Altercations

By Neurotica

Eight

Defense Against the Dark Arts had never been less interesting for Harry than it was with Severus Snape teaching the class. He'd thoroughly enjoyed the subject when Remus and Mad-Eye were the professors—at least they taught the students things they could use in the real world. Snape described the topics of his lessons as something almost holy. They had been learning, though—right now they were practicing using curses without speaking. But Snape always had an evil glint in his eyes these days (Ron called it evil; Hermione called it passion) when he explained the effects of curses and hexes used by dark wizards.

Harry actually failed his first quiz of the term—the first time he'd ever failed anything in Defense Against the Dark Arts. He suspected it was related to the fact that Snape despised him. Harry hadn't gotten a reply from his guardians, but he expected a letter full of grease and Mister Potato Head jokes soon.

Potions had been an interesting experience. The new professor, Horace Slughorn, tended to get a bit overexcited about the subject—or maybe it was that he had Harry in his classes. From what he'd heard of Slughorn from Sirius and Remus, the old Potions professor liked to pick favorites. Harry's mum had been one of those favorites when she'd attended Hogwarts, but then, she'd also been brilliant at Potions, unlike Harry. Slughorn cornered Harry after the very first lesson of the term and started gushing on and on about how wonderful his mother had been, and of course, that he, Harry, was probably just as, if not more, incredible.

Harry wasn't stupid. He may have played stupid often in the past—yet another trait inherited from his godfather—but he knew when someone was kissing the arse of the Boy-Who-Lived. He'd grown up knowing what he was to the wizarding world, and that there would be those who would try and befriend him because of what had happened between him and Voldemort on that fateful Halloween night. For the most part, he'd grown up without too much trouble of people goggling at him, but there were still cases, like Slughorn, that wanted to brag that they'd shaken his hand.

He decided early on to avoid the new Potions Master as much as possible. He didn't need another person looking at him as nothing but a famous scar, a legend—that's what he had most of Hogwarts for, after all.

In addition to the changes in the staff, Harry was noticing odd things around him. Granted, he was a magnet for odd things, but this was about as odd as it could get. Draco Malfoy hadn't made one snide, sneering remark to Harry or any of his friends since the beginning of term. In fact, Malfoy hadn't said one word to Harry yet — which was strange, because Harry had been dreading his return to Hogwarts for the sole reason that he'd expected Malfoy to start talking rubbish about how Sirius had lost his powers. Not that he was complaining; he was just kind of confused. Ever since their very first meeting aboard the Hogwarts Express first year, Malfoy had made it a habit to harass Harry, his friends, and his family in any way possible, every chance he got. Harry pointed out this new, strange development to his friends who just told him to count his blessings—the less Malfoy said, the less chance Harry had of earning another detention for hexing the twitchy little ferret.

But away from Ron and Hermione's ears—they'd gone out on Prefect duties—Ginny told Harry she'd noticed Malfoy looking rather ill as of late. The next morning, Harry saw for himself that his childhood nemesis looked rather exhausted and pale, as though, not only had he not slept in weeks, but had been in a certain amount of pain no long ago.

"Good," was Harry's response. "He deserves everything he gets. He's probably a Death Eater by now, anyway."

"He's not his father, Harry," Ginny said from her side of the Gryffindor common room sofa, her legs resting in Harry's lap. "Just because his father is an evil bastard with no sense of morality, it doesn't mean he's like that too."

"Like father, like son," Harry muttered, staring at the fireplace. "That's what Sirius always says about me and my dad."

Ginny sighed. "I can see your point, but you and your dad, and Draco and his dad are on complete opposite ends of the spectrum. I'm not saying Draco doesn't have his moments, but his father had all that time to become what he is now, and he's been on the run for ten years. How do you know he's had the chance to corrupt Draco?"

"I don't," Harry admitted resignedly. "But I do know Lucius Malfoy's been visiting home for at least a few months." At Ginny's questioning glance, he told her about how Naomi showed up at the cottage late one night and told them how Lucius was using Polyjuice Potion to get around undetected by the Ministry.

"That doesn't surprise me somehow," Ginny said. Harry raised an eyebrow at her. "Think about it, Harry. He's one of You-Know-Who's top guys; of course he's going to have to get out and about."

"I really hope Sirius is the one to catch him," Harry said, grinning mischievously. "He's been telling me for years what he wants to do to the git."

"He would deserve everything he gets. And yes, I'd like to see Sirius dish out his own brand of justice after what he's done to you three over the years."

Harry's smiled began to fade after a few moments. "It's going to get worse, isn't it?" he asked, looking back to the fire. "I mean, giants in London can't be the worse thing Voldemort's got, right?"

Ginny shrugged silently. "Bill's told me all sorts of stories of things he remembers of the first war, and so far, we haven't even gotten to the worst parts of the stories..."

As we all know, if there is one thing Sirius Orion Black hates more than anything in the world, it's waiting. Since his accident inside the Ministry, all he'd done was wait—wait for someone to find out about the curse; wait for Voldemort to burst out of the woods and march right into the cottage (Sirius knew the only thing keeping the Dark Lord from finding them was himself); and now he was waiting to see if his best friend would ever wake up again. Again.

It had been over two days since Remus collapsed in the bathroom, and only now was he showing signs of normalcy. The rash caused by the ingested silver had mostly faded, and his breathing was back to normal, but he was still quite pale.

Don't know why I'm so surprised about that; he looks like that ninety percent of the time, Sirius thought as he carried a tea tray for him and Emmeline to Remus' bedroom.

One thing he could say about Emmeline was that she was loyal. She hadn't left her boyfriend's side for longer than ten minutes since Ted left a few evenings before. Though she'd been expected into work, she sent the Minister an owl, begging a short leave of absence to be with Remus. Instead of replying by letter, the Minister Flooed to the cottage to check on Remus herself, and granted Emmeline her time off.

During the Minister's hour-long visit, Sirius had politely inquired about Rufus Scrimgeour's return to the Ministry. Bones laughed at Sirius' barely concealed hatred of the other wizard and told him he was more than welcome to do what he wished with Scrimgeour when he returned to the Ministry himself. She said the Ministry really did need all the decent Aurors they could get; and that Sirius was worth ten Aurors in her eyes. At that comment, Sirius' attitude on Scrimgeour dampened just a bit.

When he entered Remus' bedroom, Emmeline was sitting against the headboard of the bed beside Remus' still unconscious form, reading the Daily Prophet, just as expected. Ted said it may take a few days for Remus' body to purge what was left of the silver—the potions he took would make the silver disintegrate into nothing—but until that happened, all they could do was keep him comfortable as possible.

"Thirsty?" Sirius asked quietly, setting the tray on Remus' desk, and pulling out a chair to sit on.

"Thank you," Emmeline said with a smile, accepting the teacup and small plate of biscuits gratefully.

Sirius sat in his chair backwards on Remus' side of the bed and placed his tea on the bedside table. "Any change?" he asked.

"It's only been fifteen minutes, Sirius," Emmeline said, her lips quirking.

He shrugged. "A lot can happen in fifteen minutes."

"Very true," she conceded with a nod. "He moaned a little, but other than that, he's done nothing but lie there."

Sirius nodded, folding his arms across the back of his chair and resting his chin on them. He'd been trying to figure out how Remus was able to drink pure silver without knowing what it was. The cynical part of his mind that only showed itself during the worst of times tried to tell him Remus had known what he was doing, and that he'd done it on purpose. But Remus would never do that. Just the other day, he was telling Sirius how he was the happiest he'd been in many years. He'd never throw away his life like that.

The only other explanation was that someone had mixed it into his drink or one of his meals in the last few days. Remus, just like Sirius and Harry, had many enemies in this war, so narrowing the list to just one person would take days, unless Remus could tell them what happened.

And we can't ask the wanker until he wakes up, Sirius thought. Until then, I'll just keep brooding. I've always done my best thinking while brooding, so maybe I'll figure something out...

An hour went by without any change except Emmeline's sliding down on the bed, snuggling against Remus, and falling asleep. Thinking she had the right idea (except the whole snuggling against Remus part), Sirius closed his eyes.

Remus was in a very unfamiliar place. He was surrounded by nothing but trees and grass, and it wasn't the familiar forests of his childhood home. Straight ahead of him was a grand manor with windows that rose the length of two stories, and a tall iron-wrought gate surrounding its grounds. He didn't know why, but there was something in that manor he wanted to see very badly. He needed to see it. His life would never be the same if he didn't see this...

Of their own accord, his feet took him up a gravel path and through the gate, which opened when he approached and closed behind him. He walked up a grassy knoll to the large double doors. Instinct and his mother's teachings told him it was only polite to knock, but he didn't think he needed to—it was as if he belonged here. In fact, just as his hand reached out to open the door, it too opened of its own accord.

The front hall had high ceilings and golden chandeliers leading the way down the hallway. Elaborate vases sat on either side of the door, filled with fresh, colorful flowers, and the wooden floor had been shined to the point that Remus could see his reflection in it.

Very nice, he thought approvingly, looking around at the white marble staircase that led to a second level. He had a feeling that here were at least three more levels to this place. I wouldn't mind living here with Emmeline...

A pang of guilt struck at his heart at the thought of his girlfriend—it was as if he shouldn't be thinking of her, he had other, more important things to think about. But nothing's more important to me than Emmeline and my family, he thought firmly. No matter what this little dream world tries to tell me.

That was about as much of an explanation he'd gotten about this place: it was indeed a dream. He knew this because when he looked down at himself, he was wearing a pair of red flannel pajama bottoms and nothing else. Might as well see where this is going, he thought with a mental sigh. It's not like I've got much else to do...

His feet began to move again, but instead of going down the hallway as he'd expected to do, he went up the staircase, marveling at the smooth texture of the rail. Okay, if that impresses me, he thought with a smirk, I've been spending way too much time with Sirius.

Obviously his feet had been to this place before—they led him expertly to another set of stairs, up to the third level and down the hall to a door that was left half open. He pushed it open fully and felt his eyebrows meet his hairline (as Sirius had long ago said they would do) when he spotted himself leaning over a baby's cot. Curious, he took a few steps forward to the other side of the cot and looked inside. Sitting on top of a pink blanket was the most beautiful baby he'd ever seen. She had thin blonde hair and brilliant hazel eyes. She was speaking in a language only people of her age group (She can't be more than a year old, Remus thought) could understand as she stared at a mobile above her head.

The man leaning against the bars—the dream-Remus—had a look of pure joy on his face as he watched the child (His daughter, maybe?). The real-Remus had seen that look before on James when the Marauders would sneak up on him in Harry's nursery.

The dream-Remus reached out a hand and very gently smoothed the girl's hair back, smiling as he did so. The real-Remus frowned slightly as his counterpart jerked back his arm as though he'd been burned, but he didn't see anything physically wrong with the other man until—

His thoughts stopped abruptly as dream-Remus rolled back the left sleeve of his robes and examined the black mark on his forearm. This Remus had the Dark Mark...

Thinking this was the oddest dream he'd ever had, the real-Remus heard hurried footsteps down the hallway just before the door of the nursery burst open. The little girl started a bit and ceased her meaningless mumblings, but otherwise made no sign to show she noticed anything. Naomi entered the room, clenching her own forearm, wide-eyed and frightened.

"Did you feel it?" she asked dream-Remus breathlessly.

He nodded. "Yes... I don't think it's anything to worry about just yet; they're only a bit irritated, and until they're clear again, there's no need to respond."

Naomi bit her lip and entered the room further. Dream-Remus' arms encircled her waist tightly and she wrapped hers around his neck. The real-Remus just now noticed they wore matching wedding bands.

"Why does this have to happen now? Why couldn't it have waited for a few more years, or even better, a few more centuries?" Naomi asked, her voice muffled in her husband's chest.

"I don't know, love," he whispered into her hair, rocking her in comfort. "We knew this would happen."

She nodded into his chest and muttered something into his robes that made him chuckle. He said something back that the real-Remus couldn't make out, but he saw Naomi shake in silent laughter. The couple released one another, Naomi wiping at her eyes with her sleeve and moved past dream-Remus to look into the cot. "What will we do about the kids, Remus?" she asked. "They can't come with us..."

"No, they won't. We'll figure something out," dream-Remus said soothingly. "That's what we have nannies and house-elves for. I don't want them there either."

"Adam is going to ask questions, you know. He's going to want to know where we've gotten to."

"We'll tell him when the time is right. He's old enough to understand now, and there's no reason to keep it from him."

"He's only twelve!" Naomi whispered loudly. "How is that old enough? I'm not even old enough to understand what we've gotten ourselves into…"

"He'll be just fine," he said uncertainly. "As will Jake and Elizabeth."

"Do you ever wonder if we made the wrong decision in joining him?"

Dream-Remus thought for a moment, watching his daughter—Elizabeth?—crawl to a stuffed animal—a stag. "At first, I did," he said softly, painfully. "But we really had no other option, did we? All of our friends were dead, and the only way we could save Adam was to join him. It may not be the most desirable position we've ever held, but it's provided us with a home, food, and safety."

"I can still see them clear as day, you know," Naomi said so softly that both Remus' had to strain their ears in order to hear. "I still see Sirius begging them to let Julia and Jasmine go—Jasmine was only six months old... I still see James charging them down, but catching the Reductor curse for Lily. Sometimes I think we should have died alongside them. This isn't how life should be..."

The real-Remus looked to his counterpart and his wife in absolute horror. They'd witnessed their friends' deaths and had done nothing about it?

"Well, we're not dead," he finally said hoarsely, looking at the stag in his daughter's arms. "And there's nothing we can do to change the past, so there's no reason to dwell on it."

The front door slammed shut on the first level and the voices of two boys could be heard calling for their mum and dad as they raced up the stairs, laughing.

The older boy (Adam, Remus guessed) resembled Remus greatly; everything from the hair color to the thin build. The other boy was a bit broader in the shoulders, as well as a bit shorter. He had bleach blond hair and Naomi's eyes.

The real-Remus couldn't take anymore. He closed his eyes tightly and when he opened them, he was staring at the ceiling of his own bedroom of the cottage. Breathing heavily, he turned to his left and felt cool relief wash over him when he found Emmeline with her arm draped over his chest. Loud snoring from his right made him turn in that direction and he saw Sirius fast asleep in a chair, drooling on his arm.

Remus closed his eyes again and took a few deep, calming breaths, wondering what had brought the dream on. He recalled a dream Harry'd had last Christmas about a supposed alternate reality in which his life was almost completely opposite—his parents were alive and had a few more children after him, but Remus and Sirius had died many years ago. Neither Harry's dream nor Remus' even mentioned Wormtail—did that mean anything? And then there was the dream Sirius had a month ago about Voldemort disguised as James, threatening him. Were the dreams connected somehow?

As the impact of the dream started to wear off, Remus became more aware of himself. The throbbing, stabbing pain in his head was finally gone. He felt weak, unable to even lift his head at the moment, and wondered if he should try to wake Emmeline and Sirius.

No need really. They're both asleep—Sirius seems comfortable and I'm fine. May as well get some rest while I can, he thought.

Using most of his remaining strength, he reached up and gently rubbed Emmeline's back, bending his head just enough to kiss the top of her hair. Without meaning to, he seemed to have woken her. Her arm moved from its position on his other side across his stomach and stopped on his chest where she carefully pushed herself up just a bit.

"Hey, you," he said softly with a smile as she opened her eyes.

"You're awake," she said unnecessarily, but obviously relieved for some reason. Before he could come up with a witty remark, she lowered her lips to his as though she hadn't seen him in months. Though Remus would have been more than happy to escalate the kiss, he remembered with a certain amount of annoyance that Sirius was asleep just beside them, and they pulled away. Once Emmeline caught her breath, she reclaimed her position on his chest, her head resting just below his chin, their hands interlocked. "We were worried about you for a while there..." she said quietly.

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Why? And why is Sirius here?"

Emmeline turned to look at the sleeping wizard and chuckled. "We should probably wake him. He can help tell the story."

"Oh, there's a story," Remus said. "Wonderful. Padfoot," he added throwing a quill from his bedside table at his best friend's head—it was either that or a heavy book. "Wake up."

Sirius jolted awake and looked around disoriented for a few moments as he wiped his mouth and chin. "Wha' 'appened?" he asked stupidly. He finally spotted Remus and Emmeline fighting not to laugh at him. "Moony," he said in the same surprised tone as Emmeline. "You're awake."

"You both seem a little too surprised by my consciousness," Remus said dryly. "Why is that?"

Emmeline and Sirius exchanged a glance as though they were wordlessly arguing about who would tell Remus what was going on. Sirius won—or lost, depending on how you look at it. "You passed out in the shower two nights ago," he said quietly, still a bit disoriented from being awoken.

"Yes, I remember that," Remus said slowly, feeling his forehead where he it the tub's edge tentatively. Someone must have healed it—it didn't hurt a bit.

"We know why," Emmeline said.

"And?" Remus said a bit more impatiently than he'd meant to.

Sirius looked at him more gravely than Remus could ever remember. "Somehow, a large amount of silver got into your system. Ted Tonks thinks you swallowed it through a drink, or maybe even food. It was pure silver, Remus, not your every day spoon and fork kind."

"What?" Remus asked loudly, waiting for the punch line. "How in the bloody hell did that happen?"

Emmeline sighed from beside him. "That's what we've been trying to figure out. Have you eaten anything odd lately?"

"Only what Sirius cooks," Remus said, ignoring the insulted look his best friend gave him. "I haven't ingested silver. That's suicide for a werewolf."

"We know," Sirius said. "Which means someone slipped it into your food."

"Did you eat when you went to Diagon Alley the other day?" Emmeline asked.

Remus thought. "I had a bowl of ice cream from Florean's, but it didn't have silver in it." How would he have missed silver in his food? The situation was almost amusing. Almost. Remus wasn't thick enough or crazy enough not to realize he could have died from this. He sighed, trying to remember his week. It all seemed like a blur—his days ran into each other, from working to getting Harry prepared to leave for Hogwarts. The only time he hadn't eaten at home or at the Ministry all week was when he'd taken Harry to pickup some new robes he'd forgotten when the Weasleys had taken him to Diagon Alley. They'd eaten in the Leaky Cauldron; but again, Remus didn't see how he could have missed silver in his food. He mentioned this to the others, and Sirius said he'd never get spiked food there. Emmeline remained in a pensive silence until Sirius announced he was going to write Harry and go to bed.

"What are you thinking?" Remus asked Emmeline softly when she hadn't said anything for a while; he traced a finger down her arm.

Emmeline didn't answer right away, but Remus thought she looked a bit... menacing. "Was Naomi at the Leaky Cauldron that day?"

Remus' eyebrows shot up. "I'm not sure," he said slowly. "I wasn't exactly looking for her. But from what I understand, she's mostly always there..."

Emmeline nodded, but didn't expand on her thoughts. "You should get some sleep," she said quietly, her tone back to normal. "Ted says you'll need bed rest to allow your blood to clear itself of the silver." She switched off the bedside lamp, kissed Remus, got under the blankets, and slid down in the bed.

Remus' eyebrows were still rather high—usually when they slept, there was no distance between them, but Emmeline seemed so preoccupied that she didn't curl up against him.

"What, do you think Naomi did this?" Remus asked quietly, squinting to see her in the dark.

He heard her sigh. "I don't know. It's just a thought... Get some sleep. I love you."

"I love you too," he said, laying his head on his pillow, facing her. He had a feeling she remained awake long after he slipped back into unconsciousness.