A-is-for-Amy: Ah, m'hunni - glad to hear it's still living up to your expectations! I have to admit that the notion of things shrinking and growing in the Abbey came partly from Lewis Carrol and partly from Garth Nix, but I think it's always healthy to draw a bit of inspiration from writers and story that get your imagination going! As it happens, I am very fond of the Ravenstones' ancestoral home - it also comprises of many different parts of memories and thoughts of time spent on holiday up in Fort Augustus in Scotland and in the Orkney Isles.
-sighs in relief- Oh, thank heavens for that! Harry's a difficult character to write within his canon bounds!!! I guess, being a 16-year-old teenager myself, I just had to dig a little deeper to find the undercurrent of 'nobody understands me' teenage angst to get that bit right. I also think that writing the passage about remembering Sirius was easier for me because I have lost people close to me; describing an emotion is easier for me if I can empathise.
Well, no problem! I hope you enjoy this chapter - it took a while to get to this state, so I hope all the chopping and changing pays off! Thanks for yet another lovely review, m'hunni =) Here, have a muffin...
wcoast-girl: Hello to you! Nice to see the reviewers' list is still gaining fresh faces! I'm glad your enjoying the flashbacks - they're the funnest (I'm sure that's a word...) part to write! And if they flow naturally in the reading, then so much the better, and thank you for the praise. Ah, yes: getting Lupin in character is important for me, because he's my favourite Marauder! Astrea's hard work to keep within the restraints of a 'non-mary-sue heroine' because of all the type-casting and pureblood background etc., but it's encouraging to hear that people are enjoying reading her character. Thanks for your review, m'luv - feel free to keep leaving them throughout progress -grin-
TigerLily713: Shy characters are great to play with, aren't they? Watching them squirm...moohahaha! -ahem- Thanks for your review, Lily =)
The Hallowed Cat: Pads - my darling, my dream, my canis domesticus, it's so nice to see your name amid my reviews =) I apologise for being such an OC-shipper - how can you ever live with me? Glad you like Tonks and the Dursleys (the latter of which I never thought I'd hear anyone say) - there's a family lives down the road from us. That's all I'm saying. Xxx
Z: I love your enthusiasm! -lol- Thanks alot, m'luv - hope this satisfies.
Elentari II: Two very astute points there, to be sure. Here are my answers: firstly, the whole thing with Sproket wearing clothes. Very sharp-eyed (eared, nosed etc.) of you to note that, but I was taking the idea from Mr Crouch's house-elf Winky in the 'Goblet of Fire', where it describes her as wearing a little frock dress. I liked the idea that the Ravenstone's house-elf should wear something old-fashioned and unique that matched the idea of the house; so Winky's clothes are my excuse for writing that in. Also, the Ravenstones didn't really strike me as the sort of family who'd let their elf wander round in a dirty pillow-case, unlike some we know...Secondly, my portrayal of Lupin as a half-blood comes from the words of JK Rowling herself, whom I believe once actually said that that is Remus' blood heritage. I hope that answers both yours queries, m'hunni =) I'm also glad to find that I'm not alone in my madness ;) Thank you for your refreshingly shrewd reviews - please keep them coming!
MissMoony16: Last but by no means least, my dear -quickly stops MissMoony from bashing her head against the computer- Don't do that! You'll get a headache! And then we shall have to cart you off to the Hospital Wing and you shan't be able to read this next chapter! -lol- Oh, rest assured that this is still very much a work-in-progress - you won't being seeing the end of it for quite sometime, so be sure to keep reading! Sorry this chapter's been so long (choir tour to the other side of the world for three weeks, and all that) but hopefully your author's alert will take less time to let you know about it than I did to update ;)
While it occurs to me, I went on JK Rowling's site last night, and I just wanted to cry. Such talent! Such imagination! Such charisma! Such an untidy desk! And did I happen to mention the title of the next HP book? -blows a raspberry- Like I'm gonna tell you lot! It's on the site! Go and look it up, you lazy people...
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, his cohorts and everything that goes with them are most unfortunately JK Rowlings and not mine. Bugger.
--
Now
They huddled just inside the front door in the dark hallway of Grimmauld Place. The smell of the house mingled with the scent of their wet hair and clothes, soaked through from the rain, and the sound of breathing filled the deathly silence as someone turned and closed the door. For an instant they were plunged into total darkness, and Harry sidled close to whomever stood next to him, fear suddenly plucking at his gut.
Then a light glimmered from somebody's wand-tip, and the shadows raced away, hiding and pooling broodily in far corners. The hallway was thrown into sharp relief by the spell. Harry didn't know quite why, but seeing the place again came like a severe winding to his stomach; standing in that same spot as he had done just under a year ago brought tears pricking to his eyes, and a haunted hollowness to his heart.
"Home, sweet home." Murmured Tonks ironically.
"Let's go through to the kitchen." Suggested Astrea in a whisper. "Sprocket will have put the kettle on, with any luck."
"Sprocket?" Harry asked, but they were already moving.
The House had changed in a number of subtle ways since Harry's last visit: for one thing, its interior was no longer coated in an inch-thick blanket of dust; the cobwebs had vanished; items that he seemed to remember once having stood in various places had now been removed; the dark damp-stains on the green walls had subsided. But the most subtle difference of all - it took him until he was walking down the steps into the kitchen to put his finger on it - was the change of smell. No longer was it the sweet, oppressive scent of mould and decay, but the soft, functioning smell of a lived-in house. A mixture of cooking smells, clothing smells, cleaning smells, the smell of people and the smell of fresh air that suddenly seemed to banish the crawling sensation from Harry's skin.
No sooner had he set one foot down on the paved floor of the kitchen than Mrs Weasley was bustling towards him and enveloping him in a tight bear-hug.
"Oh, Harry dear, it's wonderful to see you again!" She exclaimed, and ruffled his hair affectionately. "How are you? We've all been so terribly worried! Ron had Pigwidgeon out of his cage nearly every day, and Hermione's been writing to you on an hourly basis too, I shouldn't wonder."
"Yeah - I've been fine, thanks. Are Ron and Hermione here?" Harry asked, his eyes brightening.
"No - they'll be coming in a few more days, dear."
"Oh." Harry's heart sank. The prospect of being cooped up in the house without Ron and Hermione for even a few days wasn't a cheerful one; not to mention the fact that he would undoubtedly not be allowed to sit in on meetings of the Order.
Across the room, Lupin seemed to read his thoughts, and smiled understandingly.
"Don't worry - we're not going to leave you stuck here on your own, you know."
"Yeah, we'll make sure you're ok, Harry." Tonks beamed.
Despite the bleak turn of his mood, Harry had to grin back. It was nearly impossible to loose all prospects of enjoying himself for the remaining part of the summer when he was back with people who actually liked his company. If anything, at least he had escaped the Dursleys for another year; he might even be able to satisfy this strange urge to start talking about Sirius again, too.
Within a few hours, Harry was unpacked and as settled in as if he had lived in the house his whole life. After the glow of being back with friends began to subside, however, his emotions were anything but. Yes, he was glad to see Lupin and Mrs Weasley and everyone again, and curious about this new witch who had the potential to regail him with further stories of his parents; but no matter how things had changed there, how well he knew it, how enstranged it had become to the memories he retained of it, Harry still hated Grimmauld Place with a passion. It had done bad things to Sirius; it had been a prison almost as bad as Azkaban. Within this house lay many of the reasons for Sirius' misery in the last few months of his life. Sitting on the bed up in his second-floor room, Harry looked about him mournfully: the curtains were drawn back, and though it was raining heavily outside, grey light beamed into every corner; yet the room was still dark. Cobwebs no longer festooned the chandeliers and dust no longer hazed the mirrors; yet there was still a lingering sense of empty abandonment. The cloying smell of decay was gone; yet the atmosphere was still oppressive.
After Harry's initial surge of joy and relief at finally having been released from Privet Drive, his mood declined rapidly as the week progressed. It rained constantly - which never helped anyone trying improve their low spirits - and though everyone did their best to empathise and cheer him up, it got harder to bounce back every time. To make matters worse, Astrea seemed to be avoiding him. While she had been forward and friendly enough to begin with, she seemed to become more aloof and stand-offish as the days progressed. Very quickly, she started to evade eye-contact, and Harry's attempts to engage her in conversation were brushed off with brief answers until she would finally managed to slip from his grasp again. Confused, and more than a little hurt, Harry finally raised the subject with Lupin one afternoon. They were sat up in the third-floor study after a bout of cleaning - for there were still areas on the upper floors that required it - drinking mugs of tea and listening to the rain hammering incessantly on the windows.
"I expect she's probably just shy." Lupin told him. "She's been more or less isolated for the last fifteen years. Having to adjust to being around so many people again can't be easy."
"She seemed fine when we were at Privet Drive." Said Harry a little sourly.
Lupin thought for a moment.
"I'm sure Astrea's not being intentionally offhand with you. Do you want me to talk to her?"
Feeling put on the spot, Harry ummed and erred uncomfortably for a while, and closely examined his tea.
"You don't have to." He mumbled finally. "You're probably right - I didn't think of it like that."
Lupin smiled, and glanced at the window as he took a sip of tea.
"You just need to get to know her a little better, that's all. I'm sure you'll be very fond of her once you do."
And then a strange thing happened. An odd look passed over Lupin's face as he stared out at the rain: a kind of bitter, self-mocking expression. Without really knowing why, Harry felt a sudden surge of compassion for his old DADA professor. Lupin looked so tired and run-down, the premmature grey hairs turned silver in the mingled light of candles and rain, and the scars and lines on his young face giving him a sad sort of wisdom. Harry wanted to ask what it was that seemed to be troubling him - something, he had a faint suspicion, that was to do with the topic of Astrea - but the notion that it was really none of his business nor his place to ask held him back. Instead, he delicately cleared his throat and tied off the trailing end of the conversation.
"I'm sure you're right - I was probably just taking it too personally."
Lupin seemed to rouse himself, and when he turned back to look at Harry, the strange expression was gone.
"Well," He said, draining his mug. "Whatever the reason, I'm glad you told me. I'm glad that you feel you can...well..." He trailed off a little awkwardly.
"I can talk to you." Harry finished in a mumble, shifting under Lupin's steady, grey-eyed gaze. "Yeah - me too."
Hesitantly, Lupin leaned across and gently gripped Harry's arm.
"You...you know you're not alone, don't you?" He said, very quietly. "We're always here for you - I'm always here for you - when you need us. You do know that?"
Harry nodded, his cheeks flushing slightly.
"It's just...being back here." He breathed deeply. "I-it makes me remember things..."
Lupin nodded comprehendingly. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked Lupin in the face.
"Does it ever...you know - get better? Does it get easier?" He asked.
Lupin regarded him sombrely for a moment.
"No." He said finally. "No, it doesn't. But getting through the day does. And saying their name does. We all went through exactly the same thing when your parents died. Now it's for Sirius."
Harry returned the man's gaze, and then looked miserably down into his lap.
"It hasn't stopped all year. I can't stop thinking about it all the time."
He felt Lupin's hand move to his shoulder to pat it comfortingly. There was sigh, and he glanced up to see Lupin staring out at the rain again.
"Neither can I, Harry."
--
Then
The door of the spare classroom slammed shut, and Astrea slumped back against it, glaring up at the ceiling.
"If Bellatrix Black disagrees with one more thing that comes out of my mouth, I think I'll turn her into a toad. A nice big, fat, flabby, slimy, sludge-green toad with warts and pustules."
Lily looked up from her book with a raised eyebrow.
"And that'll really solve your problem."
"Well, at least she'd be able to do something useful, like rid the place of flies."
Lily laid aside her homework, leaned out of her chair and rummaged around in her bag.
"I do have some good news for you."
Astrea opened her eyes.
"Oh, really? What?" She asked almost pleadingly.
"We have the dress-code from Camilla-Anne." Said Lily, holding up a sketchpad. "And the designs pretty much conform to the lines we were thinking along."
"Gothic Masquerade?"
"Mmhmm."
"Fantastic."
"I rather thought so." Lily tapped her index finger thoughtfully against her lower lip. "Do you think we're ready to take our ideas to McGonagall and Dumbledore?"
Astrea sighed.
"Well, that's the problem. I think we are, but..." She spread her hands. "Lucius and Bellatrix."
"What are they saying?"
"Nothing much; although they do seem to be striving to invent ever more interesting and creative ways to say 'we think your ideas stink'."
"They're going to say that whatever we suggest, though."
Astrea nodded with resigned sigh. Lily massaged her temples.
"Well, if they think they can do it so much better, why don't they?" She burst out finally.
Astrea made an indelicate noise.
"Because they can't." She frowned and leant on a desktop. "What would happen if we just went to Dumbledore and McGongagall regardless?" She asked slowly. "I mean really? We've got the ideas finished." She shrugged. "I don't think it's that unhealthy for people to earn life-long enmities every once in a while."
Lily looked up at Astrea with an amused smile.
"Your sense of humour verges on macabre sometimes."
Astrea smiled back.
"It helps to keep things in perspective."
Lily pursed her lips thoughtfully, and then clapped her hands together in a decisive manner.
"Well, Black and Malfoy can stew in their own discontentment. We'll take the designs in this afternoon."
Astrea's smile widened to an almost feral grin, and she glanced out of the window: the ghostly moon, nearly full, hung low like pale fingerprint in the clean, blue autumn sky.
"Are you fond of fireworks, Lily dear? Because I have a feeling they're about to fly."
--
All week, the chill, nipping October wind buffeted the legs of students as they walked about the grounds to and from their lessons, tugged at the tassled ends of scarves and sent crackling leaves whirling and skittering at ankles. The sun still shone brightly, though its rays held little warmth now, and the mists of early morning frequently lingered until midday, to reappear all the thicker by mid-afternoon.
On one such Saturday, a white fog had settled over the streets of Hogsmeade. Brown leaves clotted in gutters, soggy from the recent bouts of autumn rain, and a dusty, earthy smell mingled with the sweet scent woodsmoke hung in the crisp, damp air. Astrea strolled along the paved street, head in the clouds. She was a late September to early January person. Sun burnt her pale skin - she could never tan - and she hated the humidity that defined British summers. Spring was a pretty season with its flowers and green buds, but it was so wet! Autumn on the other hand was full of fiery beauty, wasn't quite so wet, had a lower sunburn hazard and meant exciting things like Bonfire Night and Hallowe'en. And winter - well, winter didn't need explaining! Just for now though, Astrea was busy enjoying a perfect, undiluted, English autumn day.
In fact, she was so busy enjoying it that she didn't even realise there was someone walking head-on towards her from the opposite direction until she had wind knocked out of her and found herself sitting sprawled on the cobblestones. There was an immediate confusion of apologies, followed by the initial splat-moment as their eyes met.
It was Remus Lupin.
For what seemed to be a painfully long moment, they simply sat there staring at each other; until suddenly, Astrea started to laugh. At first, Remus was too stunned to do anything, but presently the sound cracked a smile on his face, which broadened as he actually began to think about their predicament: two 15-year-olds, sat randomly in the middle of the street, laughing. And the more they laughed about it, the funnier it seemed to become; the partly odd, partly amused looks they recieved from passing students only made it worse.
Presently - and still chuckling - Remus climbed to his feet, brushed himself off and offered Astrea a hand up. Her breath came in little clouds as he pulled her to her feet, the lingering mist swirling into the air in her wake.
"Fancy bumping into you here." Remus smiled. Astrea was peeling soggy bits of brown leaf from her palms and pulling a face.
"You should watch where you're going." She said then, looking up and smiling back.
"Like you were, you mean?" Remus raised his eyebrows. "No, I'm joking - I'm sorry."
Astrea made a dismissive hand gesture and shook her head.
"No, it was me. Head in the stratosphere."
Remus laughed and slid his hands into the pockets of his coat.
"Where were you going?"
Astrea turned and pointed down the street. Her long hair was parted low and to one side - as was fashionable amongst 70s girls - and it fell prettily across her face in way that Remus liked. With a jerk of her head, she flicked a wayward strand absent-mindedly out of her eyes.
"Madame Puddifoot's. I've finished everything I came in to do, so I thought I'd go and warm up and get a hot chocolate or something." Then she gave him a quizzical smile and tilted her head speculatively. "Would you like to come? We haven't really spoken much since the start of term; it'd be nice to catch up with you."
Remus felt his stomach give a funny sort of kick. Painfully aware that he was blushing, he suppressed it determinedly and nodded.
"That'd be great." He agreed.
They turned and walked down the street, cheeks and nose-tips pinched pink from the cold and leaving eddying trails through the calf-deep blanket of mist. When she wasn't looking, Remus stole occasional side-long glances at Astrea, strolling along beside him: she wore a slim-fitting brown maxi coat and a knitted lavender scarf that was knotted and tucked into the neckline. Her hair was back in a plait, but the long, layered bangs of her side-parting fell loose and her hand was always going up to brush them out of her face. Her skin was clear and pale against the rosy glow in her cheeks, and her pink lips were balmed against the cold. Practically the only thing that Remus didn't notice about her was that when he wasn't looking, Astrea was casting the same appraising glances at him.
Upon arriving at Madame Puddifoot's and opening the door, they found the threshold was almost jammed from the number of leaves that had skittered in across the threshold, and that the boarded floor was nearly as littered with them as the street outside was. The interior of Madame Puddifoot's establishment had been decorated with 'homely country kitchen' in mind: the curtains were floral-printed and hemmed with frills. Set out on the boarded floor in a rather cramped arrangement were about a dozen or so small, round wooden tables and chairs with white, lace-trimmed table cloths and little glass vases of teasels and bramble blossoms. The walls were decorated with a wide collection of plates and teacups, and the blackboard menus were embellished with seasonal pumpkin, broomstick and blackberry motifs. Remus could never really fathom what it was that girls found appealing about this place: the overall aura it communicated was so overbearingly motherly and 'homely' that someone in there for one cup of tea too many could quite easily develop cavities.
"What she lacks in her taste in decor she makes up for with her hot chocolate recipe." Astrea whispered in his ear. "Now wipe that dumbfounded look off your face and come find a table."
The young witch's statement about the beverage proved correct, as it turned out. The 'splash' of double cream and melted dark chocolate might have put a touch of extra strain on the waistband, but it was well worth it. The two of them sat sipping and warming their hands on burning porcelain mugs as they watched people out in the cold, and swirls of leaves whipped up into spinning corkscrews by the wind.
"So..." Astrea broke the silence between them with a forced sort of brightness. "How's your mother? Are you going home to visit her again this month?"
Remus nodded without answering: the guilt welling in his stomach at her questions was making him feel sick. He felt awful maintaining this story that his mother was ill to protect his own interests; it made him feel as though he were playing on peoples' sympathies, and it felt especially terrible to keep lying to this girl he liked so much when her concern seemed so genuine. But then, what choice did he have? It was either that or have other students start to put together the pieces. After that, it would only be a matter of time before...
"Remus?" Astrea was watching him with sad eyes. "Are you ok? I'm sorry - I know how much it upsets you. I shouldn't have asked."
"No! No," Remus exclaimed, shaking himself. "No, really - it doesn't. It's ok! I'm glad - she'll be glad - you asked; I'll tell her you did."
Astrea smiled and touched his arm before taking another sip of hot chocolate. Remus fought to keep his own fake smile on his face, but it quickly slid as his stomach gave another guilty twist. Clearing his throat, he desperately grasped for a change of subject.
"How are the decorations for the Ball going?" He managed after a moment.
He gave an inward sigh of relief as Astrea swallowed her mouthful and licked some foam off her top lip.
"Lily and I took the final designs to Dumbledore this afternoon."
Remus raised his eyebrows in suprise.
"So you managed to get Bellatrix and Lucius to co-operate with you after all?"
Astrea looked at him, and her smile told him all he needed to know.
"We managed to get their disdainful consent on one or two things." She added as a pious afterthought.
Remus chuckled at the innocent calf-eyed look on her face and glanced out of the window. He took a deep breath and steeled himself.
"Are you going with someone?" He blurted finally, jerkily putting his mug down on the table. It made a clatter as it slipped in his fingers that made them both start in their chairs.
"I've been asked." Astrea said after a moment, her hands slowly beginning to lower from where they'd leapt into a steeple infront of her mouth at the sudden noise.
Remus resisted the urge to kick himself.
"By who?" He asked, for the sake of finishing what he'd started rather than because he wanted to know.
"Fabian Prewitt." Came the reply. Then she added with a stumped kind of laugh: "But I don't know why he asked me."
Remus heard Astrea's pause rather than saw it as he was staring with far too much interest at the smoke curling from a chimney across the street. He sensed her looking down at her mug and then up at him.
"Are you going with someone?"
Remus shook his head and worked up a smile.
"No." He replied with a bit of a laugh, as though the idea were sadly absurd.
"Oh." Was that regret he could hear, or was he just hoping too much? "Well, I expect you've got someone in mind."
He shrugged, trying to ignore the burning in his cheeks.
"We'll see."
The awkward silence descended once more. At a loss, Astrea reached for a spoon and stirred it round the remaining sludge of her hot chocolate. The loud chinking was wince-worthy.
--
Now
Astrea blinked out of her reverie, and looked down at the hand that was stirring the tea she'd just made. The spoon chinked noisily against the china, echoing intrusively through the cavernous kitchen. Who had Remus ended up going with again? She couldn't remember now...
Footsteps dropped slowly down the steps behind her, and she turned from the counter: almost as if on que, Lupin, looking weary and drawn, collapsed into a negligently pulled-out chair at the table and ran a hand through his hair. The thick, greying strands fell across his face as his head drooped with fatigue.
Astrea regarded him in a sympathetic silence for a moment.
"It's worse." Lupin told her finally, in a voice like sandpaper. "Ever since He returned, it's been getting worse."
The honey-haired witch sat in a chair and drew herself up to the table, thyme-flower eyes never leaving his face. After a slight hesitation, she began to ask why but Lupin had anticipated her question.
"Voldemort-" Astrea winced but Remus continued indifferently. "Is swathed in dark magic; he radiates it; his very existance is built and depends upon it. His movements seem to magnify the raw darkness at times of magical potency."
Astrea gave a silent 'ah' and nodded slowly.
"Like at full moon." She surmised.
As Lupin heaved a heavy sigh, Astrea reached out and slid her hand over his. She gave it a comforting squeeze.
"Will you be alright?"
Remus forced a stoic smile.
"I'll manage."
"Ok."
They sat quietly for a while, listening to the fire snapping in the hearth and the sound of the distant, perpetual rain. Then Lupin spoke again.
"Harry seems to think you've been...er...avoiding him of late."
Long before he looked up, Astrea's expression became a guilty one. A slight crease appeared between Lupin's eyebrows.
"Have you?"
Astrea sighed and shifted uncomfortably.
"I didn't like to think of it like that." She admitted. "It's just that..." She sighed again. "How do I explain this? He's so much like James, Remus. I suppose I just didn't want Harry to think that I was vying for his company simply for that reason. I thought he deserved better than to be inundated with attention merely because of who his parents were and what happened to him."
There was a lengthy pause, and Astrea was looking guiltier than ever.
"It was thoughtless of me. A ridiculous reason. And he's absolutely right - I was avoiding him. And after..." She inhaled sharply and her face went pale. "Oh Merlin! Hell - what a stupid thing to do!"
She bowed her head and pinched the bridge of her nose for a long moment. Then she met Remus' gaze and gave a self-deprocating laugh.
"If I were a house-elf, I'd be beating myself over the head with a skillet right now." She said.
Lupin smiled and Astrea wretchedly buried her face in her hands.
"When did he tell you this?"
"Yesterday afternoon." Said Remus. "He wasn't especially adamant that I should tell you, but I thought you'd want to know."
"Of course." Astrea slid her hands back through her hair from her face with another heavy sigh and muttered to herself: "Some teacher I'm going to make. He's up in his room isn't he?"
Lupin rose and crossed to the counter. Thirty seconds later, he turned back and handed her two fresh cups of tea.
"Yours went cold." He explained quietly.
Astrea took them from him with a grateful smile.
--
Harry looked up from his book at the knock on the door.
"Come in!" He called.
Much to his surprise, it was the person he had least expected to cross the threshold who did so. She carried a steaming mug in each hand, and her soft expression was one of utmost apology.
"Hello Harry," She smiled. "I gather I've been a bit of an idiot lately."
--