A Drop of Patience

It didn't occur to him until after he'd already driven her off that Harry needed Cobbleshot to cast a scouring spell for him. Blood coated his chin and neck and had spilled liberally down his chest, and it was starting to dry, becoming sticky and unpleasant. Drying made it smell different as well; much more metallic, less like blood and more like rust. Though, if he hadn't still been sated almost to sickness, the smell would have driven him half-mad regardless. The need to wash up became urgent. He discarded what was left of his clothing, as the shreds were serving no purpose. Something about his infection made him less modest, as if that were a human condition he no longer suffered from. Despite Remus' adamant objections to the contrary, Harry knew he was no longer human. Not really. And like Cobbleshot, Harry saw less and less reason to deny that fact. Embracing his nature was freeing. Though, he was still human enough to want a bath.

Now that he was up and about he was reminded more and more often not only that he lacked a wand but also that he missed having one. The loss of his own caused him less melancholy than it might have, though. The same could be said of the stag. Harry looked down at it, expecting to feel sorrow. But this creature and its significance, as well as his old wand, belonged to another life. Another Harry.

He would not be taking it to the kitchens, naked and blood splattered as he was, but he resolved to carry it at least to the castle. The dirt-seeded, short, stiff fur chaffed the back of his neck. It felt strange, carrying the massive, rapidly cooling thing across his shoulders; felt strange being able to do so. He had no doubt he made quite a savage picture. Still, he didn't feel savage, especially now that he'd shed his wolf form. He simply felt different. Indifferent.

Harry left the stag just beyond the arch in the same place Hagrid had been discovered, and then made his way quickly to Severus' office and through the floo. He was in their dungeon quarters long enough to discern that Severus still toiled in the lab, but he dared not linger lest the overwhelming scent of blood brought the man upstairs. As he tossed in another handful of floo powder, he reflected that he would have been unable to even begin to explain the state of him; was still thinking on this as he stepped out the hearth at Grimmauld Place and looked up to find himself face to face with Remus, who appeared to have been waiting on him.

Surprise rendered Harry mute, even if he'd had an idea of what to say to the man he could not have managed it. Remus was shocked by the sight of him, then understandably horrified. Before the man's expression decided to settle on concern or anger (or both), Harry ducked his head and moved to leave, tracking still moist dirt on the rug on his way to the stair.

"What have you been doing?" Remus demanded to know. Harry heard confusion, criticism, and a touch of desperation in his voice. Harry's bones gave a splintering ache but he ignored it and kept walking, though it slowed him. He knew it wasn't the blood, necessarily, but his nakedness that caused the most alarm. Remus, no doubt, had his suspicions. "You came home yesterday with your clothes filthy and shredded," Remus persisted, following him, "and now you turn up with none at all? This isn't merely hunting, Harry. Not the way it should be. There is no reason for you to let yourself go that deeply. This is not what Severus taught you. Harry ," Remus implored, standing at the bottom of the stair as Harry proceeded to climb them, becoming more and more frantic at the young man's refusal to respond, "what is going on with you? Is it the situation with Severus?"

It was as hard on Harry as it was on Remus. He'd spent all his time since making the decision to leave trying to numb himself to both men. But he hadn't been at it long enough to not feel the pull of Remus' presence. He could not respond, though, without baring his soul, so he bit his lips and trudged on.

"Damn it, Harry!" Remus shouted finally. "Stop and talk to me!"

Harry froze. The direct, forceful command from his Mate locked his limbs in mid-step. His tongue threatened to confess despite him, but Harry resisted. It was difficult enough that, when he answered, he sounded angrier than he was.

"Is that an order…. Alpha ?" he asked, turning his head just enough to look down at Remus from the corner of his eye.

Remus seemed shocked by the question. The order had been accidental, but they both knew Remus could force an explanation from him now. Remus hadn't wanted their bond to work that way; hadn't wanted it to but seemed to be thinking Harry's behaviour was worrying enough to cross that line. Harry waited patiently as Remus warred with himself, until finally the man stomped off to the kitchen, hurt and fuming. Released from his command, Harry found he could now move again, and he heaved a sigh of relief, attempted to slow the pounding of his heart. But glancing above him, he realized there was another battle awaiting him.

Harry bypassed his room and went to the bathroom instead. Hermione would just have to wait until he was done. She would thank him for it. Though, he found himself still naked after his quick wash, and with no wand, no clothes could be summoned. Harry decided it didn't particularly matter anyway and, ignoring Hermione's surprised gasp, stepped inside his room and walked casually to his wardrobe. Hermione didn't look away as he dressed, though she didn't ogle him as Cobbleshot might. Mostly she sat and gave him an unfading, scolding look as he struggled to force his wet skin into his clothing. He carried his t-shirt with him, waiting until he'd plunked down on his bed across from her before wrestling it over his dripping hair.

"Hermione," he greeted finally. She didn't speak for a long while. She simply stared at him, as if wondering how much she dared say. Harry sighed and shrugged, and then stretched out on his bed with his hands behind his head, waiting for her to chide him about the way he was treating Remus; and likely Severus if the two did any real talking, which Harry couldn't really imagine having happened. But Hermione was clever and no doubt read between the lines.

"But why are you leaving?" she asked him, her voice small but angry. Harry's eyes flew open and he stared at her. She was clever. Too clever.

"What makes you think I'm going anywhere?" he said carefully.

"Please, Harry, don't insult me," she said with a sharp shake of her head. "You know how many times I was with you when you decided to tear off to do something daft. If I don't know what that looks like, no one does."

Harry swung his feet over the side of the bed and sat up again. "Hermione," he began cautiously.

"Harry, there are other ways," she pleaded angrily, anticipating his excuses and refusing any part of them.

So be it. If the jig was up, Harry wouldn't bother pretending. "What ways, Hermione?" he asked, exasperated. "To leave them be? Let them get away with it?" he said, standing to pace the floor.

"Well...no," she said, her temper slipping, "but-"

"Because we can't leave it to the Ministry," he went on. "If we do, then it will come out what I am; and as I've been told all my life, I am more than myself." He leveled a sober look at her. "Everything we fought for will be tarnished, Hermione." Surely that was something she could understand. They had both sacrificed. And not just them. "History will be less kind. That's exactly what they wanted; to derail the narrative, to sully my 'legend'. And while I couldn't give less of a damn, I'm not giving them what they want, Hermione. I am not letting them win."

"Of course," she said more softly, trying for conciliation as he continued to pace, becoming more and more agitated. "I'm not saying this shouldn't be answered. But, let Remus and Severus help."

'No!" he thundered, rounding on her. The thought was inconceivable. He refused to even hear it spoken. She cowered in her chair but made no attempt to escape him. Harry glanced to the door, certain Remus had heard, and reined himself in, taking a deep breath. Hermione recovered herself as well, but Harry could see she was frightened of him finally. As well she should be, if they were honest. "You will not breathe a word to them," he said quietly, the threatening tone not wholly accidental. "Do you understand me, Hermione? Not. One. Word. I don't even know what it is I've decided to do. I'm just making myself ready. In case. It's complicated, and I know you're clever, and I know you're worried. But you don't understand what's going on. Not really. You have no right to interfere-"

"Alright," she said, holding her hands up to beg peace. "You're right, it's not my place to meddle. But Harry, if you're asking me to trust you, please assure me you aren't just barreling into this. Promise me you're not being hasty and impulsive."

"We both know I can't say that," he said, blasting out a sigh as sat heavily back down on the bed. Hermione's brow furrowed, and they sat for a while in mullish silence. Not that he would have allowed it, but he noted she did not volunteer to come with him. The fate of the world no longer hung in the balance. She loved him enough to come sit at his bedside and escort him to Ollivander's, but she had retired from deadly adventure. She had a life to look forward to. Perhaps with Katie. Harry had looked forward to a life with Severus; and then, when that seemed impossible, perhaps with Remus. Now he had both men, but no life to speak of. The thought hardened his heart that much more and he felt the Beast stir restlessly.

"I need a wand, Hermione," Harry said finally, weary before his ordeal had even begun. "How are we doing that?" For a moment he thought she might not answer until she'd wrung the promises she craved from him.

"Tomorrow is expected to be overcast," she began, relenting. "Especially so, and Diagon Alley will have some help in it from the Ministry. I think they intend to make it rain a bit to justify an umbrella for you. It will still be painful, Harry," she warned anxiously. "But luckily there's still enough chill to warrant gloves. The plan is to go in the late afternoon, just before Ollivander's closes. They'll make sure it's empty when you arrive. By the time we come out, if not before we go in, there is likely to be a swarm of cameras; which is as much the point of going as to fetch you a wand. It should be dark enough then for you to linger. If pressed, you simply say you are recovering well, the investigation is ongoing, etc. and we leave as quickly as possible without seeming suspicious."

"Are you certain you still want to do this, Hermione?" he asked, growing more contrite as his temper cooled. "After all, I've not been very kind."

"You're dealing with a lot," she shrugged understandingly. "Doesn't mean we aren't still friends. I know you, Harry," she teased mildly, using his words from earlier. "I knew what to expect." He turned and looked at her for a long moment, and she smiled back at him.

"I think you might be a better friend than I am, Hermione. A better person."

She shook her head. "I'm just better at filtering my thoughts. Doesn't mean I don't still have ugly ones."

He grinned, wondering what ugly thoughts she'd left unvoiced just a moment ago. "Thank you, Hermione," he said, falling back on his bed so she wouldn't see his embarrassment.

"You're welcome, Harry," she replied. It was impossible to miss the fondness in her voice.