"Today," said Professor Lupin, waving the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff first years towards the cubicles which once again lined the walls, "we'll be revisiting our first practical exercise. A chance for you to see how far you've all come after two months at Hogwarts."
"Or how far some of us haven't come," muttered a tall, skinny Hufflepuff boy with blond hair, cutting his eyes down the row towards Neville.
"I'd like to remind you that you're only competing with yourself," Lupin went on as though no one had said anything. "As I've said before, so long as you're giving it an honest effort, there is no possible way to fail this exercise." He tipped his head to one side. "Although you might always get distracted. The Halloween feast does smell rather good, doesn't it?"
A ripple of laughter went around the classroom, and Harry faced the wall, pulling his wand from his pocket. He was peripherally aware of Ron setting his feet in the next cubicle over, of the little shuffling noises which were his other classmates preparing themselves to try this exercise again, of the rich scent of baking pumpkin on which Lupin had commented, but his attention was focused on the target hanging before him.
"Wands ready," said Lupin briskly. "And—begin!"
Harry swung his wand down to point at the target, and a jet of red sparks streamed towards it, leaving tiny scorch marks to the left of the center ring. He nodded, pleased with this result, and tried waving his wand the other way, which sent the sparks scattering in a cone shape to the right. A spiral swirl seemed to work best for homing in on the center, he discovered, and green sparks left larger scorches than red ones, though not as large as blue—
"What do you mean, it's wrong?" A familiar voice cut through Harry's concentration, and he lowered his wand and turned to see the tall Hufflepuff glaring up at Professor Lupin in the cubicle across the way. "This is how my father taught me to do it!"
"That may be, but you're still not getting the results you should, and I think your grip may be part of the problem." Lupin was speaking quietly enough that Harry wouldn't have heard it if he hadn't stopped to listen. "Try resting your thumb between two of your fingers, instead of along the wand's shaft."
"I thought we were supposed to be learning proper magic, not stupid fiddly things like this." The boy sneered, making no effort to keep his own voice down. "If you're such a great wizard, why haven't you cured yourself of those stupid headaches you keep getting? Or can't you even do that much?"
Several girls gasped—Lupin's face went very still—
Three cubicles down, Draco stepped into the aisle, eyes coldly focused. His wand was aimed directly at the skinny blond boy with his upturned nose, and what shot from its tip was no stream of sparks but a rush of shining flame—
Lupin thrust out his hand, intercepting the fire before it could reach its target. "I stand corrected," he said in a voice of deadly quiet, as silver flames danced in his palm. "There is one possible way to fail this exercise." He flicked his wrist, and the fire was gone. "Homework, eighteen inches on wand safety. Please also familiarize yourself with the basic focusing exercises in chapter four of your textbook, as we'll be going over them next time. Class dismissed." His gaze was fixed on Draco, who had his free hand locked around the edge of the partition, eyes wide and face devoid of all color. "Malfoy, my office. Now."
Remus shut the door behind himself and pointed to one of his visitor's chairs. "Sit," he said shortly, and the pale-blond boy obediently sank down on the seat, his bag thumping unheeded onto the floor beside him. The depth of misery in the gray eyes suggested to Remus that only an abbreviated lecture would be needed, but he still needed a few moments to find his own calm, so as not to make things worse.
Filling the tea kettle with his wand, he began to recite another work by his favorite poet to himself, his version of the focusing exercises he'd told his students to look over. The imagery of a tantalizing crossroads within an autumn forest had always reminded him deeply of his doubled life, with its sharp point of divergence precisely ten years ago.
The thought of that night, the nearness of the boy huddled over his knees across the room, summoned a memory from the life of the man now called John Reynolds, though it had taken place before that name existed. Letting his hands take over the brewing of his favorite herbal tea, Remus remembered.
XxXxX
"We can talk more about that later," he said, relieving the woman of one of her burdens. The tiny boy with his shock of messy black hair roused briefly, saw who was holding him, and made a sleepy noise of contentment before snuggling down onto the man's shoulder. "Now let's get out of here. Set that one back in his cot and we'll go."
"Are you sure?" The woman reached up to disentangle a small set of fingers from the bushy brown curls which just brushed her shoulders.
"What do you mean, am I sure?" He shook his head. "This is his home. It's where he belongs. We can't just walk out of here with him, that's not how this works—"
"Look at the way he's holding onto me." The woman stroked her finger along the tight clasp of the child's hand around the collar of her dark blue blouse, then caressed the back of a pale-blond head which was pressed trustingly against her collarbone. "Children this age are usually shy of strangers, but he grabbed hold of me as soon as I picked him up, and he hasn't let me go for an instant. That tells me he's starving. Not for food or warmth or anything like that, but for touch. A basic human need, which isn't being fulfilled." Brown eyes met green, bearing a trace of challenge in their depths. "Besides, if the police aren't here any minute now, or whatever you people call them—"
"Aurors. For something this big, it'd be Aurors." He looked towards the door, then back at the woman. "You're saying damn the legalities, he'd be better off with us."
"I'm saying I don't have the heart to leave a child somewhere he's clearly being neglected." An impatient hand jabbed at the luxurious fittings of the room. "Neglected in splendor, maybe, but do you really think he cares? Besides." Her lips twitched into a gamine grin. "If we try to pry him off me, he'll scream. And I thought the point was to get out of here quietly."
He hesitated for one more second, then sighed deeply. "What the hell. I've already used an Unforgivable curse today. Broken into a pureblood manor house, performed magic in front of Muggles without intent to Obliviate. What's a little kidnapping among friends?"
"Friends?" Her grin twisted to one side. "Is that all we are?"
"I said later, and I meant later." Taking her arm, he led her towards the door. "Let's get out to the hallway at least. There's an extra set of wards on this room, and Side-Alonging three is going to be difficult enough already…"
XxXxX
Remus blinked back to his own time and place, his hands resting on the off-white teapot, from which a waft of sweet mint-scented steam had begun to rise. He seldom recalled moments from his dream-self's past quite so vividly, but several factors seemed to have converged on this night.
One of which needs to be dealt with now.
Turning to face the young wizard in question, he frowned. His office was lit by fewer candles than was normal elsewhere in Hogwarts, in deference to his supposed headaches, but he didn't think any level of light would darken the Malfoy blondness to the shade of tawny brown he could currently see.
"Mal," he said softly, and the boy lifted his head, a moment of mingled fear and shame visible on his features before they blurred back to neutrality. Stifling a sigh, Remus crossed the office to stand in front of his student. "If you're trying for sympathy, it won't work," he said coolly. "Or was it an accident?"
"What?" The boy blinked up at him. "I'm sorry, I don't understand…"
Drawing his wand, Remus conjured a small hand mirror and passed it over. "Quite an impressive transformation," he said, as eyes widened in shock. "I'm aware you have a trace of Metamorphmagic, there's nothing wrong with that, but using it to try and curry favor—"
"I wasn't!" The boy swallowed hard. "At least, I didn't mean to. But I still did. Just like what happened in class…" Lowering the mirror to his lap, he closed his eyes. "Please," he whispered. "Please don't hate me."
Remus exhaled slowly, drawing himself down to calm once more. The situation required careful handling, and neither his first instinctive response nor his second would be useful. "I don't hate you," he said quietly. "I don't believe that I could. I can be very angry with you sometimes, but that's not the same thing."
"But I tried to attack someone!"
"Yes, I noticed," said Remus dryly, and was rewarded by a tiny snort of laughter. "You will have to serve detention for that. One from me, and very likely one or two from Professor Sprout as well. And I think it would also be a good idea for you to apologize to Smith. In public."
"What?" The gray eyes shot open again. "I'm not about to—"
"Draco," Remus interrupted, cutting off the next word and sending a wave of color through the boy's face. "And speaking of which, you need to undo this. If you can."
"I can." The boy sighed once and picked up the mirror to regard his work briefly, before setting it aside and closing his eyes again to concentrate. "I just hate doing it," he muttered. "This is what I want. What I wish I had, all the time."
"I will point out, you don't have to look at your own face very often." Remus crossed to the teapot and poured out two mugs' worth, smiling to himself as he recalled the last student with whom he'd shared this particular tea. "And neither of us wants to answer the questions that would be asked if you left my office looking completely different than when you walked in here."
Returning to his student's side, he set the mugs on the corner of his desk, pulled up the second visitor's chair, and seated himself in it, then leaned forward and laid his hand lightly on a slender upper arm. The young wizard tensed for an instant, then relaxed into the contact.
"A name and a face do not define you," Remus murmured, watching the features and coloring of Malcolm Reynolds slide away from the face that was not truly his. "They're a part of you, certainly. They shape what others will think and assume about you. But in the end, you must decide who you choose to be, and what you choose to do." He chuckled once. "Which sounds like the worst kind of generic, annoying advice, but you know what I mean."
"Yes, Professor." Draco Malfoy opened his eyes again, meeting his teacher's look. "I know what you mean."
"Good." Remus sat back in his chair and picked up the two mugs, passing one across to Draco. "One final note before we leave this topic. If at any other point your choices include attacking another student in my class, or in anyone's class," he added firmly as he saw a spark of mischief light in the gray eyes, "we will not have nearly so nice a discussion as this about it."
"I understand, Professor." Draco accepted the mug, his face solemn. "I didn't mean to do it. I just got so angry when Smith was rude to you, and my wand was in my hand already, and…"
"So, now you know something new about yourself." Remus cupped his hands around his own mug. "If you have your wand out, your temper can overflow into accidental magic. Which means, the next time you start to get angry, you should?"
"Put my wand away." Draco gazed into the tea. "Because now that I know it happens, it wouldn't be an accident anymore."
"Precisely." Remus nodded. "And I think that's enough of that, so now for something completely different. What do you and your friends get up to down at Hagrid's on Friday afternoons?"
"Plan to take over the world," said Draco with a straight face. "Less homework, more Quidditch."
"I've heard worse campaign slogans." Remus took a sip of his tea. "Would your Metamorphmagic be a help to you in that regard? Or do you have too little of it to be useful?"
"It's more of a party trick when it's this strength." Draco ran his fingers through his hair, checking if it were still straight and fine. "Tonks helped me train it some, but hers is so wide-open that she can't tell me much about how to handle it when it's all blocked off. She did find out that sometimes, when people have a trace of a power like I do, a big shock can force it to manifest all the way. So if something really wonderful, or really terrible, happened to me someday, it's possible I could become a full Metamorphmagus just like she is…"
Stepping out of Professor Lupin's office, Draco jumped a foot as someone cleared their throat next to him. "Zacharias Smith?" said Hermione, her arms folded across her chest. "Really?"
"You don't have to sleep in the same dorm with him." Draco returned her unamused glare. "I do."
"Which ought to mean you're used to the stupid things he says by now." Hermione shook her head. "When someone has fewer brains than a troll, what possible point could there be in listening to him?"
Orion, standing beside Hermione, let out a low hroof as if agreeing with this sentiment.
"Easy for you to say. You weren't there." Draco looked over his shoulder at the now-closed door. "You're not wrong," he admitted in a low mumble, "but I was just so angry. He's got no right to insult anyone like that, much less—"
"I know." Hermione laid her hand on his arm. "I hate it too. Come on, the others are waiting for us in the kitchens." A smile lit her face, one Draco had seldom seen his friend wear, though Mal was quite familiar with it on his sister. "Harry has a surprise for you. Something he's putting in his story to help you feel better while we're waiting."
"Waiting?" Draco shouldered his bag, rubbed behind Orion's ears once, and fell into step beside Hermione. "Waiting for what?"
"For the right time to come around." Hermione's smile broadened. "Lighting Smith on fire would be a little bit too much, but we can't just let him get away with being rude to our favorite teacher either, now can we?"
"An actual troll?" Draco peered over Neville's shoulder at the scroll in Harry's hands. "What would a troll be doing at Hogwarts?"
"Halloween joke from Peeves?" suggested Ron, taking a sandwich off the platter the house-elves had delivered to the little group by the fireplace.
"Or maybe a distraction." Neville crumbled some crisps between his fingers and set them down in front of Trevor. "If someone wanted to make sure everyone else was out of the way, so they could get into a place they weren't supposed to be."
"Like that forbidden corridor on the third floor." Harry added a sentence to the end of the scroll. "To see whoever or whatever 'Fluffy' is."
"Fluffy?" Hermione shook her head. "Is that really its name? That doesn't seem right at all…"
All four boys, and Orion, turned to stare at her in unison.
"Have to say, Hermione's not who I expected to get us off the hook with Fred and George," said Ron at the feast that evening, taking a third helping of ham and pumpkin soup. "And what was she doing in there, anyway?"
"You can ask her that if you like." Harry ducked as a bat fluttered over his head. "I'll help you get all your bits up to the hospital wing for Madam Pomfrey to put you back together afterwards."
"Yeah, think I'll pass on that one, thanks." Ron looked over at the Hufflepuff table. "Huh. Wonder what's going on there."
"Looks like Orion's trying to get Mal's attention." Harry watched as his friend cupped his hand over his dog's muzzle, squeezing gently to release the grip of teeth on fabric. "I hope nothing's wrong."
"Maybe somebody's stuck in the toilet and Orion heard them yelling for help." Ron slurped a mouthful of soup. "Either that, or there really is a troll in the dungeon, and he thought we ought to know…"
"He never acts like this, Professor." Draco motioned to Orion, who was shifting restlessly from paw to paw, glancing from humans to door and back again. "I think he wants someone to follow him."
"Haven't you caused enough trouble today, Malfoy?" Professor Sprout eyed her student closely, then pushed her plate to the center of the table. "All right, let's see what he's found."
"Thank you, Professor." Draco clicked his tongue to Orion, who whuffed in return and bounded away down the aisle between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables. He paused at the door for teacher and student to catch him up, then pushed his way out into the entrance hall and made for a doorway that led to a back corridor. One left, another left, then a right at the far end, where he stopped and barked commandingly—Draco checked as he heard a faint groaning noise—
"Merlin's mandrakes!" Professor Sprout hurried past Orion to round the final turn. "What in the world?" She leaned back around the corner. "Malfoy, fetch Madam Pomfrey here at once, and tell Professor McGonagall that Professor Quirrell's been hurt. Quickly, now, go!"
Lucius Malfoy smiled at his reflection in the mirror, anonymous in swathing robes and mask. Any Muggles who might see him tonight would likely think he was following their own foolish customs, half-remembered from a distant past.
Until they discover that the magic I wield is no counterfeit of costumery but entirely real. At which point, they will have no opportunity to discover anything, ever again.
Other than how much pain and horror they can suffer before their minds and bodies collapse under the strain.
"You're sure about this, Lucius?" asked Patroclus Nott from the other side of the room, where he was coaching Crabbe through fastening his robes correctly. "Not that I mind the chance to go out and have some fun, but after so long…"
"Macnair was quite sure, when I last spoke to him in August, that the Dark Lord had approached him in person and tasked him with a mission." Lucius brushed an imaginary bit of lint from his shoulder. "I suspect the reason he never returned from that mission is that the Ministry is holding him in secret, trying to pry information from him. An attack tonight will remind them that we are not to be toyed with, as well as heartening the Dark Lord with the knowledge that his followers remain faithful to his ways."
"Well, when you put it like that." Nott donned his own mask. "Where shall we go?"
"I have a spot in mind." Lucius flicked his wand, and a map unrolled across the table in the center of the room, his fellow Death Eaters stepping closer or leaning over to study it. "A gathering place for Muggles on the outskirts of London, likely to be especially crowded on a holiday such as tonight…"
"I really think we should follow up on this, sir," Kingsley Shacklebolt repeated as calmly as possible. "Anonymous tips about Death Eater activity are exactly the sort of thing Aurors are supposed to handle."
"Ten years ago, I would have agreed with you, Shacklebolt." Rufus Scrimgeour shook his head. "But today? We'd be castigated for scaremongering at the very least, and that's if nobody dragged in possible breaches of the Statute of Secrecy. The Death Eaters have been dormant ever since You-Know-Who disappeared. Why would they suddenly decide to resurface?"
"I couldn't tell you that, sir." Kingsley kept his tone respectful. "But I fail to see how one or two Aurors, familiar with the Muggle world and dressed appropriately for the event, could possibly breach the Statute. If nothing happens, we have a quiet evening out and return home with no harm done. Whereas if Death Eaters do arrive and begin throwing spells around, then the 'clear and immediate danger' clause comes into play, meaning we can't be held accountable for any reasonable use of magic."
Scrimgeour snorted. "If you think the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee understands the word 'reasonable', you clearly haven't dealt with them enough. But you make a good point, Shacklebolt. It'd look far worse if someone found out we'd been warned and not done anything. As long as you're willing to take this on yourself?"
"Of course, sir." Kingsley nodded briskly. "I'll bring my apprentice along, and if I could borrow Auror Halcyon as well? She's steady, level-headed, and has plenty of experience in the Muggle world…"
Narcissa checked her watch. If her note to the Ministry had been received and acted upon, the evening outing Lucius and his friends had planned would soon be taking an unexpected turn.
I would find it most amusing if he were caught taking part in Death Eater activities tonight. Ten years ago exactly, his Master disappeared from Godric's Hollow, vanquished by whatever happened with the child Harry Potter. And in the realm of my dreams, on that same night, Lucius himself took a foolhardy chance involving that same child, and paid the price for his arrogance.
"Although his arrest would leave me in something of a legal gray area," she murmured, dusting off her robes and stepping out of the small alley to which she'd Apparated. On this one night of the year, her everyday style of dress would draw no attention even in the most Muggle of neighborhoods. "The contract by which we were married binds us together until the death or permanent incapacity of one or both partners. And being sent to Azkaban, though certainly a life-changing event, does not qualify as such."
But still, it would free me to live far more as I please. The thoughts refused to be subdued, instead buzzing ever more insistently within Narcissa's mind. To leave behind endless empty rooms without a purpose, and live instead within four walls where every inch of space is appreciated. To let the formal gardens grow as they please and a planned wilderness revert to wild growth in truth, while I turn my hand to tending a plot of my own. To acknowledge my sister, her daughter, her husband openly as my kin, and allow my son to do the same. And perhaps, even, if I were daring enough—
"Mummy!"
The clear, delighted voice broke into Narcissa's reverie and brought a smile to her face. "Hello, my love," she called, glancing quickly from side to side, then crossing the road to intercept the running hug of a little girl dressed in a loose white blouse and pantaloons, her dark hair tied up in a kerchief and a toy dagger ornamenting each hip. "And what might this be?"
"It's my costume!" Cassie squeezed her mother tightly once, then let go to twirl in place, the better to show off all sides of herself. "I'm Grace O'Malley, the Queen of the Sea!"
"What an excellent choice." Narcissa took her daughter's hand in hers. "And where are you going to wear this costume? Simply to visit your neighbors' houses here, or did you have another destination in mind?"
"Aunt Amelia said maybe we could go to the zoo." Cassie bounced on her toes. "They have all sorts of pretty lights set up, and booths where you can get special sweets, and all the keepers and even some of the animals wear costumes too! Will you come with us, Mummy, please, please, please will you?"
"That is exactly why I'm here." Narcissa felt her heart lift at her daughter's joyful squeal, and lifted the hem of her robes with her free hand to keep pace with Cassie's quick steps back towards her foster parents' home.
For this one night, both she and her daughter would have everything their hearts desired.
(A/N: If you read carefully, this chapter holds some clues as to how the alterworld might have come about. But then, it's me. "Read carefully" should always be part of your mindset. Also, for anyone wondering how Cassie exists in the gray world as well, check Chapter 14.
The poem Remus briefly references is "The Road Not Taken", again by Robert Frost, and ham and pumpkin soup is a recipe I make myself, a smoky and spicy take on a fall recipe which is often quite sweet. My sister claims I have ruined her taste for all pumpkin and squash soups served in restaurants. Oops?
For those who asked, from last chapter, which video game: Fair question. The three I currently have ideas/words for are Persona 5 Royal, Stardew Valley, and Dragon Quest XI S.
Thanks as always for reading, please leave a response if you're able (it really does help keep me motivated), and I'll see you all next time!)
