Slytherin Pride
Chapter 3: Redemption
Lucius Malfoy drew to a halt outside the door. He could hear voices from within, and he paused for a moment to listen.
"I tell you, master, it's possible that he could be the one!" came a nasal voice, unmistakably belonging to Wormtail. "I've been watching him for years, and..."
Lucius turned the doorknob and resolutely pushed the door open. Inside the enclosed room stood Voldemort and Wormtail, standing a stone's throw away from the fireplace. What immediately struck Lucius was how unbearably cold the room was — autumn was waning, no doubt, but it felt as if he'd just stepped onto the Arctic in the dead of winter. The fireplace was blazing with an unnatural cerulean blue flame — an icy fire that burned cold instead of hot.
Lucius froze as he stared at his master. He blinked a few times, unable to hide his surprise as the Dark Lord turned and rested his chilling, bloodshot gaze on him. Lucius' cringed inwardly, although his eyes were fixated on his master in almost awed wonderment.
Voldemort had reclaimed his human body.
Since he'd spoken to his master five years ago about Harry Potter being put in Slytherin, Lucius had only seen Voldemort once, in the previous year. Voldemort had some instructions for him, mostly about Draco. Then, Voldemort had still been a formless being, and Lucius had fought his instinctive revulsion at the grotesque shape of his master as they'd conversed for all of five minutes.
But now, his master had risen again.
"Master," Lucius whispered, almost reverentially. He took a step forward, and knelt in a low, respectful bow.
Voldemort regarded him dispassionately for a moment, before motioning for him to rise with a facile wave of his hand.
"Lucius," he said softly, his cold voice slicing through colder air. "It's been a long time." He gave a mirthless smile, noticing the stupefaction still apparent on Lucius' face. "Fail to recognise me, Lucius, in my new body?"
"No, master," Lucius replied quickly, masking his expression into one of humble submissiveness, which was not his first nature. "I was merely admiring your new — more powerful form, my Lord."
"Yes, a form that you contributed nothing to create," Voldemort said lazily, although his tone was sharp enough to cut glass. Lucius flinched involuntarily, his master's words stabbing deep. Voldemort cast him a disinterested glance before turning away again. "Still, you were the first to alert me to the very favourable turn of events regarding Harry Potter, and I will not overlook that."
Lucius almost sank to his knees in relief. "Thank you, master," he said gratefully. He wanted to approach his master, but suddenly a glint of fangs stopped him abruptly in his tracks — with a jolt of horror, Lucius saw that a large, thick snake was coiled at Voldemort's feet. The snake hissed menacingly, rearing its scaly head and baring its poisonous fangs. Lucius hastily stumbled backwards a few steps, out of the zone of danger.
Wormtail saw Lucius' fumbling, and smiled pitilessly. He'd never really taken to Lucius Malfoy, especially since Lucius had been one of Voldemort's right-hand men during the days of the Dark Lord's reign. Wormtail's eyes narrowed as he watched Lucius retreat a safe distance from the snake.
He'd always envied Lucius, almost to the point of loathing him. Lucius had it all — good looks, power, wealth, the master's vote of confidence — he had always been given important duties by the Dark Lord, while he, Wormtail, had been given the despicable, thankless job of playing traitor to his former friends.
And now, Lucius Malfoy had intruded at a very inopportune time, and interrupted him just as he was about to tell his master something very important. Wormtail glared hatefully at Lucius, who missed the venomous look.
Voldemort ignored both of them, and was staring thoughtfully into space. Lucius shot him an anxious glance, waiting to be beckoned forward, but took no initiative to approach his master owing to the snake that was still hissing and spitting threateningly.
The moments passed in tense silence, until Lucius finally couldn't stand it anymore.
"My Lord?" he spoke up tentatively, watching Voldemort's reaction carefully. When Voldemort didn't silence him, Lucius continued, albeit fearfully. "I wish to speak with you about what we talked of previously — if you can avail the time, that is," he added hastily.
Voldemort afforded him a calm, level gaze. "Speak, then." His voice was even, his tone almost bored.
Lucius' eyes cut in the direction of Wormtail. "In private, perhaps?" He gave Wormtail a meaningful look.
Wormtail glared insolently back, and didn't move, suppressed rage darting in his glazed black eyes. How dare Lucius order me around like that? he thought furiously. How dare he treat me as an inferior?
But it was unspoken knowledge that according to status quo, Lucius still held a higher rank than he. Very ungraciously, Wormtail excused himself and left the room, although unknown to Lucius, he lingered outside to eavesdrop on the conversation.
Lucius watched Wormtail slink from the room, and turned to the Dark Lord as the door clicked shut. Voldemort had moved slightly, and was now facing away from Lucius, looking contemplative once again.
Lucius glanced apprehensively at the serpent still coiled in a deceivingly docile manner at Voldemort's feet. Finally, he decided that where he stood put a comfortable berth between himself and the snake, and didn't move forward — then Voldemort suddenly spoke, and Lucius almost jumped.
"You wanted a word, Lucius?" His voice was dark and ominous, chilling the atmosphere further.
"Yes, my Lord." Lucius closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady the imperceptible quaver in his voice. "I wanted to talk to you — about Draco. My son," he added, almost as an afterthought.
"I know who Draco is, Lucius." Voldemort's voice was calmly disapproving, as if Lucius was insulting his intellect.
Lucius wilted slightly. "Yes, yes, my Lord." He hesitated, then continued in a rush. "You said, the last time, that Draco could possibly be the heir of —"
"I remember what I said, Lucius," Voldemort cut him off sharply, a tone of impatience in his voice. He abruptly turned around, and Lucius had to summon every ounce of willpower not to show any emotion on his face as he laid his eyes on the Dark Lord's corpse-like face.
Voldemort's eyes narrowed to fiery red slits, and he stared hard at Lucius for a moment, but said nothing. Lucius seemed to be increasingly uncomfortable, and kept shifting his weight from foot to foot. He looked as if he very badly wanted to ask something, but was drowning to urge to do so.
If Voldemort sensed the burning question waiting on Lucius' lips, he ignored it. He started pacing slowly, and the snake at his feet smoothly unravelled itself, slithering out on the cold tiled floor in all its glorious, fifteen-foot length. Lucius had to clamp his jaws together to silence his instinctive yell of terror, and all that emerged was a rather muffled choke.
Voldemort looked pointedly at Lucius, who was edging as far away from the uncoiling snake as he possibly could.
"You will assist me grandly in the conquest of Harry Potter," Voldemort said slowly, drawing out each syllable in a cold, merciless voice. "And if you — and your son — prove yourselves brave even in the face of death, why, you will be rewarded bountifully."
Lucius Malfoy didn't exactly look the embodiment of bravery at that moment, flattened against the far wall with his hands gripping the back of a chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white, but he still managed a feeble nod.
"Yes master," he said faintly, "We are your servants, and we will do your bidding."
"Will I be able to count you as one of my loyal followers, then?" Voldemort's voice cracked through the frosty air like a whip.
"Of course, master," Lucius answered the rhetorical question automatically, nodding fervently. He tiptoed toward the closed door as the snake began to take a rather unhealthy interest in him. "We pledge our lives to you — we will serve you faithfully."
"As to that, only time will tell," Voldemort answered coolly, casting Lucius a glance that bordered on disdain. "And I might say it is rather presumptuous of you to speak for your son, Draco."
"Draco will not disappoint you, my Lord," Lucius replied confidently, with a proud smile, and his voice was slightly stronger. "He will be your worthy heir."
"We will see," Voldemort said languidly, in a non-committal tone. "As for the present, I trust you to arrange matters as best you see fit — I want you to bring Harry Potter to me, alive at all costs."
"It will be done, master," Lucius answered quickly, nodding vigorously. "I will come up with a plan, and —"
"And you will run it by me before you proceed," Voldemort interrupted firmly. He shot Lucius a sharp look. "Some of your — plans have been known to fall flat on their faces the moment they are put into action."
Lucius' pale face flushed brilliant pink. "Yes, yes," he said quickly, looking quite mortified. "I will certainly seek your approval before I do anything..."
Outside, Wormtail fumed with rage as he listened to Lucius' ingratiating voice start to discuss the aspects of his 'plan'. How could he? How could his master entrust this privileged task to Malfoy?
It wasn't fair, Wormtail thought resentfully. It was he who had risked life and limb to find his master last year, who had loyally served and tended to him while the Resurrection Spell was pending. He had done everything in his power, given everything he had to assist his master in his return — well, almost everything. His own flesh and bone had proven too much of a sacrifice to give, and another faithful Death Eater had offered the 'flesh of the servant, willingly given.'
But he had still sacrificed more than Lucius Malfoy! Wormtail felt the anger simmering within him, and he clenched his fists, feeling the absence of his right forefinger. He'd conceded the prime position as Voldemort's most favoured Death Eater, but he had expected to be at least second in command. Either way, he deserved to be rewarded far more than Lucius Malfoy did! That slimy little bastard. He and his blasted pretty-boy son.
Draco Malfoy? Wormtail thought contemptuously. How could Lucius Malfoy's son be the one? He grudgingly admitted that on the surface, Draco seemed a likely candidate — tall, good-looking, self-assured... so much like his father, Wormtail thought bitterly. But sometimes, sometimes, the true heir could rise from the most unlikely places.
Wormtail's thin, pallid lips were set in a grim line as he turned and stalked away, Lucius' voice still ringing in his ears. He'd show his master, he resolved determinedly. He'd show his master that he had the insight to discern who the true heir was — and it was not Draco Malfoy, for sure.
Wormtail smiled humourlessly. Deep down inside, his gut feeling told him that his selection was the right one. He knew what he'd seen, what the signs meant — and there was no way in hell he was going to let Lucius Malfoy steal all the glory again.
"Peter Pettigrew." Dumbledore sounded very thoughtful, and he drummed his fingers lightly against the edge of his desk, something which evidenced that he was thinking very hard.
"Yes, Headmaster." Remus Lupin nodded, full of conviction. His heart was still beating faster than usual, and it echoed in his ears, making it hard for him to think clearly. He was still slightly out of breath, and he wasn't sure if it was because of running to the Headmaster's office or that he'd blurted out everything he was bursting to tell without stopping to breathe.
"This presents a world of interesting possibilities," Dumbledore said, voicing Lupin's exact sentiments, and he nodded in fervent agreement. Dumbledore thought for a moment longer, then continued, "Does Ronald Weasley have any other information about this supposed rat of his?"
"No," Lupin shook his head. "All he told me was that it was given by his brother Percy, and that it had run away about a year ago."
"And yet he returned again tonight," Dumbledore said, twirling the edge of his luxuriant beard with his fingers.
Lupin noted that Dumbledore hadn't once asked him if he was sure that it had been Peter Pettigrew, and he was thankful for that — he really didn't need to doubt himself more, and the Headmaster's vote of confidence was comforting.
Dumbledore eyed the Marauder's Map with interest. "This is a fascinating piece of parchment you have here," he commented, observing the tiny black dots moving randomly across the scroll, which had mapped out the grounds of Hogwarts in its entirety. "Even I never knew there were so many secret passages — you and your friends explored them all in your time at Hogwarts, I presume?"
Remus managed a small smile. "Every single one." The feeble grin quickly faded as an expression of seriousness hooded his eyes. "And the Map can't be wrong, Professor — we've used every Anti-Concealment Charm there is, even the ones that make magical eyes able to see through Cloaks and disguises. Basically, the Map shows no lies, not even if you're masked by Polyjuice Potion — or in Animagus form."
"Yes, another unwitting complication thrown into the fray," Dumbledore said, with a sigh. Lupin blushed slightly — he'd told the Headmaster all about what James, Sirius and Peter had done, although he, Remus, accepted full responsibility for the illegal Animagus transformations since it had been for his sake. Dumbledore, however, had been duly impressed by their remarkable achievement.
"Professor —" Lupin started, somewhat hesitantly. Dumbledore turned his crinkled blue eyes on him, silently encouraging him to speak. Lupin took a deep breath, then continued, "If Peter is alive, it means that Sirius Black didn't kill him. And that means that he's in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit — at least the charge he was indicted for, if not for what he did to Lily and James."
"Did James ever tell you who they eventually made Secret-Keeper?" Dumbledore asked unexpectedly.
Remus blinked, thrown by the apparent non sequitur. "Why yes — wasn't it Sirius?" He frowned, trying to remember what James had told him, about a week before his death: Dumbledore thinks the Fidelius Charm is the best way — Sirius is going to be our Secret-Keeper. "At least, that's what James told me."
"And me," Dumbledore said softly. Remus glanced at his pensive expression, and could almost see the cogs and wheels working in overdrive inside his white-haired head. "But that was two days before the Charm was performed — I lost contact with him thereafter." A sorrowful look tinged the serious expression on Dumbledore's face.
"But it had to be Sirius, hadn't it?" Lupin asked, shocked by the idea of another possibility. "I mean — who else would he choose, other than Sirius?" His eyes suddenly widened, and he let out a soft exclamation. "Not — not Peter?" Lupin looked horrified.
Dumbledore sighed. "Did you know that James and Lily were killed less than twenty-four hours after the Fidelius Charm was performed?" He looked sombrely at Lupin. "It was clear that their Secret-Keeper had violated their trust in him — everyone assumed it was Sirius Black, especially after he presumably killed Peter Pettigrew."
"But now that Peter's alive..." Remus began, thinking quickly, utterly shocked as the pieces of the puzzle slowly scattered into place. "But— but James couldn't possibly have made Peter his Secret-Keeper! Sirius was his best friend, I mean, they were closer than brothers! Sirius knew James better than any one of us!"
Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "Perhaps that was the reason why no one — myself included — even thought to suspect otherwise. Sirius was just the natural assumption, I have to agree, and the last I spoke with James, he told me such as well."
"Why would he change his mind, then?" Lupin frowned. "Maybe he suspected that Sirius had been working for Voldemort all along, and changed to Peter at the last moment."
"And see the consequences that resulted..." Dumbledore pointed out gently.
"Good point, Professor." Lupin grimaced. His thinking was still heavily tinged by the prejudice that Sirius was the guilty killer — he tried to shake it out of his head. "So Peter isn't dead — Sirius didn't kill him — but why has he not shown himself, all this while? Why has he been hiding away?"
"Perhaps because there's something he's hiding from." Dumbledore said gravely. "Perhaps somehow, James had appointed him as Secret-Keeper instead of Sirius, and he had betrayed the Potters' whereabouts to Voldemort. After Voldemort fell, Pettigrew had nowhere else to turn — the only way was for him to go into hiding."
Lupin pondered for a moment. It was true — Pettigrew's absence was the most glaring badge of his guilt. There would be no reason for an innocent man to spend the last decade and a half in the guise of a rat, isolated from his friends who had all assumed him dead.
"I don't believe this," Lupin finally said, very softly, almost to himself. He raised his tired eyes to meet Dumbledore's. "How could this be true? What about the explosion — the deadly curse that killed all those Muggles? Why did Sirius do that?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "Frankly, we had no hard evidence that Sirius was responsible for the incident — he staunchly refused to give a confession. The only proof was his presence at the scene of the explosion, and what remained of Pettigrew — his finger." Dumbledore looked slightly pained. "I also gave testimony of James' words to me, telling me that Sirius was his Secret-Keeper." He gave a wry, almost bitter smile. "But that evidence was never even formally considered, since Bartemius Crouch sent Sirius straight to Azkaban without a trial."
"How could this be?" Lupin repeated, still in disbelief. The thought that Sirius, once such a close friend of his, could possibly have spent the last fifteen years in Azkaban for a crime he never committed was more horrifying than Remus could imagine.
Remus' voice was a broken whisper when he spoke again. "Why didn't he tell us the truth?"
"Would anyone have believed him?" Dumbledore asked reasonably. "Everyone presumed he was the Potters' Secret-Keeper. He was the only wizard at the scene of the explosion, standing in front of Pettigrew's bloodstained robes. He never once denied that he was responsible for James and Lily's death — frankly, even I would have been sceptical."
"But— but he could have just said something..." Lupin wouldn't let it go. He was feeling mildly hysterical at the very thought that Sirius could be innocent, that he had wrongly accused his friend all along. "He should have at least told us that he wasn't James and Lily's Secret-Keeper."
"We still don't know that, and again, we probably wouldn't have believed him — not even you, Remus," Dumbledore added, and Lupin bit back a protest as he grudgingly admitted that Dumbledore was right.
Dumbledore gave Lupin a sympathetic look, noticing how distraught he was. "The odds were stacked against Sirius back then. Even now that Pettigrew has appeared out of the woodwork, it's still not a definite indication that Sirius isn't guilty, although it casts a considerable amount of suspicion on Pettigrew. We still don't know what really happened — all we have are theories and opinions."
Lupin shook his head miserably. "And now we'll never know," he said bitterly. "We'll never know if Sirius really betrayed James and Lily, and we'll never know if an innocent man has spent the last fifteen years in the most horrible place on earth —"
"Yes, we will," Dumbledore said unexpectedly. "We'll ask Sirius ourselves."
Lupin's head snapped up — he stared at Dumbledore disbelievingly.
"What?" he exclaimed, then quickly corrected himself, "Pardon me?"
Dumbledore nodded firmly. "There is only one truth, and one way to get it. I suspect there are only two people alive now who can tell us what really happened that night — one goes by the name of Peter Pettigrew. The other is Sirius Black."
"And he probably won't be in the condition to tell us," Lupin said morosely. "He's been in Azkaban for more than a decade, Professor. People normally go insane within the first year. By now he's probably gone mad a dozen times over — or maybe he's even dead." Remus shuddered involuntarily at the thought, and he buried his face in his hands. He was feeling so confused at the moment, and he wasn't sure what to believe.
Dumbledore shook his head. "He's not dead. I spoke with Cornelius Fudge about a month ago — he'd been in Azkaban for some business, and he remarked to me how unusually calm and sane Sirius Black appeared to be. Apparently, Sirius even asked him for a cigarette. When Fudge said he didn't have any, Sirius replied, 'Oh, just as well then — the addiction's probably killing me.' "
Lupin cracked a smile. That sounded like signature Sirius, all right.
Dumbledore allowed a small smile as well, but it was quickly replaced with an expression of sober determination. "I'll speak with Bartemius Crouch about the matter, in private. Sirius' temporary release — pending more evidence for or against his innocence — will be arranged."
Remus looked incredulous. "How are you going to do that? You know how Crouch is — he'd sooner send his own son to the Dementors than give a suspected Death Eater a fair trial. He's fanatical — he thinks that every person he sends to Azkaban on the charge of being a Death Eater somehow asserts his own moral integrity."
"Well, perhaps he's going rather soft in his old age, then," Dumbledore replied, a hard expression in his eyes. "I've heard from a reliable source that he arranged for a short release of his son, off-the-record — his wife was dying, and her last wish was that her son be allowed to visit her on her deathbed. Word has it, however, that Bartemius Crouch Jr was never returned to Azkaban — he vanished while on his temporary release."
"Vanished?" Remus repeated. "How?"
Dumbledore shrugged. "I know this much, and even then this information is no longer available." His usually benign demeanour hardened, and a look of abhorrence crossed his face. "Crouch would go to any lengths to keep such knowledge from the public ear — and that includes using very strong and damaging Memory Charms without any hesitation. The person who told me about Crouch's son's escape no longer remembers such a thing — so it would be pointless for me to bring it up to the Ministry, because there are no witnesses to testify. Besides, with Crouch in such a prominent position, the petition would be quashed before you can say 'authoritarian'."
Lupin blinked, still not quite cottoning on. His mind was a shifting haze, and he was thinking in slow motion. "And your point would be..." he started slowly.
"As I said, Crouch would go to any lengths to keep it quiet," Dumbledore explained, with a small smile of triumph. "Authorising the release of a prisoner — top secret, of course — would not pose much of a problem at all. Not for the risk of news about his son's mysterious disappearance leaking out, and I'll be sure to remind him of that."
"Professor!" Lupin looked mildly shocked. "Isn't this — blackmail?"
Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled slightly. "I prefer to call it the optional disclosure of selected information," he said, with an almost sly grin. "I'm not usually an advocate of the belief that the ends justify the means, but for the sake of justice, I'm willing to do all in my power to make sure that it is upheld."
"For Sirius' sake, then?"
"Yes, for Sirius' sake," Dumbledore agreed. "Besides, I'll ensure that he is not allowed out of my sight, and if it is proven that he is indeed guilty for the heinous crimes he has been incarcerated for, then I'll not hesitate to return him to his rightful place."
"I thought you didn't approve of Azkaban?" Lupin pointed out, raising an eyebrow.
"I didn't, and still don't." Dumbledore replied. "I have never thought it prudent of the Ministry to ally themselves with Dark creatures like the Dementors. But..." He paused, and his eyes briefly misted over with a nostalgic remembrance. "You would have to look hard for another couple as fine as James and Lily, and it would be an insult to them if some form of justice was not served on their behalf." Dumbledore drew a deep breath. "But I still maintain that Dementors shouldn't be used at Azkaban, and that death is a far more humane punishment than the Dementor's Kiss."
"Whoever is responsible for James and Lily's death well deserves it," Lupin said darkly, a forgotten but not extinguished anger rising inside him again. "I've been— hating Sirius all these years, for what he did — or at least what I thought he did. Now that Peter's still alive..." Remus trailed off, feeling the confusion start over again in his head. He rubbed his temples — he felt a steady migraine building at the back of his brain.
Dumbledore understood what Lupin couldn't phrase into words. "I know, Remus," he said softly, the calmness in his voice measurelessly consoling. "There's a lot of things I don't understand as well — Pettigrew's sudden appearance casts doubt on many things we've believed as facts all this while." Dumbledore reached over and patted Lupin lightly on his shoulder, then said staunchly, "But we'll get to the bottom of this — we'll uncover the truth."
"What did he want in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory?" Remus wondered out loud. "What is he up to?"
"Another thing we'll find out, soon enough," Dumbledore said grimly. "I have a feeling that a lot of other things will come to light once we get a chance to speak with Sirius, and the sooner I talk to Crouch, the better."
"Rat disease?" Hermione didn't sound very convinced.
Ron nodded. "At least, that's what Professor Lupin said." He shrugged. "But I somehow got the feeling that he wasn't telling the whole truth."
"Well, it might be true," Hermione said diplomatically. "I mean, being wizards and witches doesn't mean we're immune to the illnesses that affect Muggles. And rats can be quite horrid and dirty, living in gutters and all."
"Not Scabbers," Ron replied, a mild note of irritation in his voice. "Scabbers was a house rat. He's been in our family for ages, since Percy was a kid. Scabbers spent most of his time sleeping, mind, which is why it still remains a wonder how he got up enough energy to run away."
"Just as well he did," Hermione said airily. "Crookshanks didn't like him one bit."
"Oh, and Scabbers loved your fat ginger cat a lot," Ron shot back dryly. "In fact, he even bequeathed his little sleeping cushion to Crookshanks, for it to shred to pieces in place of him."
"Very funny, Ron." Hermione turned her attention to her Transfiguration homework, and the topic of Scabbers the rat was forgotten.
But Ron didn't stop thinking about Lupin's strange intrusion into their dorm the night before. He sat opposite Hermione, staring at the blank parchment in front of him, which was supposed to be filled with his Astronomy essay before the end of the night.
He didn't quite believe the story about rat disease, either. Perhaps Professor Lupin was looking for something in their dormitory. Otherwise, why on earth did he pick their dorm, of all the dorms? Ron knew that other students owned rats too; few of them, but there were at least a handful. The more Ron thought about it, the more the rat theory proved implausible. No, definitely Lupin was there for something else.
A thought arrested Ron, and his stomach fluttered slightly.
Could Lupin possibly have found out about his... powers?
Ron got to his feet abruptly; Hermione looked up at him, startled. "Where are you going?"
"Up to my dorm for a while," Ron replied. "I'm not feeling too good, I think I'll go lie down for a bit."
Hermione looked concerned. "What's wrong with you?"
Ron made an exaggerated show of rubbing his temples. "Headache — feeling dizzy," he grunted. He left his homework where it lay; he would be coming back down later. "I'll go rest in the dorm for a while."
Ron ascended the stairs to the dormitory two steps at a time, and barged into the dorm, finding it empty. He went straight to his bed and sat down, closing his eyes momentarily. He was actually feeling a wave of mild vertigo.
It was possible. Lupin could have found out about him — after all, he was the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and for all Ron knew Hogwarts had some sort of detecting charm in operation, that picked up any form of unusual magic performed within its walls.
And Ron couldn't deny, it was rather unusual magic. Even he didn't quite understand it.
Ron raised his right hand, then hesitated for a moment. He thought about the possibility of the detecting charms — if he tried it here again, he might have Lupin hurtling into the dormitory at any moment. But then it wouldn't make much of a difference anyway, since Lupin probably already knew about it — he'd practiced it at least twice in the dorm before.
Ron closed his eyes again, and concentrated for a moment. Then he opened them, lifted his hand, and tried again. His palm was facing in the direction of Neville's bed, which was cluttered with a mess of homework, books and other things. Ron's gaze fell on the Remembrall, also lying on the bed.
Ron focused his mind on the Remembrall — it wasn't much effort now, all he had to do was consciously concentrate on the small, globular object. He wondered if he could still do it — it had been a few weeks since he'd last tried.
He raised his palm slightly — the Remembrall on Neville's bed wobbled a little, as if someone was rustling the sheets it was lying on, but of course no one was. Slightly more confident, Ron lifted his hand a few inches higher, and the Remembrall levitated upwards, clear of the bed, in a rather unsteady fashion but without a doubt, suspended in mid-air.
Ron held it above the bed for a few moments longer — he thought of guiding it toward him, but decided against it, in case he lost concentration halfway through and made it shatter to the ground. With a sigh, Ron lowered his hand, and the Remembrall fell softly back onto the bed.
Ron slumped onto his own bed, lying flat on his back, staring at the blank ceiling above him. He clenched his right hand into a tight fist, so hard that his fingernails dug crescent marks onto his palm.
He didn't understand this at all, why he could — move things like that. Sure, he was supposed to be a wizard, magic was supposed to be at his fingertips — but not this literally. Wands were supposed to be used, not his own bare hands. And he didn't think he was a magical prodigy — there was no other indication of any extraordinary magical powers he possessed, except for this.
He'd discovered this power almost two years ago, one night back at the Burrow during the holidays. He was in his room, fuming after Fred and George had created an almighty explosion that had wrecked most of his things and completely incinerated all the homework he had done. They had chuckled as they walked out of his ravaged room, and although they'd promised to clear up the mess the next day, Ron had still been positively livid, especially maddened by their nonchalance.
He had shaken his fist at their retreating backs, making a rude gesture at them — when suddenly a vase on the window sill had flown across the room and smashed on the far wall, just inches away from the open door. Ron later realised that it had followed the movement of his right hand in a spectacular projectile across the length of the room before shattering against the wall. He'd been so shocked and stunned that he couldn't even stutter out an explanation when Fred and George came rushing back, worried what the commotion was about.
Ever since that incident, Ron had only experimented with his newfound 'power' a few times — once he'd managed to make Scabbers fly across the room, and a few other random objects took flight as Ron periodically checked if he still had the ability move things without a wand.
He never told anyone about it, not even Hermione, or his family. Ron knew that he should actually feel proud of having such an ability — it was a nifty power to possess, after all. If it had been Hermione she'd probably sit put all day and make everything she needed fly to her just to show that she could do it. Or would she?
That was probably the reason why Ron hadn't told anyone yet. He wasn't sure how they would react, whether they'd be impressed (perhaps hail him a genius? Ron wondered almost wistfully), or whether they'd stare at him as if he was some kind of freak.
After all, it was common knowledge that almost all magic needed the use of a wand. Great wizards like Dumbledore and even He Who Must Not Be Named relied on a wand to perform magic. And it was known that such 'unorthodox' forms of magic, as Ron supposed his strange power could be classified under, were associated with the Dark Arts.
For a while before, Ron tried to convince himself that it was just the persistent after-effects of a Summoning Spell — but two years was way too long for that to be believable. And he could almost hear Hermione say, What rubbish! There's no such thing as a carry-over effect of a spell, Ron! Which was true, Ron knew.
He never practiced it much — only every once in a while, just to see if he still could do it. Sometimes he found himself almost hoping that he couldn't, that the power had left him. But he always succeeded — it was almost ironic how he could manage such strange wandless magic, yet always only scrape by with mediocre marks in Charms.
Lying on his bed, Ron finally decided that he had to tell someone. He'd tell Hermione, of course, but he also needed to tell someone who could help him, give him advice about what to do and what all this meant. Who could he tell? Ron thought about McGonagall, since she was his head of House — but he was quite wary of her, especially since he'd flunked his last Transfiguration test.
Suddenly it occurred to Ron.
He could tell Professor Lupin. Who better than the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher to tell him what to make of this? Lupin was always patient and mild-tempered with his students — he was one of the best-liked teachers among the Gryffindors especially, if not the favourite, even though he was a werewolf. Dumbledore had told the school about Lupin's condition when he had arrived last year, and so far most of the students and staff had rallied nicely in support of him, with the exception of Snape and some of the Slytherins. And especially if Lupin had come to search their dorm last night for the source of unusual magic... it'd be good for Ron if he voluntarily came clean about it.
He didn't have any other classes with Lupin this week, though, so Ron resolved to see him next week, after class. He thought of going to look for Lupin, but he'd never liked the idea of seeing teachers outside of class — it almost always meant trouble. Plus, he was valiantly trying to avoid Snape, since Ron knew that the Potions assignment he'd done was very shoddy work indeed (he'd rushed it out the night before it was due), so going to the staff room wasn't working toward that cause.
Feeling distinctly comforted by his resolve, Ron turned and raised his right hand, facing it at his bedside table; his Astronomy textbook lifted off the table, and he carefully guided it toward him. It floundered a little halfway through, dipping very abruptly and almost falling out of the air, but it managed to reach him eventually. Ron snatched it from mid-air with his other hand as it hovered close to him; this was the heaviest object he'd carried before.
Ron sighed, shook his head and headed out of the dormitory, the Astronomy textbook tucked under his arm.
This was very strange indeed, and he was certainly looking forward to an explanation from Professor Lupin.
~~~