't want to if you knew…'
'What do you mean Harry? You're not making any sense at all.'
'Aren't I? Perhaps you're right. Little makes sense to me these days. Why I left you all those years ago for starters. And why I haven't returned until now. Just the fact that I have a daughter is, well… overwhelming, to say the least. Oh the happiness I feel from that, it's indescribable.'
Ginny gave him a searching look, trying as best she could to see where he was going with this. Harry was making absolutely no sense whatsoever.
'Well… that's good… isn't it?'
Harry returned her his own searching look, as he tapped his foot irritatingly on the cold earth.
'Yes… yes it is.' He spoke half heartedly, his expression refusing to change, 'But it seems I cannot escape my past Ginny, though you can't know how much I've wanted to. When I first saw Genevieve, my heart pounded hard. My life finally meant… something. Something I thought long lost many years ago. A future was what I saw, away from my dealings in the past twenty years. And for a moment I felt joy, at simply being able to brush aside the things I've done and lose myself in happiness and laughter… But then she had to ask that question, and I remembered then that there was no escaping my past. Memories returned, and they hurt. More than any physical wound I assure you, oh how they hurt…'
'Then tell me Harry!' Ginny almost begged him, holding his face in her warm hands, she could've wept herself at that moment, 'Tell me what happened. Maybe then I can help you. You'll only hurt yourself if you hold everything inside, and don't say you're not either, it's plain on your face. I've seen people do this to themselves and be reduced to little more than a crying pile of rags. Surely you aren't stupid!'
And at once she clasped her hands over her mouth with a gasp. She didn't mean to say that to him, and she could feel the crimson rising in her cheeks as he raised an eyebrow. Strangely however, he smiled. If somewhat cold at that.
'I see you've lost none of your edge Ginny.' He spoke in mild tones, yet that seemed to make Ginny blush even more, 'And you are right of course, you've always been right. But… this time, I cannot tell you. Not yet at least. It still haunts me now truth be told. Of course, knowing you as I do, you won't let it rest. And I do thank you for your concern…' then he went strangely quiet for a moment, as he seemed to stare through her, torn as to whether he'd say more or not, but at last he concluded; 'However, if you must know, I'll give you a hint as to what I've had to deal with, and perhaps with that, you may reconsider talking to me on the subject again.'
Ginny was about to retort and say that if he couldn't tell her the entire of it, then there was no use, but no sooner had he said it, he had pulled his outstretched hand up to his face.
'Let me remind you again Ginny,' he spoke again, his face hidden from view, 'You know too little for me to say any more than I have already, and personally, I'd rather not show this to you. But since you're insistent…'
And he waved his hand away quickly, his skin stirring from beneath like Polyjuice potion, almost as if cockroaches were crawling beneath it. Ginny looked to him in horror as his smooth face on his entire left side contorted and twisted, before it settled after a moment, to reveal what seemed like unimaginable burns sweeping across his skin. Except that they weren't burns as such, there was a slight pulsing to them that screamed of magic sunk deep within the massive wound.
Ginny gasped at the sight, making a quick mental comparison between the two different sides of Harry's face. One was the mature, well aged composure Ginny had come to know in her dreams, whilst the other looked as though dragged beneath a razor blade a hundred times, but much deeper into his face. The sight was terrifying, and without thinking, Ginny thrust out her hand to hold his face. Perhaps to comfort him, or to tell herself those wounds did not truly exist. But when her fingers touched it, what seemed like a bolt of electricity shot through her, cut short only when Harry's strong hand grabbed her arm and wrenched it loose from him, pushing her to the ground in the process. Harry stood bolt upright then, looming over Ginny as an icy wind whipped ominously at his billowing, black cloak, the clouds overhead growing pitch black as though a sign of anger or distress.
Ginny made no attempt to get up, but regarded Harry with wariness. That touch of her husband's face felt… evil. There was no other word for it but that, and Ginny knew that taint from her own experiences at Hogwarts. The taint differed very little wherever it was, but it always held that same, sickening feel to it. Like oil rubbed into parched skin, or something similar. Ginny watched as Harry looked down at her from above, the horrible wounds to the side of his face making him appear terrifying in the kindest sense of the word, but a discernable frown appeared then, on at least the normal half of his face, whilst the other twisted gut wrenchingly.
Moving his hand upwards, he made a quick wiping action in the air in front of his face, which began to magically shift itself into it's proper smoothness once more, making him the Harry she remembered again. He sighed audibly, not trying to hide his sadness. Ginny at least understood to a degree that his explaining of events might have to… no, would have to wait for another day. A day when he was ready. For a second Harry breathed deeply, and then his jaw locked up tight, his expression returning to the same hard look that she'd seen on him earlier. It almost looked as though he were ignoring his pain, but Ginny's feminine instincts told her again that he was enduring every moment of it like agony.
'I won't mention exactly how I got those wounds Ginny,' he spoke as if to answer her questioning looks, 'All I can really say is that considerable dark magic was used when I was hit, but then, I guess you realized that for yourself didn't you?'
Ginny looked to her hand, which she had splayed up before her face. It practically quivered from the experience of touching him. An experience of which, she was not too fond of having again.
'I'm sorry Harry,' she spoke in barely audible tones, her voice a whisper, 'I'm sorry I didn't believe you when you first told me… I guess I'm just not used to this kind of thing… It hurts?'
Harry nodded.
'Everyday. My healing couldn't help me as much with this type of wound for some reason. I'm not sure why, perhaps it was because of the way it was inflicted that it remained. All I could do was fill in the scars with my own living skin tissue, but at times that hurts more than the wound itself. It's something I've had to deal with for seventeen years now, yet it feels freshly melted. I never truly repaid the person who gave it to me.'
Ginny gave him a commiserating look between winces, which was partly from the pain Harry had received and partly due to the throbbing evil that still pulsed through her own skin. A simple touch had brought about such pain in her flesh and yet a touch was all it had been. She couldn't imagine what it would feel like to have a thousand times that amount embedded into her face, not to mention being forced to live with it everyday of her life.
'It must be horrible for you…' she spoke softly, her eyes downcast. She didn't know whether she had it inside herself to look into his graying eyes. Somehow things slowly began fitting into place, if somewhat vaguely. 'Every night I dreamt about you Harry. Always wondering why you left, and what you were doing when you weren't at home. And I never knew precisely what that was… I hated you for it at first. Hated you to the core. You were there one minute and then gone the next, I didn't know what to think half the time, nothing made sense to me. But the months dragged on, then they became years. And every night I had those same dreams, over and over again, always wondering where you were, but you never came back… When Genevieve was born, I thought the worst, but I stopped hating you then. It turned to hope… hope that you would hear and come back to me, but that never happened. You missed the entire of your daughter's life Harry! Why?!'
Harry stood stone still, his body taught with strain, a small bead of sweat beginning to roll down his forehead.
'I don't know Ginny.' He answered abruptly, taking Ginny aback, 'I wonder that everyday I lay eyes on you and Genevieve. It… tears me apart on the inside just wondering what the two of you went through. And I mean it when I say that I believe there's nothing I can do that will atone for it. All that I can do is to give myself to you both fully, that's partly why I went for the Hogwarts position in the first place. I can stay close to our daughter then. It certainly won't make up for the time lost, but it's better than nothing… If you want to find out why I was gone for so long, then ask Dumbledore. I can safely lay everything at his feet, now more than ever, as I don't know if I can summon the courage to tell you myself.'
Ginny moved towards him slightly without realizing it, though her mind wasn't in it. Dumbledore? What did he have to do with everything?
'I might just do that Harry… but…' and she made a point to meet him stare for stare, no matter how much those grey eyes hurt her inside. 'What about Genevieve? I think you were too hard on her then, afterall you've only been home a two days.'
Harry blinked in an uncertain fashion before knuckling his forehead awkwardly, he seemed torn inside, muttering oddly to himself then as if Ginny were non-existent.
'Yes… yes you're right.' He said after a while, licking his lips uncertainly, 'I was too hard on her wasn't I? Hmm… I best make it up to her somehow.' And he twisted where he stood and began making his way down the grassy hill towards the house. Ginny had no doubts that Genevieve was sulking inside, though this would prove Harry's first test as a father. It was widely believed that if your children hated you, then you were being a good parent, though whether or not Harry believed in that old wives tale, Ginny wasn't entirely sure. In his wake, Harry looked impressively scary. That was probably as best as he could be described. Sure he was handsome as well, there was no denying that, but he definitely had the air of someone who'd been sharpened continually throughout their life, and quite possibly against their will. It was sad to think about, and Ginny still felt slightly off ease at seeing a hint of what had happened to him, yet despite that, she was more concerned for Harry's mind and whether it was more fragile now than it had ever been. He still sounded the same, still looked the same, and still felt love for her in the way he had when they'd married, but something was different about him. She couldn't quite put her finger on precisely what that was exactly.
Whether it was that sharpness about him, his imposing demeanor or something far colder, there was no telling. Harry seemed to wear so little emotion about himself at times that it would look as though he could outlast a stone just staring at it. Ginny felt a little guilty about thinking such things however, and tried as she might to focus on events as they were. She'd spent long years in a gloomy depression, hating Harry, loving Harry and sometimes even grieving for Harry, all the while not truly knowing where he was or what he was doing. He could have been dead for all she knew, and that was one prospect that had deeply affected her just thinking of it, though it did not do well to dwell on such things. Harry was home now, that was all that mattered. And best of all, he still loved her as much as he had before, perhaps more due to their separation. But nevertheless, Harry's nature had somehow changed, though she was daft if she could figure it out. It was something deep, definitely, and his seeming unwillingness to tell her exactly what had become of him during his years abroad worked only to strengthen her suspicions, and her worry, of him even further than she would've liked.
No, the important thing was that he was home. There was no denying that something had happened to him that he found hard to talk about, but that was another problem for another time, and something that Harry would be the one to reveal, once he was ready. She made a point not to forget that. Harry's small display still put shivers down her spine whenever she thought of it, and it proved just how little she knew. But one day soon, Harry would confide in her, no matter how hard and painful to him it might be… and she would be there for him… Casually she watched Harry's well toned form move effortlessly beneath his long, black cloak. His strides seemed to cover more ground than her own as the tall grass parted for him, but even so, she felt a spark of happiness at knowing that for every dream she had, wishing for his return, one of them came true. And so, she silently followed her husband up the stone steps of the cottage's veranda, hoping beyond hope that when father and daughter clashed, Harry might make it out unscathed. Ginny withheld a small smile…
Remus Lupin irritatingly smoothed down the creases of his drably overused cloak as he stood idly on Professor Dumbledore's revolving staircase. Multiple hand sewn patches laid unevenly dispersed across the moldy piece of clothing, which in itself had earned quite a number of reproachful looks in the past, sewing by hand was considered a lost art amongst muggles these days, and non-existent for wizards. But it was all he could do not to discard it and acquire a new one. Those patches meant something to him, and he felt a stab of pride knowing that he'd sewn them without the aid of magic, which would've been neater and faster by far, the logical choice. Something however, gave him the urge to learn of the old ways, and at that thought he could not help but chuckle. His liking for all things Muggle may have only begun when the peace amnesty had been signed all those years back, but at this rate, he'd be turning into another Arthur Weasley in no time.
The latter at least reminded him of his rather extended years, and he unwittingly fingered strands of his graying hair, something only partly spurned on by the regular werewolf transformations he experienced each full moon. Truth be told though, he was getting older. Perhaps not necessarily wiser, but certainly older, and he could not help but feel rather hesitant at Dumbledore's harrying request for him, which was to be met with all the speed he could muster. Sure Dumbledore still looked as nimble as a thirty year old, yet whatever the wizard's age might be, Dumbledore was a unique kind of person, and Remus Lupin deserved to be taking it easy, rather than gallivanting about the country side at another old man's request. Oh yes… he was TOO old for this. Whatever could the elderly man want with him? Not another errand hopefully, he'd had his fair share of those that was for sure. Perhaps it was a social call?… He thought on it a little… and dismissed it. A very long shot indeed. But if not that, then what? Hastily he smoothed down his robes again, half aware of a thin slick of sweat covering his forehead. Those wrinkled creases didn't seem to want to come out of the age old fabric, and he feared perhaps his weathered face was mirroring with wrinkles of their own.
He hoped he didn't look as nervous as he felt, though all thought of that left him as he stepped lightly into Dumbledore's spacious office. At least that had lost none of it's luster over the years, unlike it's owner, who sat idly behind his desk, watching him approach. Dumbledore's long, white beard looked as though it had been molded from snow, and his head seemed creased ever so thoroughly with worry lines, yet they looked old. His skin had grown slightly more blotchy than he last remembered as well, but all in all it was the same Albus Dumbledore he'd known from his Hogwarts days. A kind old man with a hint of mystery, and a fatherly glint sparkling in his eyes that always managed to put you at ease despite your concerns. He felt a good deal of affection towards the man, and would have greeted him happily were he able to ignore the butterflies rumbling in his stomach. What did he want? He turned his head slightly to Dumbledore's left, where he saw Minerva McGonagall in long green robes, standing stiffly on the spot, her attention focused on Dumbledore without realizing that he'd entered. With fists on hips, she vented what felt like a silent fury at the old mage, her eyes widened to the size of saucers and a glint of thunder sparking within them.
Usually when a woman did that, a man was wise to keep quiet… or run. And it did nothing to help soothe Remus's flamboyant stomach. If anything, it inflamed it further. Yet McGonagall's stabbing glares seemed to be having very little effect on the school headmaster, if any, and he waved a dismissive hand towards the headmistress, whose eyes widened even further. That seemed rather unlike the professor.
'You cannot commit to this Albus!' she protested vainly to the bearded man, shaking her fist about herself like a weapon, 'I've gone along with you up until now because I saw sense in your approach to matters, but this is beyond sense. Dealing with scum like that, there's no telling what they're up to. It's bordering ludicrousy Professor, ludicrousy!'
Dumbledore once again waved her off with an admonishing hand, choosing against staring at her directly. Albus was never one to do that unless his anger truly peaked, and he was a master of his own self control.
'You follow me Minerva because you have no other alternative,' he answered the flustered woman, who clicked her tongue in annoyance, 'And I assure you this will succeed as I have expected. Your concerns are welcome, and have been noted.'
McGonagall crossed her arms in a rather sulky fashion… Sulky! Remus never thought he'd see the like from the head teacher of Transfiguration, and raised an eyebrow despite himself.
'Noted?!' and she made a frustratingly vexed sound beneath her breath as she looked down her nose at the man, 'Humph! Ignored more like it, I would've thought your age warranted wisdom on your part.'
'Noted Professor, but not ignored. It is a fools errand to ignore advice from people, but in regards to yours, I will not act on it. Not yet… At any rate, this is hardly the time to be discussing such matters. If it pleases, I'll converse with you later on the matter when time and circumstances permit. Besides, I believe Mr Lupin here is awaiting his appointment with me, you may leave now Minerva.'
McGonagall's head whipped about of a sudden, her eyes blinking uncertainly at him as though just realizing he was there. Hastily she closed her gaping mouth, sharing with him a part of the scowl she'd delivered to Albus a few moments ago, before swiftly turning on her heel a striding ever so elegantly from the room, muttering beneath her breath.
'Barmy old man!' she hissed through gritted teeth as she past Remus with a sidelong glance. That certainly wasn't at all like McGonagall. Remus wasn't sure whether that last comment was meant for himself or for Dumbledore, but either way, Albus crooked a rather bleak expression at her leaving, and seemed rather pleased the old lady was on her way.
'Remus!' he spoke joyfully to him then, as McGonagall's serene façade disappeared from view down the spiral staircase. 'A pleasure you could come on such short notice, I hope I wasn't being to forward asking you to join me.'
Remus returned to him some semblance of a smile, before taking a seat at Albus's gesture. Those butterflies hadn't stopped fluttering.
'No no, not at all Professor, I'm more than happy to come, though I do wonder what use you would have for an old man like me.'
Dumbledore gave a small chuckle at the comment, placing his hands casually on the wooden writing desk before him. He always was one to laugh at a joke, even if one wasn't intended.
'You needn't be nervous old friend,' he spoke lightly, it lessened the butterflies only a little, 'I'm not going to send you on another wild goose chase Remus, I've no doubt you remember the last…'
'Oh yes indeed.' Remus replied, casting his mind back a few years. He could picture it clearly as though it were yesterday. Dumbledore had contacted him in the late afternoon in regards to a missing student – a muggle, and concerns had been raised that he'd wandered into the forbidden forest. Naturally the school had been searched top to bottom a dozen times without any trace of the boy, and Albus had put it to him that someone who knew the forbidden forest better than most would have an easier time finding him. Of course he'd been quick to accept, if not a little grudgingly, but soon enough he was out searching the dark wood leaf by leaf for any sign that the student had passed through. It seemed as harmless a task as was possible to receive, but it dragged on for four days without even a smell of the lad, thus reducing him to a desperate wreck. Returning to the castle feeling ashamed of himself for not finding the boy, Dumbledore announced incredulously that on the first day of his absence, the boy had been found hiding from Peeves in a place none other than beneath his writing desk! Remus remembered clearly the urge he'd had to scream in frustration on that day, but in the end it all proved an immense laugh. Partly due to the headmaster's surprising neglect to search his office, and partly to how worked up about it Remus had become. But as said, it was all an immense laugh in the end.
'Yeah, I remember it well Professor. How long was I gone for again? Three days, four?'
'Too long.' Albus spoke matter of factly, easing his back against the large wooden chair that was reserved for only the headmaster of Hogwarts. 'I hope you don't hold it against me after all these years.'
Remus's mouth twitched into a small smile at the corners of his lips.
'No, not at all.'
'Just as well then, though I'm sure you're wondering why you're here, am I correct?'
Remus nodded, steepling his hands together under Albus's fatherly gaze. At times that stare could be more of an irritant than a means of putting yourself at ease. They seemed to stare right through you when you least wanted it.
'Well, to put your mind at ease Remus, there is no task of you that requires your direct input. I see the graying hairs in your head have earned you some respite yet. Rather, you're here as I need to inform you of something. It's the Defense posting, we have a new replacement.'
Remus looked curiously to him, though the news did bare some surprise at least.
'A replacement?!' he spoke disbelievingly, arching an eyebrow, 'I thought you'd sucked the world dry looking. Who is it, a house elf?'
Surprisingly Albus did not laugh at the joke. He had intended for him to at that one, was his own humor beginning to dry as did Dumbledore's search for new teachers? Instead, the old wizard withdrew from his pocket a small, folded up piece of parchment, which he handed to him across the desk. Opening it, Remus read it without twitching a muscle, save for his eyebrows which retreated further into his scalp.
'Harry?' he asked disbelievingly, passing the letter back to Dumbledore's outstretched hand, 'Harry Potter? I thought he was dead!'
At that Albus chose to laugh, though Remus couldn't quite see the humor in that. Harry was a very close friend to him, and when news came of his death in suspicious circumstances, he was almost shattered in grief.
'No he's not dead, but for security reasons it was passed along the rumor mill that he was. Needless to say that I cannot discuss that with you as a matter of Unified law, Harry's workings in the world are not to be known by the common people.'
Remus nodded again, this time without really thinking on it. He did a lot of nodding in audience of the headmaster he realized.
'Even so,' Albus continued, fingering the letter idly with his fingers, 'Harry will teach here at the beginning of this semester, and as long as he sees fit for that matter. Dare I say, he is most definitely THE best the world has to offer, short of someone who actually practices the dark arts.'
'Quite a bold statement to make Professor. Are you entirely sure on this?'
'I would stake it on my life, which I admit now is growing ever shorter.' And he visibly attempted to suppress a shuddering cough as he made his way to his feet, before walking across the office floor towards a small glass window that overlooked the school grounds. Staring out with a tinge of regret, he watched the sultry movements of hovercraft zooming past his window in the numerous traffic lanes that now shadowed the school from overhead, making odd buzzing noises whenever they passed within a few meters of the castle walls. He audibly sighed.
'Unfortunate to say Remus, but soon enough I will die. I can feel my heart slowing each day, even now as we speak. I believe that I'm part of a bygone era, my old fashioned kind does not really belong in this modern world of ours…' and grimaced slightly at the ever increasing traffic outside, yet another contraption produced from a blending of magic and technology, but turned away from it to stare at Remus directly, his twinkling eyes fading somewhat for a moment before they regained their luster.
'You don't really mean that Professor,' Remus protested, inching slightly forwards on his seat, 'You've always been more likely to adapt to changes than anyone else…' but he abruptly cut off at the stare that Dumbledore gave him, it seemed resigned to it's fate, no matter what anyone else should say.
'No Remus, I'm afraid it's true, and I will not sugar coat the truth. I am an old man, and nearing the end of my line. It was my hope that if this world were to prosper with this peace between wizards and muggles, then I should leave it scoured of those of whom threaten to tear it down. By that I mean anyone practicing the dark arts, and I assure you it's quite a task, one of which I beginning to doubt I'll complete before I die, but I do not regret ever beginning it.'
Remus furrowed his brow slightly, looking to him with a slight sense of remorse. Albus looked as though he had resigned to his fate a long time ago, but what was he getting at exactly. As if mimicking his thoughts, Albus changed the subject slightly, sounding as though he had delved away from what he wanted to discuss.
'Anyway, the point I'm getting at is no more confusing than the predicament I face. Sad to say, I have taken away from Harry the years that he should have spent attending to his family, and I admit it now that I had absolutely no right to do such a thing to him, no matter what my reasons were at the time. I thought perhaps with his retirement at hand, he may wish to settle down with a nice, quiet teaching position. Since he is experienced and we are in need, the choice was a simple one to make… or so I believed.'
And at that he pulled out his wand and waved it deftly over his desk, outlining a large rectangular shape that quickly solidified into what looked like an old, dusty leather book, it's corners bound with ornately gilded silver worked into the shape of leafy vines wrapping themselves about it's exterior. In the center of it, surrounded by gold rose petals, laid a plaque of emerald with an inscription of ancient runes carved into it. A sight worthy to take in anyone's eyes. The precious stones and metals binding the book would be sufficient enough to fetch a good sum of galleons anywhere if sold to the right people, but that was not why Remus found himself wide eyed and gaping at the book laying stiffly on Dumbledore's desk. His eyes slid methodically over it's age old title.
'Vinareer o' Liege… the book of the Wrapping Vines! Where did you get this?'
Dumbledore looked down at the ancient volume staring up at him with an expression that Remus couldn't quite fathom, though he realized he was deep in thought.
'You're full of surprises old friend, I was unaware you were capable with the old tongue.'
'Well… I pick things up every now and then, and I pick up enough from people to know that this book is…' his eyes locked onto the book with rapture, his mind beginning to blur slightly only feeling half aware of his hand reaching towards the ancient artifact in a trembling fashion. It seemed to call to him in sultry tones… "Remus… Remus… Remus…"
'Remus!' Dumbledore spoke in a firm voice, breaking him out of his trance. Quickly he withdrew his hand, his eyes glaring down at the book with a renewed sense of fear. And he swallowed hard.
'That book is evil Professor… evil.' Yet he did not relinquish his stone eyed stare at the book, that sat ominously silent before the headmaster. Albus sighed.
'I must learn of where you "pick up" these things Remus. It would be of great interest to me. Especially since only a select few know of the books…'
Remus abruptly broke his gaze and stared to Albus questionably.
'Books?! You mean there are others?'
Dumbledore buried his face into his hands at releasing that fact, realizing just how far his age had dulled his wits no doubt.
'Yes, there are others. And they are not in such capable hands as my own. But that should not concern you Remus. No it shouldn't.'
Remus looked back to the book with a sense of loss. He always was a bit of a historian, he would very much have liked to learn more of these books, especially considering their past. Dumbledore went on.
'Nevertheless, I show this too you because it contains knowledge Remus. Powerful knowledge at that too. Someone of whom is untrained physically and mentally may destroy a city with what is contained in this book alone…'
Remus instinctively pulled back from the table in a rush, his eyes as wide as saucers at the object Dumbledore referred to so casually.
'However, considering that capability, for someone of whom IS trained, the prospect of destruction is raised ten fold, and that is where my situation lies. Harry is now ranked amongst the powerful wizards in the world… in fact, you could not really class him as a wizard at all, he is a Prodigen Mage.'
Remus felt like a club had hit him at that last comment.
'A Prodigen Mage?! Impossible!' the words came with a choking sensation from his mouth, he'd always been brought up to believe that Prodigens, wizards who were capable of vast amounts of wandless magic, were a force to be feared and despised. He had been told from someone who heard it from someone who'd heard it from someone else, that a sole Prodigen Mage was responsible for the war twenty years ago, though he'd never have believed it had the proof of their existence not laid directly before him.
'It can't be Albus, it just can't be… not Harry!' but Albus turned him a rather knowing look that told him exactly how much he did not know.
'I am afraid that is the cold truth of matters Remus. And rumors such as that which you have heard were the driving force behind armed mobs killing anyone with so much as a spark the wandless ability within them. And most of those could barely light a candle. Harry however, he is a different case entirely. Harry's strength in magic is beyond that of any living to date since Merlin himself, and I know this because he has been working under my guidance for years now, so as to steady his learning and prevent him from killing himself with magic.'
Remus looked to him, feeling rather shocked, but still as confused as before. What did all this have to do with the book?
'The point however, is that Harry's energy has peaked for the first time since the ability within him became known, and if he continues to wield it like this, he may well find that death has swift but agonizing wings. Unless…' and he fingered the gold leaves on the book's ancient cover, 'unless he is supported… Harry needs this book for his life and for more besides than you can possibly know. I fear however that despite whatever good the book of the Wrapping Vines may have… through him, it will carve a path to far greater misery, and that makes my decision difficult.'
Remus looked to the old man with a touch of sympathy, but also worry as his thought inevitably turned to his old friend Harry. He yearned to see him again after all these years, but then, even that he supposed he should think carefully on. He was a Prodigen Mage, and a danger to everyone.
'I don't understand Professor,' Remus chimed in, his sweat evaporating with the heated headache in his skull, 'Harry is coming here Albus. If what you say is true, then Harry's presence here may prove more than dangerous…'
Albus nodded half heartedly, yet his eyes seemed to indicate that he was tearing away at himself inside once more. Torn in a decision.
'True Remus, quite true. But I owe him as well, for years of torment that I cannot simply undo with a few quick words. I do not want to force Harry into a corner, but that book is as you say… evil.'
Remus sat himself back against the wooden chair, exhaling a sharp breath he didn't realize he was holding.
'Then what Professor? What would you have me do? At this point in time I can see little I may be of use for, Harry sounds far more powerful than I could ever have imagined.'
Dumbledore's mouth vexed in thought, all the while his finger stroked the ornate gilded silver about the book's edges, until at last he came up with a thought.
'It is quite simple Remus,' he spoke in tones of resignation, not something he was used to hearing from the old man, 'As long as Harry's anger fuels his powers, he is one step closer to self annihilation, and I've no doubt he feels there is a score worth settling at me for the years he lost. However, at the same time I cannot give him this book, or any of the others with which to save him. The chances of him losing control are far to great, especially considering that he ALREADY has one!'
Remus almost choked when Albus said this, his mind reeling at the possibility that self annihilation may not be too far away even as he spoke. But he did his best to compose himself regardless of it, yet it tickled his mind constantly.
'Then what chance do we have Albus? By the sounds of it, we may already be too late!'
Albus nodded, stroking his beard a little.
'Hmm, perhaps we are. But there is time yet, and I vow to solve this mystery. This is what I ask of you Remus…'
So much for not being asked to do anything.
'For Harry, anger equals power. Power that I can ill afford to loose on so many unprepared people, students and teachers alike. Being a former Defense teacher yourself, I thought perhaps you might assist him in his lessons, and keep his temper as cooled as humanly possible. Say that you are merely helping in instruction as it is his first attempt at teaching, but if it costs you everything Remus you must keep him calm long enough that I can work out a solution to stop him from ceasing, as I swear on my grave that I will never hand him any of those books willingly.'
Remus nodded… again. It seemed straight forward enough, but it scared him to the core. Not just because of the rumors he'd heard of Prodigens, but the fact that he was quite literally playing with forces well beyond his control and understanding.
'What if I fail Albus? What then?'
'I'm afraid that is not an option I want you to even consider Remus. I ask this of you because I trust you far more than most and because the stakes are unbelievably high. You will keep him calm Remus.'
'Or what?' he said without thinking and immediately wished he had not, for Dumbledore's gaze pierced him suddenly to the bone.
'Then Harry will die… and all of us with him!'
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Well, that wasn't a bad sized chapter at all was it? It's been a little while I know, but the first few chapters of this story must be longer than those of the other story for the simple reason that I feel more confident in my writing now. I hope that this pikes up a little interest, we all know now how much Harry loves his family, though his past is shrouded in secret. But how much does Dumbledore know? You'll all find out soon enough as the chapters continue, though I do admit that the first few are the most difficult to write as you have to lay down the ground rules of the story in a detailed fashion, and I'd rather not try to change the chapters should I get a good idea late in the story. That's the trouble with writing I guess, but that's more so for me to worry about. I only want my audience to enjoy my work, if it doesn't bore them too much, and I look forward to writing the next chapter as I'm hoping you are all looking forward to reading it. So I'll see you all later then, I gotta get started on the next chapter. Happy reading.
Regards: Richard
Ginny watched amiably from the front doorstep as Harry sat relaxingly in the knee high grass. Genevieve pranced excitedly about him, shooting questions his way whenever something curious popped into her head, no matter how silly it seemed to ask. Though the day was young, Ginny could see already that Harry's energy was being drained by all the attention, Genevieve could run for hours so it seemed, though she dared not stop it. Harry was enjoying himself immensely despite looking a little out of breath. Eleven years of catching up between father and daughter looked destined to go on until either one of them collapsed… so far that appeared to be Harry, though he made a good enough show to keep up with the young girl, who looked eager enough to learn all of her father's movements since the day she was born.
Harry turned his head towards Ginny and gave her a delighted smile, which she returned happily. All those years alone had served her well it appeared, Harry's homecoming was the happiest thing that had happened for some time. At last her family was back together… at least, now it was a family, where once hope dwindled on the prospect of him ever coming home again, and that was before Genevieve was even born. Now with the morning sun peaking above the horizon, and cool air caressing her face, Ginny could feel a sense of contentment that she'd feared was long since lost. Father and daughter were a match made in heaven, and she could only imagine how he must feel now to know that his life held meaning. A smile formed at the corners of her mouth.
'What's Hogwarts like Dad?' Genevieve asked playfully, her big green eyes as wide as saucers. Harry laughed heartedly as she smiled, propping himself up. He'd never felt so alive in his life.
'Hard to say,' he answered truthfully, his own memories of the school swirling dully about in his head, 'It's been a long time since I went there. Let's see…' and he began counting the years with his fingers. Genevieve broke out laughing as her father quickly lost count and started all over again, scratching his head in confusion.
'Never mind Dad. Mum says it's a great place, I can't wait to go there myself!'
Harry chuckled at his daughter's enthusiasm.
'You'll love it, I guarantee. But I don't want to hear you being sorted into Slytherin you understand?!' And he waved a casually admonishing finger at his daughter, who went cross eyed watching it wave from side to side, '… But I don't think that will happen, you're a good kid. Try to go in Gryffindor, that's my old house. Your mother's too.'
'Really?! Both of you! Wow.' Genevieve looked to Harry with seeming awe, her mouth hanging open unconsciously until she snapped it shut again with a giggle. 'I better make sure I go into Gryffindor then. Okie dokie!'
'That's my girl.'
Harry smiled again, and ran his fingers through her hair, tinges of red and black shining in the morning sunlight, before the two of them began laughing until their throats grew sore, dropping into the green grass. He couldn't tell how many years it had been since he'd laughed so hard. Or laughed at all for that matter. Perhaps it was a sign of things to come.
Ginny stood over him, blocking out the sun's rays. She looked even prettier there than he'd last remembered, the light forming an angelic aura about her as she stood there, a smile broadening on her face.
'Having fun you two?' she asked curiously, Genevieve staring up to her, stray blades of grass sticking out of her hair.
'Yeah, Dad was telling me about Hogwarts… and you know, how you two were both in Gryffindor together. Did you two become like, girlfriend and boyfriend during school or something?'
Ginny looked slightly abashed by the girl's question, but resumed her grin nonetheless, her composure returning. Her daughter had no subtlety at times, only curiosity. Though her query wasn't far off the truth.
'Yes actually. I think… Harry was it sixth year we got together? I believe it was.'
Genevieve swung her head about to face her father, who'd sat upright to answer his wife.
'Yeah, that sounds about right. I remember it well.'
Ginny blushed slightly, raising a hand to her cheeks. The man could sweep her from under her feet with just a few words at times, no matter how innocuous they may seem. It was a talent the man had over her when it was least convenient, though she'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be under his spell. That was how long he'd been away from the family. A good thing that affair was all over at last.
'You do eh?' Ginny asked off handedly, raising a suspicious eyebrow, 'How much do you remember exactly? That was a long time ago.'
Harry looked curiously to her, as though searching for a trick to her words, but smiled back mischievously all the same, offering little more than a shrug for an answer. Ginny remembered then a piece of advice her mother told her of men when she and Harry were still eyeing each other hopefully. "A man who claims to know nothing, often knows more than he lets on…" Ginny eyed the man askance as she tried to figure out what she'd meant exactly. Though truth be told, men were a mystery in themselves… sometimes.
Looking to her right, she saw Genevieve sitting quietly next to Harry, a rather confused expression set about her face.
'What's wrong?' Ginny asked her curiously, at a loss to her daughter's sudden change in temperament. Genevieve sat still a bit longer, looking completely absorbed in her own world, before she jerked her head suddenly, as though just realizing she'd been spoken to.
'Oh… what? Nothing!' she answered a little too quickly, a small blush coming to her cheeks. Harry turned his head to her, focusing his attention on the young girl before him.
'Nothing?' he questioned, his brow furrowing slightly at the baffled look on Genevieve's face, though his boyish grin persisted.
'Well… I don't think it's anything to worry about, but…'
'Oh Genevieve, darling, I really think you shouldn't…' Ginny looked to her slightly worried, a small spark of realization wiping over her face as her daughter glanced between them. But Harry wouldn't have it, and leant closer to her until he was almost touching her nose.
'It's alright, really. If there's a question on your mind I'm happy to give you the answer.'
Genevieve stared somewhat idly at Harry's smiling face, casually noticing the lightning bolt scar that laid seared into his forehead, partially hidden by scruffy black hair, before she took a deep breath.
'Well… it's just that, you and mum met at Hogwarts right? But then you married a long time after you both left. Then I didn't see you for eleven years after that. Where were you? What were you doing then? And why weren't you with mum when I was born? Surely whatever you were doing couldn't have been that important! I hear her sometimes, crying in the night, calling for you…' and she trailed off as she looked at Harry's face.
Ginny looked grimly to her husband, who now looked spellbound where he sat. She was afraid something like this was going to happen, right from the moment he came home, and hurriedly rushed to Genevieve's side, holding her by the shoulders. The ever present smile on Harry's face suddenly faltered, his expression darkening to a grim mixture of sadness and remorse as his head dipped low to the ground, skin paling to a dead white.
'I… just wanted to know…' Genevieve finished, but her own face began to pale at that moment as well, utter confusion flowing over her features as she got up and took a hesitant step backwards. Harry had begun muttering to himself in a barely audible voice, his fist opening and closing every so often as silent tears flowed down his cheeks. Ginny felt the air about her constrict slightly, becoming heavier with each breath as she stood, and she gradually pulled Genevieve away step by step. Harry's gaze laid firmly attached to the ground where he sat motionless, the two females eyeing him tensely from there vantage point.
'Genevieve…' Harry spoke shakily, tearing apart the silence about him, 'Go and wait in the house please.' Genevieve looked questionably to him and back to her mother who seemed just as taken aback by the request.
'But Dad…' she pleaded, trying in vain to break away from her mother's white knuckled grip on her.
'Now!' Harry finished, his voice beginning to crack slightly in strain. Genevieve darted back a step in surprise, clear hurt spreading over her face, and barely registered the icy slick of sweat covering her father's skin before she turned and ran back home, the red bow of ribbon in her hair flying behind her as she went. Ginny stood there mouthing uselessly for a moment, before she knelt down at Harry's side, placing a comforting hand on his back.
'I'm sorry Harry,' she spoke softly to him, her voice more like a whimper than an apology, 'Genevieve can get curious at times, she doesn't know what not to ask. Not yet. She's young Harry, don't hate her for that.'
Harry sniffed slightly, raising his head to meet Ginny's eyes. The sight was more than she had been hoping to see of her husband. Harry's face was deathly pale, and glistened in the dull light about them. Ginny only realized then that the seemingly clear sky had roiled most quickly with dark, storm clouds, that threatened rain of a sort. But she kept her eyes firmly on Harry as he sat there and touched his cheek. Ginny drew back at the feel of his skin, that had undertaken a stiff, icy chill to it, and couldn't help but feel sympathy for him despite having sent his daughter away.
'No Ginny,' Harry answered her a choked voice, another tear beginning to roll down his face as he spoke, 'I don't hate her at all. It's understandable that she'd want to know… hell, she wouldn't be my daughter if she didn't at least try.' That last bit sounded a little too rueful for Ginny's liking, and she wasn't entirely sure she was meant to hear that part, but Harry went on, 'It's just hard Ginny… my past is something I'd prefer to forget if I could, Genevieve just caught me unawares I guess… oh, I shouldn't have sent her away like that. Damn I'm paranoid!'
Ginny rubbed his tense back idly as he fought the urge to abandon all respect and cry openly. She could feel his thoughts to a certain extent, and she considered it women's intuition, as her mother had always spoken so fondly of. Regardless of that though, she felt sympathy for him nonetheless. But what fixed her most what that stare of his. She could remember with distinction when Harry's eyes were the deepest shade of emerald green she'd known, so unique compared to her own family of predominate shades of brown. But now, after so long apart, Harry's eyes had dulled to a mournfully grey, that of all things, seemed to radiate an absence or loss of life, where once it had been abundant.
'No you're not Harry,' Ginny spoke soothingly to him, as he eyed her doubtfully, 'You're just tense that's all. But the last few years have been hard for you Harry. I understand…'
At that, Harry's face hardened so that he could've shaved slices off a rock, his gaze turning to ice. Ginny felt naked under that stare, and unwittingly inched back from him as he seemingly stopped breathing, the air about them thickening further until it became very obvious, though it never affected him in the slightest.
'You understand?' he asked softly, which sounded more dangerous than she'd hoped from him, yet his gaze never wavered, 'You really understand?!'
Looking to him with a feeling of exasperation, Ginny didn't know whether to nod her head or shake it grimly, such was the short amount of expression that he showed on his face. She chose instead to sit mute, as his eyes began drilling holes into her head.
'No Ginny, somehow I don't think you understand, and perhaps you wouldn't want to if you knew…'
'What do you mean Harry? You're not making any sense at all.'
'Aren't I? Perhaps you're right. Little makes sense to me these days. Why I left you all those years ago for starters. And why I haven't returned until now. Just the fact that I have a daughter is, well… overwhelming, to say the least. Oh the happiness I feel from that, it's indescribable.'
Ginny gave him a searching look, trying as best she could to see where he was going with this. Harry was making absolutely no sense whatsoever.
'Well… that's good… isn't it?'
Harry returned her his own searching look, as he tapped his foot irritatingly on the cold earth.
'Yes… yes it is.' He spoke half heartedly, his expression refusing to change, 'But it seems I cannot escape my past Ginny, though you can't know how much I've wanted to. When I first saw Genevieve, my heart pounded hard. My life finally meant… something. Something I thought long lost many years ago. A future was what I saw, away from my dealings in the past twenty years. And for a moment I felt joy, at simply being able to brush aside the things I've done and lose myself in happiness and laughter… But then she had to ask that question, and I remembered then that there was no escaping my past. Memories returned, and they hurt. More than any physical wound I assure you, oh how they hurt…'
'Then tell me Harry!' Ginny almost begged him, holding his face in her warm hands, she could've wept herself at that moment, 'Tell me what happened. Maybe then I can help you. You'll only hurt yourself if you hold everything inside, and don't say you're not either, it's plain on your face. I've seen people do this to themselves and be reduced to little more than a crying pile of rags. Surely you aren't stupid!'
And at once she clasped her hands over her mouth with a gasp. She didn't mean to say that to him, and she could feel the crimson rising in her cheeks as he raised an eyebrow. Strangely however, he smiled. If somewhat cold at that.
'I see you've lost none of your edge Ginny.' He spoke in mild tones, yet that seemed to make Ginny blush even more, 'And you are right of course, you've always been right. But… this time, I cannot tell you. Not yet at least. It still haunts me now truth be told. Of course, knowing you as I do, you won't let it rest. And I do thank you for your concern…' then he went strangely quiet for a moment, as he seemed to stare through her, torn as to whether he'd say more or not, but at last he concluded; 'However, if you must know, I'll give you a hint as to what I've had to deal with, and perhaps with that, you may reconsider talking to me on the subject again.'
Ginny was about to retort and say that if he couldn't tell her the entire of it, then there was no use, but no sooner had he said it, he had pulled his outstretched hand up to his face.
'Let me remind you again Ginny,' he spoke again, his face hidden from view, 'You know too little for me to say any more than I have already, and personally, I'd rather not show this to you. But since you're insistent…'
And he waved his hand away quickly, his skin stirring from beneath like Polyjuice potion, almost as if cockroaches were crawling beneath it. Ginny looked to him in horror as his smooth face on his entire left side contorted and twisted, before it settled after a moment, to reveal what seemed like unimaginable burns sweeping across his skin. Except that they weren't burns as such, there was a slight pulsing to them that screamed of magic sunk deep within the massive wound.
Ginny gasped at the sight, making a quick mental comparison between the two different sides of Harry's face. One was the mature, well aged composure Ginny had come to know in her dreams, whilst the other looked as though dragged beneath a razor blade a hundred times, but much deeper into his face. The sight was terrifying, and without thinking, Ginny thrust out her hand to hold his face. Perhaps to comfort him, or to tell herself those wounds did not truly exist. But when her fingers touched it, what seemed like a bolt of electricity shot through her, cut short only when Harry's strong hand grabbed her arm and wrenched it loose from him, pushing her to the ground in the process. Harry stood bolt upright then, looming over Ginny as an icy wind whipped ominously at his billowing, black cloak, the clouds overhead growing pitch black as though a sign of anger or distress.
Ginny made no attempt to get up, but regarded Harry with wariness. That touch of her husband's face felt… evil. There was no other word for it but that, and Ginny knew that taint from her own experiences at Hogwarts. The taint differed very little wherever it was, but it always held that same, sickening feel to it. Like oil rubbed into parched skin, or something similar. Ginny watched as Harry looked down at her from above, the horrible wounds to the side of his face making him appear terrifying in the kindest sense of the word, but a discernable frown appeared then, on at least the normal half of his face, whilst the other twisted gut wrenchingly.
Moving his hand upwards, he made a quick wiping action in the air in front of his face, which began to magically shift itself into it's proper smoothness once more, making him the Harry she remembered again. He sighed audibly, not trying to hide his sadness. Ginny at least understood to a degree that his explaining of events might have to… no, would have to wait for another day. A day when he was ready. For a second Harry breathed deeply, and then his jaw locked up tight, his expression returning to the same hard look that she'd seen on him earlier. It almost looked as though he were ignoring his pain, but Ginny's feminine instincts told her again that he was enduring every moment of it like agony.
'I won't mention exactly how I got those wounds Ginny,' he spoke as if to answer her questioning looks, 'All I can really say is that considerable dark magic was used when I was hit, but then, I guess you realized that for yourself didn't you?'
Ginny looked to her hand, which she had splayed up before her face. It practically quivered from the experience of touching him. An experience of which, she was not too fond of having again.
'I'm sorry Harry,' she spoke in barely audible tones, her voice a whisper, 'I'm sorry I didn't believe you when you first told me… I guess I'm just not used to this kind of thing… It hurts?'
Harry nodded.
'Everyday. My healing couldn't help me as much with this type of wound for some reason. I'm not sure why, perhaps it was because of the way it was inflicted that it remained. All I could do was fill in the scars with my own living skin tissue, but at times that hurts more than the wound itself. It's something I've had to deal with for seventeen years now, yet it feels freshly melted. I never truly repaid the person who gave it to me.'
Ginny gave him a commiserating look between winces, which was partly from the pain Harry had received and partly due to the throbbing evil that still pulsed through her own skin. A simple touch had brought about such pain in her flesh and yet a touch was all it had been. She couldn't imagine what it would feel like to have a thousand times that amount embedded into her face, not to mention being forced to live with it everyday of her life.
'It must be horrible for you…' she spoke softly, her eyes downcast. She didn't know whether she had it inside herself to look into his graying eyes. Somehow things slowly began fitting into place, if somewhat vaguely. 'Every night I dreamt about you Harry. Always wondering why you left, and what you were doing when you weren't at home. And I never knew precisely what that was… I hated you for it at first. Hated you to the core. You were there one minute and then gone the next, I didn't know what to think half the time, nothing made sense to me. But the months dragged on, then they became years. And every night I had those same dreams, over and over again, always wondering where you were, but you never came back… When Genevieve was born, I thought the worst, but I stopped hating you then. It turned to hope… hope that you would hear and come back to me, but that never happened. You missed the entire of your daughter's life Harry! Why?!'
Harry stood stone still, his body taught with strain, a small bead of sweat beginning to roll down his forehead.
'I don't know Ginny.' He answered abruptly, taking Ginny aback, 'I wonder that everyday I lay eyes on you and Genevieve. It… tears me apart on the inside just wondering what the two of you went through. And I mean it when I say that I believe there's nothing I can do that will atone for it. All that I can do is to give myself to you both fully, that's partly why I went for the Hogwarts position in the first place. I can stay close to our daughter then. It certainly won't make up for the time lost, but it's better than nothing… If you want to find out why I was gone for so long, then ask Dumbledore. I can safely lay everything at his feet, now more than ever, as I don't know if I can summon the courage to tell you myself.'
Ginny moved towards him slightly without realizing it, though her mind wasn't in it. Dumbledore? What did he have to do with everything?
'I might just do that Harry… but…' and she made a point to meet him stare for stare, no matter how much those grey eyes hurt her inside. 'What about Genevieve? I think you were too hard on her then, afterall you've only been home a two days.'
Harry blinked in an uncertain fashion before knuckling his forehead awkwardly, he seemed torn inside, muttering oddly to himself then as if Ginny were non-existent.
'Yes… yes you're right.' He said after a while, licking his lips uncertainly, 'I was too hard on her wasn't I? Hmm… I best make it up to her somehow.' And he twisted where he stood and began making his way down the grassy hill towards the house. Ginny had no doubts that Genevieve was sulking inside, though this would prove Harry's first test as a father. It was widely believed that if your children hated you, then you were being a good parent, though whether or not Harry believed in that old wives tale, Ginny wasn't entirely sure. In his wake, Harry looked impressively scary. That was probably as best as he could be described. Sure he was handsome as well, there was no denying that, but he definitely had the air of someone who'd been sharpened continually throughout their life, and quite possibly against their will. It was sad to think about, and Ginny still felt slightly off ease at seeing a hint of what had happened to him, yet despite that, she was more concerned for Harry's mind and whether it was more fragile now than it had ever been. He still sounded the same, still looked the same, and still felt love for her in the way he had when they'd married, but something was different about him. She couldn't quite put her finger on precisely what that was exactly.
Whether it was that sharpness about him, his imposing demeanor or something far colder, there was no telling. Harry seemed to wear so little emotion about himself at times that it would look as though he could outlast a stone just staring at it. Ginny felt a little guilty about thinking such things however, and tried as she might to focus on events as they were. She'd spent long years in a gloomy depression, hating Harry, loving Harry and sometimes even grieving for Harry, all the while not truly knowing where he was or what he was doing. He could have been dead for all she knew, and that was one prospect that had deeply affected her just thinking of it, though it did not do well to dwell on such things. Harry was home now, that was all that mattered. And best of all, he still loved her as much as he had before, perhaps more due to their separation. But nevertheless, Harry's nature had somehow changed, though she was daft if she could figure it out. It was something deep, definitely, and his seeming unwillingness to tell her exactly what had become of him during his years abroad worked only to strengthen her suspicions, and her worry, of him even further than she would've liked.
No, the important thing was that he was home. There was no denying that something had happened to him that he found hard to talk about, but that was another problem for another time, and something that Harry would be the one to reveal, once he was ready. She made a point not to forget that. Harry's small display still put shivers down her spine whenever she thought of it, and it proved just how little she knew. But one day soon, Harry would confide in her, no matter how hard and painful to him it might be… and she would be there for him… Casually she watched Harry's well toned form move effortlessly beneath his long, black cloak. His strides seemed to cover more ground than her own as the tall grass parted for him, but even so, she felt a spark of happiness at knowing that for every dream she had, wishing for his return, one of them came true. And so, she silently followed her husband up the stone steps of the cottage's veranda, hoping beyond hope that when father and daughter clashed, Harry might make it out unscathed. Ginny withheld a small smile…
Remus Lupin irritatingly smoothed down the creases of his drably overused cloak as he stood idly on Professor Dumbledore's revolving staircase. Multiple hand sewn patches laid unevenly dispersed across the moldy piece of clothing, which in itself had earned quite a number of reproachful looks in the past, sewing by hand was considered a lost art amongst muggles these days, and non-existent for wizards. But it was all he could do not to discard it and acquire a new one. Those patches meant something to him, and he felt a stab of pride knowing that he'd sewn them without the aid of magic, which would've been neater and faster by far, the logical choice. Something however, gave him the urge to learn of the old ways, and at that thought he could not help but chuckle. His liking for all things Muggle may have only begun when the peace amnesty had been signed all those years back, but at this rate, he'd be turning into another Arthur Weasley in no time.
The latter at least reminded him of his rather extended years, and he unwittingly fingered strands of his graying hair, something only partly spurned on by the regular werewolf transformations he experienced each full moon. Truth be told though, he was getting older. Perhaps not necessarily wiser, but certainly older, and he could not help but feel rather hesitant at Dumbledore's harrying request for him, which was to be met with all the speed he could muster. Sure Dumbledore still looked as nimble as a thirty year old, yet whatever the wizard's age might be, Dumbledore was a unique kind of person, and Remus Lupin deserved to be taking it easy, rather than gallivanting about the country side at another old man's request. Oh yes… he was TOO old for this. Whatever could the elderly man want with him? Not another errand hopefully, he'd had his fair share of those that was for sure. Perhaps it was a social call?… He thought on it a little… and dismissed it. A very long shot indeed. But if not that, then what? Hastily he smoothed down his robes again, half aware of a thin slick of sweat covering his forehead. Those wrinkled creases didn't seem to want to come out of the age old fabric, and he feared perhaps his weathered face was mirroring with wrinkles of their own.
He hoped he didn't look as nervous as he felt, though all thought of that left him as he stepped lightly into Dumbledore's spacious office. At least that had lost none of it's luster over the years, unlike it's owner, who sat idly behind his desk, watching him approach. Dumbledore's long, white beard looked as though it had been molded from snow, and his head seemed creased ever so thoroughly with worry lines, yet they looked old. His skin had grown slightly more blotchy than he last remembered as well, but all in all it was the same Albus Dumbledore he'd known from his Hogwarts days. A kind old man with a hint of mystery, and a fatherly glint sparkling in his eyes that always managed to put you at ease despite your concerns. He felt a good deal of affection towards the man, and would have greeted him happily were he able to ignore the butterflies rumbling in his stomach. What did he want? He turned his head slightly to Dumbledore's left, where he saw Minerva McGonagall in long green robes, standing stiffly on the spot, her attention focused on Dumbledore without realizing that he'd entered. With fists on hips, she vented what felt like a silent fury at the old mage, her eyes widened to the size of saucers and a glint of thunder sparking within them.
Usually when a woman did that, a man was wise to keep quiet… or run. And it did nothing to help soothe Remus's flamboyant stomach. If anything, it inflamed it further. Yet McGonagall's stabbing glares seemed to be having very little effect on the school headmaster, if any, and he waved a dismissive hand towards the headmistress, whose eyes widened even further. That seemed rather unlike the professor.
'You cannot commit to this Albus!' she protested vainly to the bearded man, shaking her fist about herself like a weapon, 'I've gone along with you up until now because I saw sense in your approach to matters, but this is beyond sense. Dealing with scum like that, there's no telling what they're up to. It's bordering ludicrousy Professor, ludicrousy!'
Dumbledore once again waved her off with an admonishing hand, choosing against staring at her directly. Albus was never one to do that unless his anger truly peaked, and he was a master of his own self control.
'You follow me Minerva because you have no other alternative,' he answered the flustered woman, who clicked her tongue in annoyance, 'And I assure you this will succeed as I have expected. Your concerns are welcome, and have been noted.'
McGonagall crossed her arms in a rather sulky fashion… Sulky! Remus never thought he'd see the like from the head teacher of Transfiguration, and raised an eyebrow despite himself.
'Noted?!' and she made a frustratingly vexed sound beneath her breath as she looked down her nose at the man, 'Humph! Ignored more like it, I would've thought your age warranted wisdom on your part.'
'Noted Professor, but not ignored. It is a fools errand to ignore advice from people, but in regards to yours, I will not act on it. Not yet… At any rate, this is hardly the time to be discussing such matters. If it pleases, I'll converse with you later on the matter when time and circumstances permit. Besides, I believe Mr Lupin here is awaiting his appointment with me, you may leave now Minerva.'
McGonagall's head whipped about of a sudden, her eyes blinking uncertainly at him as though just realizing he was there. Hastily she closed her gaping mouth, sharing with him a part of the scowl she'd delivered to Albus a few moments ago, before swiftly turning on her heel a striding ever so elegantly from the room, muttering beneath her breath.
'Barmy old man!' she hissed through gritted teeth as she past Remus with a sidelong glance. That certainly wasn't at all like McGonagall. Remus wasn't sure whether that last comment was meant for himself or for Dumbledore, but either way, Albus crooked a rather bleak expression at her leaving, and seemed rather pleased the old lady was on her way.
'Remus!' he spoke joyfully to him then, as McGonagall's serene façade disappeared from view down the spiral staircase. 'A pleasure you could come on such short notice, I hope I wasn't being to forward asking you to join me.'
Remus returned to him some semblance of a smile, before taking a seat at Albus's gesture. Those butterflies hadn't stopped fluttering.
'No no, not at all Professor, I'm more than happy to come, though I do wonder what use you would have for an old man like me.'
Dumbledore gave a small chuckle at the comment, placing his hands casually on the wooden writing desk before him. He always was one to laugh at a joke, even if one wasn't intended.
'You needn't be nervous old friend,' he spoke lightly, it lessened the butterflies only a little, 'I'm not going to send you on another wild goose chase Remus, I've no doubt you remember the last…'
'Oh yes indeed.' Remus replied, casting his mind back a few years. He could picture it clearly as though it were yesterday. Dumbledore had contacted him in the late afternoon in regards to a missing student – a muggle, and concerns had been raised that he'd wandered into the forbidden forest. Naturally the school had been searched top to bottom a dozen times without any trace of the boy, and Albus had put it to him that someone who knew the forbidden forest better than most would have an easier time finding him. Of course he'd been quick to accept, if not a little grudgingly, but soon enough he was out searching the dark wood leaf by leaf for any sign that the student had passed through. It seemed as harmless a task as was possible to receive, but it dragged on for four days without even a smell of the lad, thus reducing him to a desperate wreck. Returning to the castle feeling ashamed of himself for not finding the boy, Dumbledore announced incredulously that on the first day of his absence, the boy had been found hiding from Peeves in a place none other than beneath his writing desk! Remus remembered clearly the urge he'd had to scream in frustration on that day, but in the end it all proved an immense laugh. Partly due to the headmaster's surprising neglect to search his office, and partly to how worked up about it Remus had become. But as said, it was all an immense laugh in the end.
'Yeah, I remember it well Professor. How long was I gone for again? Three days, four?'
'Too long.' Albus spoke matter of factly, easing his back against the large wooden chair that was reserved for only the headmaster of Hogwarts. 'I hope you don't hold it against me after all these years.'
Remus's mouth twitched into a small smile at the corners of his lips.
'No, not at all.'
'Just as well then, though I'm sure you're wondering why you're here, am I correct?'
Remus nodded, steepling his hands together under Albus's fatherly gaze. At times that stare could be more of an irritant than a means of putting yourself at ease. They seemed to stare right through you when you least wanted it.
'Well, to put your mind at ease Remus, there is no task of you that requires your direct input. I see the graying hairs in your head have earned you some respite yet. Rather, you're here as I need to inform you of something. It's the Defense posting, we have a new replacement.'
Remus looked curiously to him, though the news did bare some surprise at least.
'A replacement?!' he spoke disbelievingly, arching an eyebrow, 'I thought you'd sucked the world dry looking. Who is it, a house elf?'
Surprisingly Albus did not laugh at the joke. He had intended for him to at that one, was his own humor beginning to dry as did Dumbledore's search for new teachers? Instead, the old wizard withdrew from his pocket a small, folded up piece of parchment, which he handed to him across the desk. Opening it, Remus read it without twitching a muscle, save for his eyebrows which retreated further into his scalp.
'Harry?' he asked disbelievingly, passing the letter back to Dumbledore's outstretched hand, 'Harry Potter? I thought he was dead!'
At that Albus chose to laugh, though Remus couldn't quite see the humor in that. Harry was a very close friend to him, and when news came of his death in suspicious circumstances, he was almost shattered in grief.
'No he's not dead, but for security reasons it was passed along the rumor mill that he was. Needless to say that I cannot discuss that with you as a matter of Unified law, Harry's workings in the world are not to be known by the common people.'
Remus nodded again, this time without really thinking on it. He did a lot of nodding in audience of the headmaster he realized.
'Even so,' Albus continued, fingering the letter idly with his fingers, 'Harry will teach here at the beginning of this semester, and as long as he sees fit for that matter. Dare I say, he is most definitely THE best the world has to offer, short of someone who actually practices the dark arts.'
'Quite a bold statement to make Professor. Are you entirely sure on this?'
'I would stake it on my life, which I admit now is growing ever shorter.' And he visibly attempted to suppress a shuddering cough as he made his way to his feet, before walking across the office floor towards a small glass window that overlooked the school grounds. Staring out with a tinge of regret, he watched the sultry movements of hovercraft zooming past his window in the numerous traffic lanes that now shadowed the school from overhead, making odd buzzing noises whenever they passed within a few meters of the castle walls. He audibly sighed.
'Unfortunate to say Remus, but soon enough I will die. I can feel my heart slowing each day, even now as we speak. I believe that I'm part of a bygone era, my old fashioned kind does not really belong in this modern world of ours…' and grimaced slightly at the ever increasing traffic outside, yet another contraption produced from a blending of magic and technology, but turned away from it to stare at Remus directly, his twinkling eyes fading somewhat for a moment before they regained their luster.
'You don't really mean that Professor,' Remus protested, inching slightly forwards on his seat, 'You've always been more likely to adapt to changes than anyone else…' but he abruptly cut off at the stare that Dumbledore gave him, it seemed resigned to it's fate, no matter what anyone else should say.
'No Remus, I'm afraid it's true, and I will not sugar coat the truth. I am an old man, and nearing the end of my line. It was my hope that if this world were to prosper with this peace between wizards and muggles, then I should leave it scoured of those of whom threaten to tear it down. By that I mean anyone practicing the dark arts, and I assure you it's quite a task, one of which I beginning to doubt I'll complete before I die, but I do not regret ever beginning it.'
Remus furrowed his brow slightly, looking to him with a slight sense of remorse. Albus looked as though he had resigned to his fate a long time ago, but what was he getting at exactly. As if mimicking his thoughts, Albus changed the subject slightly, sounding as though he had delved away from what he wanted to discuss.
'Anyway, the point I'm getting at is no more confusing than the predicament I face. Sad to say, I have taken away from Harry the years that he should have spent attending to his family, and I admit it now that I had absolutely no right to do such a thing to him, no matter what my reasons were at the time. I thought perhaps with his retirement at hand, he may wish to settle down with a nice, quiet teaching position. Since he is experienced and we are in need, the choice was a simple one to make… or so I believed.'
And at that he pulled out his wand and waved it deftly over his desk, outlining a large rectangular shape that quickly solidified into what looked like an old, dusty leather book, it's corners bound with ornately gilded silver worked into the shape of leafy vines wrapping themselves about it's exterior. In the center of it, surrounded by gold rose petals, laid a plaque of emerald with an inscription of ancient runes carved into it. A sight worthy to take in anyone's eyes. The precious stones and metals binding the book would be sufficient enough to fetch a good sum of galleons anywhere if sold to the right people, but that was not why Remus found himself wide eyed and gaping at the book laying stiffly on Dumbledore's desk. His eyes slid methodically over it's age old title.
'Vinareer o' Liege… the book of the Wrapping Vines! Where did you get this?'
Dumbledore looked down at the ancient volume staring up at him with an expression that Remus couldn't quite fathom, though he realized he was deep in thought.
'You're full of surprises old friend, I was unaware you were capable with the old tongue.'
'Well… I pick things up every now and then, and I pick up enough from people to know that this book is…' his eyes locked onto the book with rapture, his mind beginning to blur slightly only feeling half aware of his hand reaching towards the ancient artifact in a trembling fashion. It seemed to call to him in sultry tones… "Remus… Remus… Remus…"
'Remus!' Dumbledore spoke in a firm voice, breaking him out of his trance. Quickly he withdrew his hand, his eyes glaring down at the book with a renewed sense of fear. And he swallowed hard.
'That book is evil Professor… evil.' Yet he did not relinquish his stone eyed stare at the book, that sat ominously silent before the headmaster. Albus sighed.
'I must learn of where you "pick up" these things Remus. It would be of great interest to me. Especially since only a select few know of the books…'
Remus abruptly broke his gaze and stared to Albus questionably.
'Books?! You mean there are others?'
Dumbledore buried his face into his hands at releasing that fact, realizing just how far his age had dulled his wits no doubt.
'Yes, there are others. And they are not in such capable hands as my own. But that should not concern you Remus. No it shouldn't.'
Remus looked back to the book with a sense of loss. He always was a bit of a historian, he would very much have liked to learn more of these books, especially considering their past. Dumbledore went on.
'Nevertheless, I show this too you because it contains knowledge Remus. Powerful knowledge at that too. Someone of whom is untrained physically and mentally may destroy a city with what is contained in this book alone…'
Remus instinctively pulled back from the table in a rush, his eyes as wide as saucers at the object Dumbledore referred to so casually.
'However, considering that capability, for someone of whom IS trained, the prospect of destruction is raised ten fold, and that is where my situation lies. Harry is now ranked amongst the powerful wizards in the world… in fact, you could not really class him as a wizard at all, he is a Prodigen Mage.'
Remus felt like a club had hit him at that last comment.
'A Prodigen Mage?! Impossible!' the words came with a choking sensation from his mouth, he'd always been brought up to believe that Prodigens, wizards who were capable of vast amounts of wandless magic, were a force to be feared and despised. He had been told from someone who heard it from someone who'd heard it from someone else, that a sole Prodigen Mage was responsible for the war twenty years ago, though he'd never have believed it had the proof of their existence not laid directly before him.
'It can't be Albus, it just can't be… not Harry!' but Albus turned him a rather knowing look that told him exactly how much he did not know.
'I am afraid that is the cold truth of matters Remus. And rumors such as that which you have heard were the driving force behind armed mobs killing anyone with so much as a spark the wandless ability within them. And most of those could barely light a candle. Harry however, he is a different case entirely. Harry's strength in magic is beyond that of any living to date since Merlin himself, and I know this because he has been working under my guidance for years now, so as to steady his learning and prevent him from killing himself with magic.'
Remus looked to him, feeling rather shocked, but still as confused as before. What did all this have to do with the book?
'The point however, is that Harry's energy has peaked for the first time since the ability within him became known, and if he continues to wield it like this, he may well find that death has swift but agonizing wings. Unless…' and he fingered the gold leaves on the book's ancient cover, 'unless he is supported… Harry needs this book for his life and for more besides than you can possibly know. I fear however that despite whatever good the book of the Wrapping Vines may have… through him, it will carve a path to far greater misery, and that makes my decision difficult.'
Remus looked to the old man with a touch of sympathy, but also worry as his thought inevitably turned to his old friend Harry. He yearned to see him again after all these years, but then, even that he supposed he should think carefully on. He was a Prodigen Mage, and a danger to everyone.
'I don't understand Professor,' Remus chimed in, his sweat evaporating with the heated headache in his skull, 'Harry is coming here Albus. If what you say is true, then Harry's presence here may prove more than dangerous…'
Albus nodded half heartedly, yet his eyes seemed to indicate that he was tearing away at himself inside once more. Torn in a decision.
'True Remus, quite true. But I owe him as well, for years of torment that I cannot simply undo with a few quick words. I do not want to force Harry into a corner, but that book is as you say… evil.'
Remus sat himself back against the wooden chair, exhaling a sharp breath he didn't realize he was holding.
'Then what Professor? What would you have me do? At this point in time I can see little I may be of use for, Harry sounds far more powerful than I could ever have imagined.'
Dumbledore's mouth vexed in thought, all the while his finger stroked the ornate gilded silver about the book's edges, until at last he came up with a thought.
'It is quite simple Remus,' he spoke in tones of resignation, not something he was used to hearing from the old man, 'As long as Harry's anger fuels his powers, he is one step closer to self annihilation, and I've no doubt he feels there is a score worth settling at me for the years he lost. However, at the same time I cannot give him this book, or any of the others with which to save him. The chances of him losing control are far to great, especially considering that he ALREADY has one!'
Remus almost choked when Albus said this, his mind reeling at the possibility that self annihilation may not be too far away even as he spoke. But he did his best to compose himself regardless of it, yet it tickled his mind constantly.
'Then what chance do we have Albus? By the sounds of it, we may already be too late!'
Albus nodded, stroking his beard a little.
'Hmm, perhaps we are. But there is time yet, and I vow to solve this mystery. This is what I ask of you Remus…'
So much for not being asked to do anything.
'For Harry, anger equals power. Power that I can ill afford to loose on so many unprepared people, students and teachers alike. Being a former Defense teacher yourself, I thought perhaps you might assist him in his lessons, and keep his temper as cooled as humanly possible. Say that you are merely helping in instruction as it is his first attempt at teaching, but if it costs you everything Remus you must keep him calm long enough that I can work out a solution to stop him from ceasing, as I swear on my grave that I will never hand him any of those books willingly.'
Remus nodded… again. It seemed straight forward enough, but it scared him to the core. Not just because of the rumors he'd heard of Prodigens, but the fact that he was quite literally playing with forces well beyond his control and understanding.
'What if I fail Albus? What then?'
'I'm afraid that is not an option I want you to even consider Remus. I ask this of you because I trust you far more than most and because the stakes are unbelievably high. You will keep him calm Remus.'
'Or what?' he said without thinking and immediately wished he had not, for Dumbledore's gaze pierced him suddenly to the bone.
'Then Harry will die… and all of us with him!'
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Well, that wasn't a bad sized chapter at all was it? It's been a little while I know, but the first few chapters of this story must be longer than those of the other story for the simple reason that I feel more confident in my writing now. I hope that this pikes up a little interest, we all know now how much Harry loves his family, though his past is shrouded in secret. But how much does Dumbledore know? You'll all find out soon enough as the chapters continue, though I do admit that the first few are the most difficult to write as you have to lay down the ground rules of the story in a detailed fashion, and I'd rather not try to change the chapters should I get a good idea late in the story. That's the trouble with writing I guess, but that's more so for me to worry about. I only want my audience to enjoy my work, if it doesn't bore them too much, and I look forward to writing the next chapter as I'm hoping you are all looking forward to reading it. So I'll see you all later then, I gotta get started on the next chapter. Happy reading.
Regards: Richard