Disclaimer: Do we really have to keep going through this?
A/N: Okay, so I think we can safely say that this has been knocked a little AU. I think we can more accurately say it's been blown all the way out into the left field of AU hell. But, hey, that's what fan fiction is for, right? I hope you all enjoyed Book 6; any word on when seven's coming out? Thank you so much for everyone who's reviewed, please keep it up!
Chapter Fourteen: Anywhere But Here
There was light.
Great, golden-white shafts of light, seeming alive with the dust motes swirling through the heavy air, broke through in streams from the thick darkness. They illuminated empty space in great circles, and he was reminded of a phenomena Hermione had once told him of, something the Muggles called the Fingers of God. Five great fingers of pure, warm light shattering the alleviating blackness.
He floated formlessly in the darkness, not wandering near the light, simply watching it, observing it. He didn't deserve light. Steeped in the void, details escaped him, but he knew he deserved nothing of light and warmth.
"Remus."
The voice tugged at him, vaguely familiar and distinctly unwelcome. He wasn't sure why it was unpleasant, but then, anything that threatened to tear him from this beautiful nothingness could hardly be welcomed with open arms. He fled from the voice, deeper into the darkness, and it faded away until he could no longer hear it.
The vast expanse embraced him coldly, cutting him off from sights and sounds. He could feel nothing, hear nothing. The half-remembered scent of vanilla and cinnamon teased at him, the only thing capable of intruding in his exile. It chased him back towards the shafts of light, back towards the voice.
"Remus."
Reluctantly, he floated into one of the pillars and found himself drawn upwards, past the darkness, into a half-lit world of sensation and memory.
"Why won't he wake up?"
"At least he's conscious."
"But why won't he wake up?"
"He's suffered massive injury, not to mention, severe trauma. It will take time."
He puzzled over the words, his brain beginning to remember distinctions, male and female. Names escaped him, but he knew they were familiar. He tried to sink back into oblivion, but couldn't find the way. His body intruded upon him, making him aware of pain, all-consuming agony that laced through vein, bone, and muscle alike. A gentle touch adjusted bandages, stroked his forehead checking for fever, and left him alone once more.
"Remus."
He turned away from the patiently insisting voice. Not yet. No, please, not yet. There were questions to be asked, answers to be given, but he wasn't ready for them. He pushed himself away from recollection and focused instead on the changing, shifting patterns of light. A goblet pushed at his lips and he was aware of liquid making its way down his raw throat, keeping the pain at bay.
"Remus."
It was time. With an internal sigh, hazel eyes opened slowly and blinked against the sterile white light. A face swam into focus above him, and gradually, it sorted itself out into features rather than just a blurry mass of colors. Fluffy white hair and beard, gleaming half-moon glasses, a very long and crooked nose, and blue eyes whose customary twinkle was subdued.
"Albus," he croaked, and his voice protested the use, screaming at him with fire in his throat.
"Remus," the Headmaster acknowledged gravely. "How do you feel?"
He cast about for an answer, searching through his hateful memory for those last few moments of consciousness. "It wasn't poison."
"No, it wasn't poison," the old man agreed, the twinkle starting to come back. "You didn't really think we'd do that, did you?"
"How is she?"
"How do you feel?"
Icy fear hardened itself in his heart, and he couldn't think past the agony far worse than any his body had ever known. Once again, the darkness claimed him.
When he returned to the light again, the Headmaster was gone, and in his place was a face obscured by a halo of frizzy chestnut hair. "Hermione," he whispered, and this time, his voice protested a little less.
"How do you feel?" she asked quietly, and he could see the fatigue and strain in her face.
"How is she?"
She regarded him thoughtfully for a long moment, her honey brown eyes solemn. He knew Hermione, knew the way her mind worked, and could almost see her weighing out each option and determining the results. "Not good," she answered finally, honestly.
"Tell me," he rasped.
"Remus-"
"Tell me," he insisted, and she bit her lower lip anxiously.
"Madam Pomfrey increased her chances of survival from fifty-fifty to fifty-one-forty-nine," she answered. "But it's going to be along road if she does. And no, I'm not giving you the details," she snapped, though not harshly. "When you better, we'll tell you, then."
He nodded, his head pounding with the effort, and sank back into the pillow. "Callum?"
"Worried, but alright. He's staying down with me when we can pry him away from you and Ginny. He's sleeping right now." She fidgeted with the clasp of her robes, staring out him with haunted eyes. "Remus, I'm so sorry," she breathed, little more than a gasp. "We had no idea that it would go so spectacularly wrong."
"Experiment," he said simply, hurting to much to form a complete sentence.
"Still…"
"Ginny."
"Was the white wolf, yes," she confirmed, her hands shaking. She started organizing and straightening the collection of vials and ointments on the table, calming herself. "We all got it when she was in sixth year, all four of us."
It suddenly made sense, everything that had been puzzling him over the past months. A wolf sang in her blood, through unaffected by the moon, of course she could see it in him and Callum. He thought back to the way she always knew when someone else was in a room, knew who it was, how her presence and her voice soothed the wolf within. Like called to like. He should have known so long before, but simply couldn't see it.
"Rest, Remus," Hermione told him softly, brushing a strand of hair back from his face. "Rest."
Her words took him back to the gentle, un-judging darkness.
He woke feeling slightly better, physically speaking. His fingers curled and uncurled into his palms, and he flexed his wrists carefully, testing to find his limits. Small hands shifted the bedcovers so he could try his elbows. He let his head fall to the side and met worried eyes, one grey, one blue. "Callum."
The little boy had no words, and Remus wished he could spare him the sight of his injuries, of his appalling weakness. Silently, Callum helped him move, gently pulling the protesting limbs into simple motions. He was exhausted when it was finished, and Callum carefully held a glass of cool water to his lips, watching his drink with difficulty.
"Madam Pomfrey says she'll get better," the child said finally, voice cracking on old tears. "She said that this morning. She's gonna get better. We're still pack."
"I attacked-"
"The potion went wrong." He shook his head fiercely, auburn curls whipping at his face. They had been meaning to trim it again, he had even been convinced to sit still for it to be done by hand. "It's not your fault, Remus." Moisture leaked out from his eyes and trembled on his lashes before falling down his cheeks.
The man heard the rustling of bustling taffeta moments before Madam Pomfrey came into view at the side of his bed. She smiled down at him, her wiry grey curls hidden under her spotless white cap. "How are you feeling, Remus?"
"Everyone keeps asking that," he rasped in reply, and her smile twitched.
Briskly, she held her wand over his injuries, checking their progress, glancing under the clean bandages just to see for herself. "Physically, you're doing better," she reported. "But we can all see that for ourselves. How are you feeling?"
"How's Ginny?" he asked instead.
"Getting better." There was sympathy in her kind blue eyes, but not, he was thankful to see, pity. "It will be some while before she wakes up, but she'll be fine, when all is said and done, you have my word on that."
"Want to see her."
"Absolutely not!" she retorted, utterly scandalized. "Remus Lupin, you are far too weak to be doing any such thing! And if you try to get out of bed, I'll tie you there myself," she added, giving him a stern look for good measure.
Sighing, he let his body fall back into the softness of the pillow and blankets. The woman bustled away, and silence reigned around him.
Callum pulled a set of pipes from his back pocket, and Remus closed his eyes. The boy had gotten them as a birthday gift from Ginny. "I've been practicing," he announced proudly. When Remus didn't reply, he set the pipes to his lips and began to play. Remus fell asleep to the soothing lullaby that ensued.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Despite the gravity of the Littlest Weasley's injuries, Albus Dumbledore had found himself rather grateful that her most of her family had been off on an extended trip with Charlie and his fiancee in Romania. He had hoped that, by some miracle of Merlin, she might wake up, or have a speedier recovery, or something that he could use to soothe the raging dragon that would be Molly Weasley. As it was, he finally had to admit that it could not be concealed any longer, especially with the students starting to notice that they hadn't seen either their DADA professor nor their infirmary apprentice in almost three weeks.
So it was that the aged Headmaster had finally sent off the necessary owl, and was now sitting by the unconscious girl's bed waiting for them to arrive.
"GINNY!" A voice screeched, and the short, plump matriarch flew into the hospital wing still covered in soot from the grand fireplace in the entrance hall. She skidded to a halt at the foot of the bed, face turning white beneath her freckles, one hand clasped to her chest in shock. "Oh, Ginevra," she gasped.
The rest of the Weasley family (including Harry) came rushing in half a moment later, crowding around their sister and asking all sorts of questions. Albus gave them their time of panic, but when he saw Poppy starting to look thunderous, he held up his hands to quiet them.
"If I may," he offered mildly, and eight sets of eyes stared at him expectantly. "The nature of the problem, then, is this…" He went on to explain about the experimental potion, about the two children who'd opened the door when they should have been in the Halloween Feast, about Ginny taking her Animagus form to protect the children, about the bravery and strength Ginny had showed. He also detailed Remus' extensive injuries, and the two potions makers' theories on why the potion had failed.
Ron and Harry whistled, and the ginger-haired boy shook his head in utter amazement. "She took on a fully grown, in-pain werewolf? Damn, Ginny!"
"Language, Ron," Molly corrected absently, smacking him upside the back of the head. "She never said a word-"
"Of course she didn't," Fred, or possibly George, laughed. "She couldn't exactly pop up and tell us all that she'd illegally become and Animagus in her sixth year!"
"No, but she could have registered since then."
Bill stared at his youngest sibling, his favorite sibling. He and Ginny had always been closest, the oldest and youngest, and it tore at his heart to see her lying so still on the white bed, her red hair spilling over the pillow like blood. He walked up and sat on the edge of the bed, near her arm, and pushed some of the wayward hair out of her face, his fingers trailing over the healing wounds on her face and neck. "You said Remus did this?"
"Not exactly," a new voice said from behind them. They turned to find the black clad Potions Master standing near them. None of them had heard him come up. "Hermione and I came up with a potion that we had hoped would prove a cure for lycanthropy," he explained. "Lupin agreed to drink the trial potion, as he has my other attempts."
"So what happened?" Arthur demanded, his frazzled hands running through the wispy remnants of his red hair, making it stand out at crazy angles around his head.
"One of the ingredients caused the werewolf aspect to be in considerable pain, which meant that Remus was unable to maintain control. The pain drove the beast crazy. It would have been a small but regrettable incident had not those two idiots decided that their raging hormones meant more than locked dungeon doors!" he snarled, but his fury was not directed at them.
Bill took one of his sister's cold hands in both of his, trying to warn them. "Come on, Gin-Gin," he muttered. "You have to get better. We were looking forward to a rousing game of Ginny-ball at Christmas time."
Charlie chuckled as the murderous expression on their mother's face grew. "Well, maybe we'll have to save it for another hol, Bill," he suggested, and Bill smiled through the tears misting in his eyes.
"Oh, Ginny," Molly whispered again.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Eventually, Poppy forced them all to leave, and Albus invited them to dine with him in the staff room. Remus heard them leave from behind his curtained bed (the Headmaster hadn't felt it wise to let the Weasleys see him as of yet). Poppy bustled by a moment later to let him know that she was going to grab a quick bite to eat, and that she would be back in less than half an hour.
Once her footsteps had faded away into nothingness, the man weakly shoved back the covers and swung his feet out of bed. He hissed when he felt the cold floor, but gamely tried to push to his feet. Falling to the floor, he lay there panting for a moment, trying to catch his breath against the fiery pain scalding his body.
There was no way that he was going to be able to walk over to her bedside, so he swallowed his pride and did the next best thing. He crawled. Remus dragged himself inch by agonizing inch across the chilly surface. His hands came in contact with the chair in which Albus had been sitting earlier and he pulled himself laboriously up.
He sat there gasping, staring at the unconscious girl that he had so horribly injured. Her breathing was calm and peaceful, but she wrapped in bandages nearly from head to toe, and he could see blood starting to seep through the largest ones. Shaking with the effort, he reached out and tightly held her hand.
"Gods, Ginny," he laughed humorlessly. "You'd think by now that I'd've learned how devious you are. How could you do it? You've seen the inside of the Shrieking Shack, and that was a normal transformation. How could you do it, knowing that the wolf was insane?" He squeezed her hand tightly, cold as always. "You're supposed to be awake, you're supposed to be laughing."
Tears burned in his haunted hazel eyes before spilling out over his cheeks. "You're supposed to be anywhere but here," he told her, voice cracking. "You're supposed to be out by the lake, swimming with Callum and getting more of those damn adorable freckles. You're supposed to be in the Great Hall, making inappropriate bets with Hermione. You're supposed to be at your piano, playing those sad, beautiful, ridiculous songs. You're supposed to be in the library, reading up to make sure that whatever prank your mischievous, brilliant mind has come up with goes perfectly. You're supposed to be down in the dungeons, teasing Hermione about her crush on Snape. You're supposed to be in Hogsmeade, down in the Three Broomsticks, making fun of your brothers and Harry for ogling Madam Rosmerta."
The tears came thick and fast now, and he held onto her hand like a lifeline. "Dammit, Ginevra Wealsey, this was not how I was supposed to realize I love you!" he choked, his entire body shaking. "I love your energy, your mischief, your brilliance. I love your compassion, your voice, that smug little smirk you get when you win something. I love your beauty, your courage, your strength. I love the way you imitate your mother when Callum won't eat his vegetables, I love the way you charm Snape's cloak not to billow in the halls, I love the way you sneak cat treats onto McGonagall's desk without ever getting caught. I love everything about you, and I hate that it's my fault you can't hear me!"
It was a broken man that sobbed at the young woman's bedside, curled around her hand, the only thing holding him anywhere close to sanity. "I hate that I'm the one that did this to you, hate that you're lying here not hearing any of this. I hate that I hurt you so badly, even before, and I hate that you're probably never going to want to see me again.
"Gods, Ginny, just get better and I swear I'll tell you everything, tell you how just the memory of your scent is enough to make me grin like a fool in the middle of teaching class. I'll tell you how listening to you breathe fills my heart with peace that I never thought I'd have. I'll tell you how holding you in my arms makes the world stop, and I never want it to start again."
Remus Lupin, last of the Marauders, wept over the love he'd never thought to have, that he'd never thought he deserved. He wept, his heart breaking and shattering in his chest, until his body finally betrayed him and pulled him back into merciful unconsciousness. His lean, bandaged body draped over the chair, nearly falling out of it, his grip on Ginny's hand still firm, still desperate.
Unbeknownst to Remus, Bill Weasley had come back into the infirmary for his neglected cloak in time to see the werewolf dragging himself across the floor. Mystified, still irrationally furious with the man, he stayed silent and watched, hearing the entire confession.
It only fueled his fury. The man was at least twenty years older than his beloved younger sister, the sister of whom he was so carefully protective, old enough to be her father. He had been her professor, for Merlin's sake! And yet, as he drew closer, resolved to yank the man out of the chair and leave him on the floor, he noticed a very odd thing: Ginny was smiling.
It was not much of a smile, just the gentle curve of the lips that one has when they're asleep and pleasantly dreaming, but he knew it hadn't been there when they left. He stared down at the bed and its inhabitant, and tried to think back, see if there was any way he should have foreseen this. It was obvious Remus hadn't, he realized, as his rage started to fade.
And then it clicked, an exchange he had inadvertently witnessed between his 'two sisters', as he usually called them since Hermione and Harry were practically family. It was Christmas of two years ago, and they'd once again spent it at Grimmauld Place, the last year they had done so.
Hermione and Ginny were sitting in the kitchen, cupping their hands around steaming mugs of hot cocoa, giggling as Bill snuck in without being noticed. Ginny was quite pink in the face, and she couldn't sip from her drink for fear of spilling it, she was laughing so hard. "Did you see the look on Snape's face when he got trapped under the mistletoe with Tonks?" she chortled.
Hermione was breathless as well, head almost laying on the table. "Oh, my God! If looks could kill!"
"Then we all would have been dead a long time ago."
"And Harry eight hundred times over."
"Five galleons says Fred and George don't come out of their room till he's gone."
"I'll take that bet; they still have to eat, after all."
"They're sneaky, but they're not THAT brave," Ginny chuckled, starting to calm down. "Bloody hell, that mistletoe was a great idea."
"Yeah, you just wish you'd been caught under it with a certain-OW!"
Ginny glanced significantly at the open door as Hermione gave her an injured look, rubbing her now sore ribcage. "You shouldn't-"
"But it's not like-"
"You never know when-"
"Who's going to-"
"They ALWAYS-"
"You don't know-"
"The hell I-"
"Oh, come-"
"He's our-"
"Yes, but-"
"Mum would-"
"I guess," Hermione sighed.
Bill hadn't had any idea what they were talking about at the time, but is made sense now. 'Professor' had to have been one of those missing words, and he knew that Remus had helped his sister a lot after her initial experiences with that damn diary. Sighing, he looked again for the smile. Yes, there it was, barely there, but visible enough to him when he knew her so very well. And it was obvious that Remus loved her. He knew that what one person told another in conversation was one thing, but sometimes, what someone said when they didn't know anyone was listening meant even more.
"How the hell was she going to tell Mum?" He chuckled wryly at that thought, his laid back nature finally returning in full force, and he sighed. The former curse-breaker picked up the werewolf and laid him gently on the side of Ginny's bed, pulling the chair and table out of the way. Trying to be as quiet as possible, though the chances of either patient waking up was distinctly small, he pushed at the next bed over until it was touching Ginny's along the side, all but forming one large bed. He shifted Remus onto that, his sister's hand still in the man's grasp, and brought over Remus' potions, settling them separate from Ginny's on the table he placed at the foot of their beds. He might hear from Poppy about it later, or more vociferously, his mother, but he would defend it.
Bill would defend any man who made his baby sister smile.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Remus returned to teaching the next week, though he mostly assigned bookwork, as his body wasn't quite up to teaching the practicals yet. He ate in the Great Hall at Dumbledore's assistance, and was surprised to find himself tightly embraced by Molly Weasley every time she saw him. He had thought she'd be furious, but she simply smiled through her anxious tears and shook her head whenever he asked.
And every minute that he wasn't teaching or in the Great Hall, he was at Ginny's side. Callum was usually there with him, though Hermione would carry him back to Remus' chambers once he fell asleep. Poppy had given up on trying to persuade him otherwise, but she absolutely insisted on him getting sleep. Even going so far as to drug him with potions a few times when'd proved particularly adamant.
Albus had sent the Weasleys home after a week, promising to inform them the minute Ginny's condition changed, and even Molly had to admit it was a little silly to be hovering about like a vulture. Hermione was a frequent visitor, and she would cheerfully relate all the gossip and latest happenings to the girl. Remus had, only once, remarked upon it, and she shrugged.
"We always appreciated it when we were stuck here for long periods of time," she'd told him casually, and he realized he'd forgotten how frequently the four were there during their time at Hogwarts. "Even if you don't know what's being said, it's still nice to hear a voice. It means you're not floating off on your own somewhere with no way of getting back."
After that, Remus had started occasionally doing the same. He'd tell her about the seventh year Ravenclaw who had accidentally managed to charm purple lights to flutter around every person in the class. He'd tell her about the new song Callum was learning on the pipes she'd given him. He'd tell her about the second years who had tried to start an "I Hate Snape" club. And he told her about how he missed her, how desperately he wanted her to wake up, for everything to be okay.
He was lightly dozing beside her bed, holding her hand in his, basking in the afternoon sun that came through the windows of the infirmary. The fingers stirred, tickling against his palm, and he immediately came to full alertness, sitting up and staring at her with bated breath. "Ginny?" he whispered, too scared to hope.
Amber brown eyes blinked slowly open, and it took them a moment to focus on him. "Remus?" came the raspy reply.
"Oh, Ginny, thank gods!" he cried, his heart hurting with relief. "Oh, Merlin, Ginny, I love you."
She smiled crookedly, weakly squeezing his hand. "Now that's what I call a welcome back."
"I love you," he repeated, leaning forward to kiss her softly. "And I'm never letting you go."
"That's nice," she yawned, already starting to fade.
"Rest, Ginny," he soothed, stroking her hair back from her face. "I'll be here when you wake up." With a sleepy little murmur, she closed her eyes and slipped away from wakefulness, and Remus couldn't think of anywhere but there he'd rather be.