Hello hello my lovelies!
Hopefully this works (I've been having issues with FFN since yesterday when I originally wanted to post this chapter, but I think I managed to find a way around my issue *fingers crossed*).
ExpertIntrovert123, I can't answer your question since you have PM disabled, so sorry about that.
Please, please leave a review.
My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.
Wednesday, December 1st, 1976
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Knock, knock, knock.
Three distinct, sharp knocks.
Who could that be at this hour? Minerva wondered, finger keeping her place in her book as she closed it and rested it in her lap.
It was long after curfew, and the Transfiguration teacher was restless and unable to sleep, so she sought out an errant book from one of her grand bookshelves, and had been attempting to peruse it until her mind tired; she had been wholly unsuccessful in that venture, and instead she'd re-read the same line six times before knuckles rapped on her door.
She paused, thinking that perhaps it had been a figment of her imagination, but then clear as day came another round of three knocks, three prominent knocks—such that they demanded to be acknowledged.
With narrowed eyes she took a moment to check her page number, before she placed the book on the short, dark wood table beside her dark green armchair—years ago the cushion had been stiff with not nearly enough give, but after perpetual use it was now extremely comfortable and one sank right into it upon sitting down.
Minerva flicked her long braid over her shoulder as she rose, plum slippers smoothly gliding along the carpet as she made her way across her office. The witch hesitated in front of the door, taking a moment to smooth down her starch white nightgown and square her shoulders.
"Alohomora," Minerva murmured, and a neat click shortly followed, she took a deep breath and prepared herself for the worst as she twisted the doorknob, waiting a heartbeat longer, and then she cracked the door open just enough so that she could see outside.
Solemn hazel eyes were the first thing she saw: they were obscured beneath full, thick dark lashes before the owner flicked their eyes upwards, and it saddened Minerva to see the depths of sorrow quivering in them.
Frankly she'd expected it to be Dumbledore—ever the bearer of tragedy and bad news these days with all of the Muggle disappearances, strange happenings and what not. She had not been expecting Hermione and Draco Potter's presence to be darkening her doorstep at this hour.
Minerva raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips as she waited for them to speak.
"We know it's past curfew…but, may we come in for a spot of tea?" Hermione asked quietly.
"A spot of tea," Minerva repeated, opening the door just a crack wider.
"It's…tonight is a special night for us you could say, and we were talking about things…about the future—we just wanted somewhere to go, to talk to someone who has some idea, some modicum of understanding about what we might be going through," Draco said, scratching his cheek and avoiding her gaze.
Minerva gripped the door a smidge tighter, "I'll call down to the kitchens, the Elves may not have retired as of yet for the night."
She stepped back, and the witch and wizard quietly slipped past her into her office.
Minerva gently shut the door, locking it back before she turned to face her students, "can you tell me why tonight is so special as you put it, or will the vow not allow it?"
Hermione had already crossed the room, and was now settling herself into the armchair beside the one Minerva had just been occupying; the girl tucked her legs beneath her, and Draco strolled over and perched on the arm, which is when Hermione slid a hand onto his thigh and he in turn laced his fingers through hers.
Minerva silently regarded the interaction, folding her hands in front of herself. How interesting, she mused.
"It's when we left," Hermione said softly after a long moment.
"When you left the future?" Minerva clarified, glancing down at her slippers.
"Yes," Draco replied curtly.
Minerva nodded slowly, ambling her way back to her own armchair, bracing her hands on the arms before lowering herself into it.
"I can't imagine what it must be like…having the burden of knowing what is to come resting on your shoulders," Minerva said softly, her elbow sinking into the armchair as her hand fell to cover her mouth.
Neither Draco nor Hermione said anything, but in her peripherals Minerva noted their grip on each other tightened.
"Tea then?" Minerva asked.
"Yes, please," Hermione said with a tight smile, raising her head to meet Minerva's eye.
Such sorrow trembled within the girl's expression: Minerva loathed the fact that there was a suffocating amount of pain and grief trapped within the young witch and wizard when they allowed themselves to linger on events that had yet to transpire.
A vision of her first encounter with the pair all those years ago slotted into the forefront of her mind: the scars that littered both of them, the eyes that had been tainted by tragedy, yet, yet, she'd also seen the hope that still glimmered inside of them.
Minerva rung down to the kitchens and luckily Tippy (one of the younger House Elves) was still awake, and shortly thereafter Tippy appeared with a silver tray: on which there was a fine china teapot, cups and saucers, and a small, delectable smelling plate of blueberry scones.
"Thank you, Tippy," Minerva inclined her head politely, and the tiny House Elf bowed deeply before vanishing with an equally teeny pop.
"Tell me something good, something about your future," Minerva requested gently, one hand holding the lid of the teapot in place as she began to pour the fragrant liquid into the three dainty cups.
Minerva levitated the cups over to her guests, both of whom warmly expressed their thanks when the teacups reached them, and she wasted no time in adding two lumps of sugar to her own tea from the silver tray floating in between the armchairs.
Hermione's brow drew together, only to melt into a wicked smile as she glanced at Draco, "Ferret."
"Oi!" Draco exclaimed, almost spilling his steaming hot tea on the girl beside him because of how sharply he whipped around to face her.
"Do I even wish to know?" Minerva asked, bemused, the corners of her lips curling upwards as she raised her teacup to her lips.
"Draco got transfigured into a ferret in our fourth year," Hermione merrily informed her Professor.
Minerva almost choked on her tea as she attempted to stifle her laugh, "I beg your pardon?"
"It isn't important," Draco said dryly, tapping his finger against his teacup in annoyance.
"Maybe not, but it was hilarious," Hermione smirked.
Minerva hid her smirk behind her teacup as she watched the witch and wizard banter back and forth: it kindled a warmth in her chest, and despite knowing that uncertain, possibly even dire times were ahead of them, she was strangely not worried—Hermione and Draco gave her hope, hope that in the end it would all work out.
"Wanker!"
Minerva snorted, shaking her head as Hermione shoved Draco playfully. Yes, Hermione and Draco gave her hope for the future.
Sunday, January 24th, 1999
Lupin Den
"Well, that's a bit anticlimactic," Sirius whistled as Remus's chest swung open and the first thing they saw were a bunch of papers, neatly stacked on top of the rest of the contents.
Both wizards looked at each other and breathed in deeply, for some reason it was almost as if they had been expecting Hermione and Draco themselves to burst out of the chest.
"Suppose you should open up yours, then," Remus said, rubbing at some soreness in his right hand, rolling his neck in a slow circle, and grimacing a touch when a loud crack sounded.
"Suppose so," Sirius responded, raising an eyebrow at Remus but the werewolf shook his head to reassure his friend everything was fine.
"Go on, hop to it," Remus said, shooing Sirius as he lifted some of the papers out of the way to see what lay in hiding beneath them.
For the next few hours the two wizards poured tirelessly over the contents of their chests, getting utterly lost and caught up in the past as they stumbled across notes, papers—some with errant, almost nonsensical scribbles on them that they spent far too long deciphering—and books from their youth that had been lost to them for years.
Remus tried to avoid the plethora of random newspaper clippings from the late seventies, the latest of which was from the beginning of 1979 (they were from Muggle publishers as well as the Daily Prophet, all reporting bizarre incidents that could all be connected back to Voldemort).
Sirius barked out a loud laugh when he found a stack of neatly organised notes from their Seventh Year, and he shortly moved onto a myriad of pictures—Remus scooted closer to his best mate, and they reminisced about the past. One picture in particular brought a smile to their faces: it was taken sometime towards the end of their Fifth Year, and they were all there, grinning brightly and laughing at some rubbish or another.
Remus's finger lightly trailed across the six Marauders from left to right as he recalled a simpler time, from Peter with joy still glistening in his eyes—joy that would dim slightly when the following September he would learn he was not a part of the back. Then to Draco, who was grinning wickedly at Remus over Hermione's head, and the witch in question was sandwiched between the two priorly mentioned wizards, her head swivelling between both of them as laughter sparked across her features. Finally to Sirius and James on the end, seemingly laughing at their own joke, with James throwing his head back in unabashed laughter.
"We were all so carefree then," Remus said softly, a smile tugging at his lips.
"We were on top of the world," Sirius added, his gaze lingering on the picture for one minute moment more before he tucked it under the others.
The next picture was one of Riley on Sirius's shoulders, waving merrily at the camera before Sirius suddenly spun in a circle and her hands latched themselves below his chin in an attempt to stay upright properly.
"Probably wasted enough time strolling down memory lane, we should get back to searching for a clue as to where Riley is," Remus announced, crawling back over to his chest, outstretching one leg alongside it, and bending the other as he peered inside it once more.
Remus winced, limbs heavy as he nudged an envelope aside, and frowned deeply when his eyes settled on an elegant looking copper key wedged between the spine of two books.
"What in Godric's name?" Remus mumbled, prying the books apart just enough so that he could fish the key out—leaving behind deep imprints in the book covers skin, which would normally irritate him to no end, but his attention was enraptured by the mysterious key, marvelling at the fine details on the bow.
"What you got there, mate?" Sirius asked, and Remus flinched harshly, his head jerking upwards as he met Sirius's eye.
"A key."
"A key? What do you 'spose it opens?"
Remus closed his eyes, lifting the hand that wasn't clutching the key and squeezed the bridge of his nose. For some strange reason, he had a persistent feeling that he did know what it opened, but he couldn't quite figure out what.
"Moony?"
"Remus?"
Remus's eyes snapped open, and his hand shifted to smack his thigh lightly, "the ruddy box."
"Box? What box? Mate, it'd be nice if you could speak in complete sentences," Sirius groaned, pushing up off of the ground and walking over to Remus, hands folded over his chest as he stared down at his best mate.
"James gave me a box…at the beginning of june in 1980, the third or fourth I think, I can't remember," Remus frowned, he wiggled his fingers in the air as he spoke, as if trying to grasp ahold of the very box itself, "he was smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes when he gave it to me. It was strange, and when I asked about the key he was cryptic as fuck and told me that I'd find it when I needed to."
"So, you think this key is that key?"
"Well there's only one way to find out," Remus said, hopping up, patting Sirius's shoulder as he strolled past him as he exited Sirius's room.
"Where are you off to now?"
"My room!"
Remus's ears pricked as he heard Sirius's bare feet padding across the wooden floor behind him, but he didn't slow down, he'd waited long enough, he needed to know what was inside.
The wonderment of its contents had been building for years, and after failing to find the aforementioned key—which he'd convinced himself that James had given to him on a prior occasion, and that he must have carelessly misplaced it, thus mucking everything up.
So he'd thrust the lost key from his mind, and he buried the box at the back of his cupboard a long time ago.
Remus headed directly for the closet in his empty bedroom—Tonks and Teddy had been at Andromeda's all day, and he'd been informed on their way out of the door that the intention was for them to sleep over.
Remus swung open the cupboard doors, and then fell to his knees. The wizard frowned deeply, I must remember to sort through all this later sometime, it's an absolute mess.
Sighing, he began his search with one hand—refusing to relinquish his hold on the key lest it somehow vanish in the few moments it was not in his grasp—and he dug through until his finger enclosed around the cool metal that quickly warmed to his touch. He closed his eyes, gulping in air, and then, with quiet reverence he withdrew the copper box.
A lid encrusted with rubies, and in the center, neatly etched into the surface are the initials 'H.P.'; the wizard always thought that the initials stood for 'Harry Potter', and that Remus was intended to bestow the box upon Harry once he was old enough, but, that was when he didn't have his memories. Now, now he wasn't so sure.
"Stop fucking staring and open it," Sirius hissed, causing Remus to near jump out of his skin—he had been so captivated by the box, despite the layer of dust that covered it, dulling the rubies and stealing away some of its' splendor—that he hadn't realised Sirius was leaning over his shoulder, so close he was practically breathing down his neck.
My senses might be dulled because of the stupid Full Moon at the end of the month, Remus groaned internally, he was certainly not looking forward to the Blue Moon—they were always more potent, the effects much stronger in the week leading up to the Full Moon than they normally were, effectively drowning him, and making him an exhausted mess.
"Merlin, you're impatient," Remus grumbled, hand trembling as he tilted the box and slid the key into the keyhole.
"Does it fit?"
"Perfectly," Remus whispered, turning the key, and a smooth click snapped through the air.
Remus carefully lifted the lid, and all marvel and wonder was extinguished cruelly.
Laying on plush blue velvet was a slim, Goblin-made silver key, rubies carefully lining the extravagant bow.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me, another bloody key?!" Remus groaned, placing the open box on the ground with heavy distaste. Years, years of wondering what was inside, and it was another key.
Remus slid down, catching himself by bracing his weight on his forearms, and he let his head loll back so that he was staring up at the ceiling.
"Remus?"
Laughter bubbled out of the sandy haired wizard, how ironic, he'd been frantically worried for the longest time about finding a key for the box, when in the end what awaited him upon finally opening it, was a key.
"You alright?"
"Never better," Remus drawled, rubbing at his temple absently.
Sirius bent down beside his friend, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, "how bout we go and grab something to eat? I'm famished, and you look dead tired."
"M'fine," Remus slurred, wearily glancing at Sirius as a leaden layer of fatigue draped itself over him.
"Moony," Sirius said softly, a thread of worry and disbelief weaving through the two syllable word.
"What about the chests and Riley?"
Sirius squeezed Remus's shoulder, a sad smile on his face now, "we can start looking again tomorrow, for now you need sleep and I need sustenance."
"Are you sure?" Remus tiredly inclined his head, eyelids drooping until Sirius was but a blur.
"Positive, Moony."
Remus didn't remember getting up, but the next thing he knew Sirius was helping him into his bed, and he drifted off, dreams plagued by the exquisite key laying neatly on blue velvet. Blue velvet that painted its way across the back of his eyelids, with glinting rubies dancing around, twirling and spinning before they faded from view—until there was only darkness.
In the darkness, as Remus Lupin slumbered, his senses were enveloped in chamomile, vanilla and mint, and that night he dreamt about what the key would lead him to, he dreamt about what it would open.