A/N: You might have thought I'd never update, but here it is: Chapter 3!

Chapter 03

It was Potter who finally broke the silence.

"If it hadn't been for Remus, I don't think I'd have been able to bear having lost Sirius," he said. "I thought it was me who was to blame for his death. But Remus… he made me understand it wasn't true."

As he went on, talking about the time after Black's death and how Remus had taught him the Patronus Charm in his third year, I slowly realised what he was doing. He was offering me something in return for what he had heard from me this night. It was not as personal as what I had told Remus, of course, but that did not matter right now. For at least half an hour he talked, and I listened, my eyes closed.

And during all that time he would not take away his hands.

I was thankful for that, and it was then that I finally understood that there is a point when even mutual hate has to end. During the war we had never managed to be civil toward one another, despite fighting on the same side, despite the threat the Dark Lord was posing to our world and lives. But now, having to witness the death of a person we both loved, we had reached this point, and I knew it would be hard to go back to how it had been before. And I thought, feeling the strangely comforting weight of his hands on my shoulders, maybe I did not want to go back.

I knew that had Remus seen us like this, he would have liked it. He had always wanted us to make peace, and this peace was now made on the basis of his death. It was too high a price to pay, to my mind, but somehow I knew he would not have thought so. He had crossed the line almost two years ago, and this was but another tiny step. He would have thought this price to be appropriate.

Was it not ironic that only now, dying, Remus managed to show me all that I had refused to see when he had been sane and healthy? Ironic, yes, and beautiful. Beautiful in a way you wish you will never understand, because this beauty will break you, and afterwards you will compare every happy minute to it and tell yourself that no, nothing could ever be as beautiful as those moments when you heart was ripped apart. People who have not experienced such a situation will say it is the pain that makes you unsusceptible to the happiness that might come thereafter, but they are wrong. It is the beauty.

Thoughts like these were just the kind of mushy idiocy I had always despised, but perspectives change, as do people. Just as a small half-smile crept onto my lips - again ironic and beautiful that the man I loved made me truly smile for the first time in years when he was dying - Potter sucked in a sharp breath and jerked away his hands.

"Remus! His…his eyes! Professor, he's woken up!"

.-.-.-.-

The healers could not explain it. A whole bunch of them had come to examine him, but all they could say was that overnight his condition had stabilised considerably. They said it was a miracle. The miracle we had not dared to hope for.

One of them, a young woman, told me after the others had left that she believed it was because of me. According to her, Remus had only begun to shut down in the first place because I had not been here for so long, and now that I had returned, he had decided to live. I thought it was nonsense. But whatever the reason might have been, I did not truly care, and neither did Potter. All that mattered was that Remus would live.

I decided that I would stay until he had recovered – as much as he would be able to, that was. For one thing had not changed: he still was trapped in his own mind, unresponsive to the outer world. There were only two days left of the Christmas holidays, and Potter would have to return to his training, but when I informed Albus of the situation, he immediately agreed to free me from all duties for as long as Remus's recovery would take. And, as soon became clear, it would take a long time.

During the first days, Remus was too weak to stay awake for longer than a few minutes, and I spent hours just watching him sleep, holding his hand, being with him. As nonsensical as I thought the young healer's opinion to be, I did not want to risk anything.

Dealing with Remus during the time of his recovery made me learn an entirely new kind of patience. Since I, different from the medical personnel, was able to touch him without scaring him, I began giving him sponge baths instead of cleaning him with cleaning spells, as it had been done before. I learned the spells that emptied his bladder and bowels – thankful not to have to resort to Muggle technology for that. When finally he was strong enough to eat, it took an hour to feed him only a few spoonfuls of soft mash, and more than once I asked myself if he would ever again be able to maintain his weight without parenteral nutrition – not to speak of gaining some badly needed pounds.

But slowly, almost imperceptibly, he got better. January passed into February, February passed into March. Potter stopped by once or twice a week, convincing himself of his godfather's progress, sometimes making a little small talk with me, telling about his training, about the magical community, politics. My world, however, had shrunk, had reduced to one room, one bed, one man.

I had never known true happiness. Twenty-three years ago, I had thought I was happy, but there had been too much secrecy, too much apprehension and wariness. And it had been over so soon.

Now I learned what happiness really was.

Happiness was looking into expressionless eyes that would probably never again look back at me with recognition in them. Happiness was talking to someone who most likely did not understand me and would never answer. Happiness was wiping away spittle and remainders of mashed food from the chin of a 40-year-old man. Happiness was holding a hand that I had once wished to provide me with comfort in a very different way, but whose touch now gave me all I could ask for. And, most of all, happiness was seeing the shadow of a smile on the lips of a man who probably did not even know that he was smiling, or why. Sometimes, I allowed myself to imagine that he smiled because of me.

Happiness was Remus being alive. It was a selfish and sometimes guilty happiness, for how could I know if it was truly better for him to live? I did not want to think about it.

In April I resumed my teaching, returning to our former routine of daily visits. Remus was as well as we could ever hope for, and there was no true need for me to stay by his side all the time. Except for the creeping feeling of emptiness whenever I was not with him.

Potter now visited once a week, but not at the same time of day as I. We felt uneasy in each other's presence, unsure of what to say, to think, to feel. There was no hate anymore, but other than that, nothing was certain. I wished more than once that the night that had changed everything had never happened, and I think I am not mistaken in saying he surely wished for the same sometimes. It would have been easier by far.

It was in the beginning of June when finally I realised why I had been denied the luck other people had experienced during their lives. It was not because any luck for me did not exist, no, it was because all of it had concentrated on two days: the day when Remus had come back from the verge of death and the day when, reading to him, I suddenly felt thin, trembling fingers curling around the hand that was holding them.

Looking up at him, I saw Remus smile at me, a true smile that lit up his entire face. But what fascinated me more were his eyes, their expression not dull and empty, but perfectly aware.

Startled, I let go of his hand, bringing my own hand up to his face, almost touching him… and then dropping it again, as if afraid of destroying something- maybe this dream I was dreaming right now - if I dared to make the contact.

"Remus!" I whispered. "You're awake! Do you… do you recognise me?"

Until today, I do not know what I would have felt had his answer been no, but he did not speak at all. When my fingers had left his own, the smile had subsided, and upon hearing me speak, he cocked his head to the side, frowning slightly. Then, slowly and carefully, he took my hand again and guided it to his cheek, leaning into the touch and closing his eyes. And there it was again, the smile that, different from those I had seen during previous months, did not evoke feelings of happiness and sadness alike. This smile was pure bliss, and what did I care that he had not spoken and did not do so all evening?

I spent the following hour stroking his hair, his cheek, his hands, sometimes talking, sometimes in silence. He seemed to bathe in my touch. He listened and smiled. I, myself, had never smiled as much as during that evening.

But all good things come to an end, and finally, unnoticed by me, he slipped away again. I had been telling him about Potter's Auror training, stroking his cheek and slightly wondering if he knew what I was talking about. When after some time he opened his previously closed eyes, the void had crept back into them, and once again he did not react to any stimulation.

Being told about it, the healers once more had no idea what had happened, or why. Had it been a singular incident? Would it happen again? And if not - would I be able to resign myself to the idea of losing something I had thought I had lost, but then had found again, if only for so short a time?

And should I tell Potter? Eventually, I decided not to do so, at least for now, and I managed to convince the healers of my opinion as well. I did not want to raise false hope in him. I would inform him if it happened again.

During the next day, I was on tenterhooks, but in the evening my hope was not fulfilled, and neither was it the next evening, nor the evening after that.

But finally, after one endless week, I felt Remus once again squeezing my hand, and once again I looked into lucid eyes, telling me that they knew me. And as this recurred two days later, and then more and more frequently during the next two weeks, I decided that it was time.

To say that Potter was simply overjoyed would have done him injustice. It was more complicated than that, and I felt again impressed by him. Of course, he was happy, but he was also wary, almost frightened. How would Remus react to him? Would he recognise him as well, or would he be scared, just as he was scared of anyone else's touch?

The healers had not yet tried to establish contact with Remus, since until now he had "awoken" only in my presence, but never during the day when I was absent. They now were convinced all this had to do with me, that it was me who coaxed him out of his unresponsive state. If this was true, how would he react to anyone else?

We got the answer on a Friday evening in July. When Potter arrived at Remus's room, the latter was still in his state of apathy, but after half an hour, his eyes filled with life and, as always, he focussed completely on me, ignoring his second visitor. During the first minutes, I just talked to him as usual, and Potter kept silent, waiting.

"Remus," I finally said, "you have another visitor. Do you remember Harry?"

"Hello Remus," Potter greeted him quietly.

Upon hearing the second voice, the smile that had been lingering on Remus's lips vanished, but other than that he did not acknowledge Potter's presence, his eyes still fixed on me.

"Remus, it's me, Harry." I could hear his voice tremble with hardly suppressed excitement, hope and fear, which also showed clearly on his face.

Slowly, very slowly, Remus turned his head, his gaze flickering over the figure next to me. An uneasy expression crept onto his face, and I felt him tightening his grip on my hand. There was no smile for Potter.

The silence was suffocating.

"Remus…" Almost pleading this time. I felt a sudden pang of sympathy for Potter, but I also felt Remus wincing as the young man spoke. After that, everything went too quickly for me to prevent it.

I saw something cracking in Potter's eyes, and suddenly he was holding Remus's free hand, this time truly pleading with him, asking if he didn't know him anymore, telling him he was his godson and how much he had hoped to be recognised.

The results were devastating. Within seconds, Remus breathing became panicked and ragged, he began shaking all over, and after some more seconds, tears were escaping his eyes, which were tightly squeezed shut against the world.

Shocked, Potter let go of Remus's hand. "I'm…I'm sorry, I didn't –"

"Potter, get out! Now!" It did not take more than this sharply uttered command to make him flee from the room.

After that, I sat down on the bed next to Remus, who was still clinging to my hand, crying, unaware that the reason of his fear had left. I pulled him into my arms and began stoking his hair and back, all too well feeling the tremors which were shaking him. How I hated to see him like this!

"Remus, you're safe, don't be afraid. I'm here with you, you're safe." Murmuring soothing phrases like these, I slowly managed to calm him down bit by bit, until finally he looked up at me, a watery smile again playing on his lips. Only some minutes later, he was asleep.

When I left the room, I noticed Potter sitting on a chair not far away from the door. As I approached him, he looked up at me with red and puffy eyes, and I realised that, differently from what I had thought before, I could not truly be angry with him. How could I know if I would not react similarly if I had been in his place? And now, robbed of the hope he had held before, he would return to the Auror training camp, with no one who understood just how much it would have meant to him if his godfather had reacted differently to seeing him.

Looking down at the distraught young man, I made a sudden decision.

"Come with me, Potter!" I ordered, and surprisingly, he obeyed and followed me to the fireplace in the entrance hall of the hospital.

"Hold on!" I commanded as I shoved him into the flames, after having tossed some Floo-powder into them.

" Maple Street 21, London, living room!" I said and spoke my password afterwards. Potter held onto me obediently during the process. Having arrived at my living room, I led him to the sitting area.

Pointing at the sofa, I ordered him to sit, and he wordlessly did as he was told. I went into the kitchen to make some tea, and when I returned, he was sitting in exactly the same position in which I had left him: his shoulders slumped, hands lying limply in his lap, eyes lowered to the floor.

"I… I didn't mean to… to scare him," he suddenly whispered. "I didn't mean to… you wouldn't think that if I had known…" There was a frantic quality to his voice. "But maybe you'd think I'd do just that… because you've always thought of me as my father, haven't you… and I'm sure he meant to do what he did, and… and I'm sorry for that… and -"

"Don't be an idiot, Potter!" I snapped.

He winced violently at this and shut up immediately.

I sighed. This was not working out too well. Whispering soft, meaningless words to the man I loved was one thing, but how should I provide Potter with any kind of comfort – a man whom I had hated not too long a time ago? He had managed to do the same for me, however, and I felt that I had to at least try.

"Potter," I tried again; then, receiving no reaction, "Harry." It was hard to speak that name, the name that distinguished him from the Potter I had had a reason to hate.

He still would not answer. Sighing again, I sat down next to him. I could see his shoulders shaking.

"I know you didn't mean to scare him."

His gaze flickered up to me. "I… I was just… I thought…" He drew a trembling breath and briefly closed his eyes, attempting to calm down. "I was so happy he was lucid, and…" Again, his gaze dropped to the floor. "I miss him so much."

"So do I."

As of its own volition, my hand had somehow found its way to his shoulder. Eventually, I felt the tension in his muscles subsiding.

"Do you think he'll ever recognise me?"

What could I say but the truth? I did not have any comfort for him. "I don't know."

When the silence became too oppressive, I reached for the tray I had placed on the desk in front of us.

"Tea?"

He nodded, and we drank, again succumbing to silence.

"He looked happy with you." The words were spoken softly. "That's what matters, isn't it? Not me."

"Harry…" This time, the name had come much more naturally to me.

He looked at me questioningly.

"You're not your father."

A slight smile at hearing this. "Remus would like this, don't you think?"

"Yes, very much."

This time, the silence that settled down between us was not an uncomfortable one. Finally, after another cup of tea, he stood.

"I should leave. Got to get up early." He went to the fireplace, stopping before it.

"Thank you, Professor. For taking me here." He was about to take some Floo powder from the box on the mantelpiece, then hesitated and turned. Green eyes bore into mine. "May I come back?"

After a few moments, I nodded. The idea did not seem that bad. Not at all.

A/N: I admit it: This time, other than in "A Change for the Better", I used the "miraculous cure" cliché, and not only once, but twice - in one chapter! But I needed it! -lol- Anyway, there's still some chapters to go until the end, so please encourage me by reviweing :)