This is the end! The last chapter! It is all coming together, aren't you excited?
SUper amounts of thanks to all those who have stuck with it through to the end. This segment is over, the trilogy is over, and I would say that now I don't know what to do with my life, except that . . . well, there are other things in the works . . .
Anyway, enjoy! I DISCLAIM once again that I do not own it and it is not mine. It is JK Rowling's, as she is quite marvelous!
Remembering the Seeker
Chapter 4 - Coming Together
Remus was jolted from his reverie by the chime in Ottery St. Catchpole. He counted. . . . ten . . . eleven . . . twelve. Midnight.
Midnight already? How long had he been sitting here, lost in his memories? He felt as if he'd relived his whole life, and maybe, in a way, he had. He stood, stretching out stiff limbs. Peter's letter fluttered to the floor. He froze mid-stretch, and stared at it.
He couldn't change public opinion, he knew that. It was too dangerous a time to reveal the whole truth to the world. After . . . maybe then. Maybe after Voldemort was gone. Remus would try then to clear things up.
But right now . . . Peter had helped, more than he would probably ever know. If it was true that Peter went to his death tonight, he had left this behind for Remus, and also for Harry.
Remus hadn't had time before to tell Harry everything that needed to be said. Things were probably worse off in a lot of ways for that decision, not that he had had any control over it at the time. But Remus knew that if Harry went off to face Voldemort with hatred in his heart — at Peter, at Snape, at Voldemort himself — he would not be able to succeed. As the Head of the Order, it was Remus' job to ensure that Harry's fight be as even as possible.
The Head of the Order. Now, that had come as a shock. He had expected Alastor to replace Dumbledore, or Minerva, perhaps. But certainly not himself.
But this had, apparently, been one of Dumbledore's strange, incomprehensible, dying wishes. Minerva had found a letter in the Head's office at the school, waiting for her. The fact that such a thing existed made Remus wonder how much Dumbledore had known before he left with Harry. Had he known that the Death Eaters were about to attack the school? Had he known Snape had betrayed them all?
Had he known he was about to die?
Minerva, the letter had said. I write this on a whim, and am no doubt going to think myself incredibly foolish later, but I once received some very good advice from a very wise woman who gave me a gift. 'Trust your instincts,' she told me. 'If you feel compelled to act, act. You may not understand why, but it is part of what I am giving you. You may never fully understand it, but you must act as if you do. Act on these compulsions, and people will believe that you are omniscient, perhaps. With the job I have in mind for you, that will be most important.'
Yes, a befuddling gift, was it not? You have never heard that particular story, I daresay, but now is not the time. I have wisdom of my own to impart, and someday it must be said, whether that day is today or not.
The school must stay open, Minerva. If there is even one child left in it, the school must stay open. To close it now would be to court disaster. The school must remain open. I have laid protections that I myself do not fully understand, but they are powerful and they are there, and so the school must remain open. I do hope I have made myself clear.
You will do an outstanding job in my place, Minerva, this I know. You are exceedingly capable. I was unsteady my first years here, as well. But the portraits will help, once you learn not to let them walk all over you, and once you learn to sort out the rather conflicting advice.
But on to the more important replacement, one that is not as clear as your own ascension has been. Here I shall name my replacement as Head of the Order. You must put your full trust behind him, Minerva, for others will follow your example, others who may, at first, be doubtful. Explain to them that he is my choice. He is one who can and will be triumphant and successful. He has the experience and the talent and the loyalty to succeed. He has learned, recently, that one cannot judge by the majority opinion. He has learned this lesson most fully; you may trust that it is there. It will serve him well. He has already proved himself time and time again. The younger generation coming in will look up to him as a mentor, for he has never attempted to distance himself from them because of their youth. But rather, he has taken them under his wing, taught them, molded them carefully. They will respect him and follow where he leads.
As must the rest of you.
Oh, and once a month, he will need a little extra help.
Best of luck,
Albus
When Minerva had shown him the letter, his first objection was that it nowhere stated his name. But then he realized what Albus had done. He had taken the characteristics of who he needed as the new Head, and it was the people who had read the letter who had decided to put his name in. The line about extra help once a month could have applied to anyone, after all.
Maybe he was Dumbledore's choice. But in the end, Remus mused, that wasn't really the important part. The leaders of the Order had agreed. That was what people would remember.
Slowly, he bent and picked up the letter. Folding it carefully, he tucked it inside his robe. Taking his cloak off the peg, he left his room in the inn in Ottery St. Catchpole, and Apparated to the Burrow. Or, as close as he could get to the Burrow. Walking up the hill, he thought about how to do what he needed now to do. Take Harry to Godric's Hollow. Find the capsule. Explain.
He knocked softly on the door. He heard movement inside. "Remus?" came Arthur's voice from behind the kitchen door. Remus heard a muttered incantation, then there was a pause, and then the door opened.
This test had been a new implementation of Remus'. It was a form of identifying the Order's members. Under this incantation, the person appeared outlined in red if he was an inducted member of the order, orange if he was closely affiliated, yellow if he was under the Order's supervision. It could not be duplicated through any means, not even Polyjuice.
Remus stepped inside the small kitchen. "Evening, Arthur. Molly," he said, nodding to each. Molly stood from the table, and crossed to her husband, looking worried.
"Remus, is everything all right?" He held up his hand.
"Yes, as far as that goes these days. Molly, I need Harry as soon as he wakes." She nodded.
"For how long?"
"For most of the day, probably." She still looked concerned. She looked after Harry like a mother. She didn't know what Harry and her son and Hermione planned to do this coming year. Yet. Remus knew, however. As soon as he had taken up his new position, Harry had come to him and told him, in a tone of voice that defied him to refuse.
He was no longer the young, awkward boy Remus had first met four years ago.
"Molly," he said, softly but firmly. "I need Harry tomorrow." He left no room for questions. She nodded.
"Come in," she said. "Have a cup of tea while you wait." He accepted, removing his cloak. He wished he could explain things to Molly, because she looked so worried, but the truth was both too long and involved to tell now and too likely to be even more worrisome.
Arthur was asking him questions, and he was trying to respond as best he could, despite the fact that he was tense and distracted. It has to be soon, he kept thinking. Any minute now.
And then it came, a strangled sort of cry from upstairs. Molly was up and off toward the stairs like a shot, but Remus stopped her.
"Molly," he said. She turned and her eyes met his. He crossed past her to head upstairs himself.
"Remus," she said breathlessly. He turned, one foot on the lowest step. "Is everything truly all right?" He hesitated before responding.
"Harry knows the dangers he faces, Molly. What I must do today will help him better face those dangers." She nodded, and backed away.
"We've put him in Percy's old room, by himself," she said. Remus nodded and climbed the stairs. Reaching the room, he knocked softly, then pushed the door open.
"Harry?" He was sitting up in bed, breathing hard. He jumped when Remus called his name, but when he saw who it was, he gasped out, "Wormtail's dead!" Remus closed his eyes, nodding with great effort. He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him, lighting a lamp with a wave of his wand.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked as Remus pulled a chair to the bedside.
"Verifying the contents of a letter I received earlier tonight."
"What did it say?"
"That Peter would die tonight," Remus said heavily.
"How do I know he's dead?" Harry asked, bewildered.
"You saved his life," Remus reminded him. "Three years ago." Harry looked away as he remembered. "Harry –"
"Who was the letter from?" he asked suddenly.
"Peter," Remus said softly.
"What?" Harry asked. "And you believe it?" he accused.
"Yes," Remus said firmly. He pulled the letter from his robes and handed it to Harry, who took it and read it through quickly.
"How do you know this isn't a trap?" he asked when he was done. "How do you know that this," he shook the letter, "isn't just a bunch of lies to . . . lure you to this place and . . . finish you off?"
Remus sighed. "Because I do, Harry, and know you aren't going to accept that, so let me explain. You have never known Peter when he wasn't either a hero or a traitor. And maybe both those descriptions are accurate, and maybe neither of them are. I knew Peter, Harry. Not the hero, not the traitor, I knew Peter. The Peter who knew he was never going to be as smart or as clever or as popular as the rest of us. And he didn't begrudge us that fact, Harry. In your mind, you've painted a picture of him as someone who was less than we were, as a person. Someone who was always dissatisfied with the position he held in life, someone who was just waiting to turn and take revenge. And that's not even close to being Peter, Harry. He was . . . fiercely loyal."
"Obviously," Harry muttered.
"He was. Even in this, I think. Now that he's explained it, it makes sense. It fits Peter. He would do anything to help us, even if it was dangerous for him. He risked the Animagus transformation for us, and on the other side of that, he stood up to us when he had to. Did you know that it was Peter who got your father when Sirius told Snape how to get past the Whomping Willow? Peter knew he was no use to me, at that moment. He didn't try to be more than he was, ever. If he thought giving in to Voldemort was the only way to protect us . . ."
"This could just be another lie!" Harry said.
"Yes, you're right, it could be," Remus admitted. "But I don't think it is. However, you are your own person, Harry. You don't have to chose to trust my judgment in this. There is one way to prove that I'm right, and that's to go –"
"And find this capsule? What's so important about it?" Harry demanded.
"On your first birthday, Harry, your parents and myself and Sirius and Peter gathered on your father's property to bury a time capsule. None of us knew what the others put in. We spelled it so that it would only be able to be recovered when there was only one of us left. We agreed that the last Marauder would dig up the capsule. And if we were all finished before that last Marauder had a chance, it would appear, and anyone could find it and see what was most important to us. This capsule holds the answers I've been searching for for sixteen years, Harry." When Harry still looking inclined to argue, Remus used a tactic that Dumbledore had used against him four years ago. Standing, he said, "I am leaving for Godric's Hollow tomorrow at eight. Ultimately, Harry, it is your choice whether or not you will join me. But as your father's friend, I am asking you to do this. As the Head of the Order, I am charging you with making every attempt to uncover the truth." And he left the room.
The next morning, Remus sat at breakfast early with Molly, Arthur, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. The room was quiet throughout the meal. Remus sat, watching the stairs and waiting.
Finally, at ten til eight, Harry came down, dressed for traveling. He and Remus exchanged a long look. Remus smiled. "Ready, then, Harry?" he asked, standing. Harry hesitated, then nodded.
"Harry?" Hermione questioned. He glanced at her, looking, Remus thought, a little guilty.
"I'll be back, Hermione," he mumbled.
"Harry," she said again, moving to stand, but Ron put a hand on her arm.
"He'll be back, Hermione," he said. Slowly, she sat back down. Remus led the way outside.
They walked in silence for some time, until Harry finally spoke up. "Don't think I don't know what you did last night," he said. "To get me to come with you."
"I played you, Harry." Remus' straightforward admittance took Harry by surprise.
"What?"
"I played you. I played on your sense of honor and duty. I took advantage of what I knew to be your weakness, in exactly the same way as I used to with your father and Sirius." When Harry remained silent, Remus glanced at him. "What? Did you think that just because I'm a member of the Order I will always use honest tactics? You do what needs to be done to get the job done. You of all people ought to know that. If getting things done requires manipulation, then so be it. I'm not the first to have done it. It's a tactic Dumbledore used all the time." That got Harry's attention.
"On you?" he asked. Remus smiled grimly.
"Harry, how do you think he got me to teach at Hogwarts in the first place?" He looked away again, considering that. "The point, Harry, is that, yes. We haven't always been perfectly honest with you. I know how frustrating that can be. I was left in the dark for much of the time that your parents were in hiding. And I knew I was being lied to. But I also recognized then, like now, that sometimes there is simply no other choice. I won't lie to you, Harry, I can promise that. But I don't promise that I'm always going to tell you the whole truth. I won't tell you everything, and you're going to have to accept that. And you're going to have to trust me."
Remus waited for his response. Harry was silent, still except for the continual forward motion as the two of them kept walking forward. Then, slowly, Harry nodded. Remus smiled. He'd been a little worried that Harry might try to rebel. From the things Remus had been told about Harry's state of mind during his fifth year, he had felt that everyone was deceiving him. And he'd been angry. And angry, Remus knew, was not going to get the job done. It was only going to exhaust him.
"Can I ask you something, then?" Harry said. Remus nodded. "I'm not trying to be . . . I'm just trying to look at this from all sides." Remus nodded again. "Well . . . could this be a trap, Remus?" Remus took a deep breath, considering.
"Yes," he said slowly. "It could."
"Then why –"
"Because even if it is, once we're at the grove, no one can do anything to us." Harry stopped walking. Remus stopped a few paces later and turned to look at the boy.
"The magic at Godric's Hollow is that strong?" he asked.
"No," Remus said, and motioned for Harry to keep walking. He did, and Harry ran to catch up.
"Then –"
"The magic in the grove is that strong. No one can get past the barrier who wasn't there when it was erected, not until all five of us are dead."
"Then how can I get in?"
"You were there, Harry. You can get past the barrier because you were there sixteen years ago. The capsule isn't tied to you, but you can get into the grove. We set it up with the idea that whoever was left would take you, too. In case of the worse. It was for you. We said it was for us or the people who would come after, but it was really for you. I think we knew, somehow, that you would be the one . . . that things would, I don't know." Remus shook his head in mild frustration. "Anyway, we wanted to do something to help you. Peter knew that. I think that's partly why . . ." He trailed off.
"If he isn't dead?" Harry asked quietly. Remus squinted at the sky, drawing a deep breath as he formulated his answer.
"There are only a handful of people in the world who can say that he is or isn't with any certainty, Harry, and you're one of them. But if you don't want to be the one to make that call . . . we'll know when we get to the grove. If Peter is waiting for us, or if the capsule doesn't appear, you and I will Disapperate to a safe place. Inside the grove, no one but Peter can challenge us, not even Voldemort."
"How do you know Voldemort can't break through the barrier?" Harry wanted to know.
Remus smiled. "Because Dumbledore couldn't. Dumbledore tried to break through the barrier, and he couldn't. Peter is the only one who can challenge us there, Harry. You told me he was dead, and I trust that. And even if that turns out not to be true, if it's just Peter, I can talk to him. I can offer him asylum. For the sake of the friendship we once had, I owe him that."
"You owe him?" Harry asked, incredulous. "How could you possibly owe him anything? He betrayed you all! He sold you to Voldemort! All of you!" Remus kept walking quietly, letting Harry have his outburst. It confirmed what Remus had already known.
"Harry, why did you break up with Ginny?" he asked abruptly. Harry was unprepared for the sudden change in topic, and the intimacy of the question caught him off guard..
"For the same reason you won't start anything with Tonks," he shot back a moment later, hoping, Remus guessed, to catch him likewise off-guard. But Remus merely smiled.
"Yes, most likely." He received a sidelong glance from Harry, who hadn't expected him to admit it. "But the difference there is that Nymphadora and I have talked and have reached an understanding. It is far from being satisfactory, for either of us, but we have talked. Can you say the same for yourself and Ginny?"
He could not, which Remus knew. He remained silent for a moment, then said, "You think I did the wrong thing." It was not quite a question.
"I think you are trying to do the right thing, but going about it in the wrong way," Remus replied softly. Harry didn't respond to this, so Remus continued. "Harry, you have fallen prey to one of the classic misconceptions of parenthood and heroism. You are far from being the first. You're not even the only one in this conversation to have done so." That got his attention. He looked up at Remus, slightly troubled and trying not to show it.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Feeling as though you have to protect anyone you love. Trying to keep those people safe and far away from danger, and so, far away from yourself. You can't do that for Hermione or Ron or any of us, so you're trying to with Ginny. But she's going to rebel. The harder you try to confine her, the more she's going to want to push out."
"She can't come with us!" Harry said emphatically.
"No, she can't. But she needs to stay under protection because she realizes that it's the best thing for her, not because someone has ordered her to. She loves you, Harry, whether you want to admit that right now or not. She's devoted to you. But she's her own person, and the surest way to ensure that she makes at least one attempt to escape and follow you is to try and order her to stay put." A flash of fear had crossed Harry's face when Remus had mentioned Ginny following him, and Remus knew why. "Talk to her, Harry. It's the best advice I can give you. The two of you need to talk, seriously, as adults. Come to an understanding. Trust me when I say that things will work out better in the long run if you do."
Harry was silent. Remus glanced at the boy; he looked trouble and pensive. Not surprising, Remus thought. He actually thought no one really realized what he was doing.
It was, therefore, just as well that they had reached the Apparition point.
"Are you up for Apparating yourself, Harry, or would you be more comfortable with Side-Along? I know you aren't licensed yet–"
"I'm fine," he said.
"As Head of the Order, I really shouldn't condone Under-age Apparition . . . it being illegal and all . . ." He trailed off and Harry smiled, which had been Remus' goal.
"Are you going to tell me that none of the Marauders Apparated outside of lessons before being licensed?" Harry asked, glancing sidelong at Remus. An image of Sirius missing an ear sprang to Remus' mind and he chuckled.
"If I did, you'd never believe me and rightly so. Now then. You've seen the picture of the Apparition spot for Godric's Hollow, yes?" Harry nodded. "Then, let's go."
A moment later, they had left Ottery St. Catchpole far behind and were standing just outside another, unfamiliar village. "This is as close as we can get to the grove," Remus said. "And we'll be walking from here." Harry had closed up again, lost in his thoughts as they began walking.
"You never answered my question," he stated a few moments later. Remus glanced at him; Harry took that as a signal to continue. "When I asked about Peter. You asked me why I broke up with Ginny; you never answered my question."
"Likewise, you never really answered mine," Remus responded. When Harry looked puzzled, he repeated, "Why did you break up with Ginny?"
It was a few moments before Harry responded. "I can't – I'd do anything for her, to keep her from being hurt. If something happened . . . if the only way I could destroy Voldemort would be to destroy Ginny, too . . . I don't think I could, Remus. I don't think I could do it. It scares me, how I feel about her. Having her in danger is a weakness for me, and I can't –"
"Loving someone is not a weakness, Harry," Remus said softly. "Is the same not true of Ron and Hermione? Of Molly and Arthur? Of me and Tonks? Of course it is," Remus said, answering his own question. "But in a different way and I understand that. But answer something else for me, if you will." Harry looked at him, grave and silent. "Do you remember what I said to you in third year when you told me the form your boggart would take?"
"You said . . . that it was mature. To fear fear. Because that's what it meant to have a Dementor as my boggart," Harry answered haltingly.
"Yes." Remus stopped walking and waited for Harry to turn and face him fully. "Loving someone does not make us weak, Harry. It's not even losing someone we love. It's fearing to lose them," he said emphatically. "Fearing to lose them, Harry. Fear is your weakness. Fear and other negative emotions that Voldemort will feed on."
"What does this have to do with –"
"Harry, it is imperative that you not face Voldemort with any negative emotions. Like a dementor, he will feed off of them. He will take your anger, your hatred, your fear and use them against you. That's what he knows. He understands the power those emotions have. He doesn't, has never, understood the power in positive emotions. He underestimates that power, and looks on it as weak. And that will be his downfall, if you know how to use it." Remus closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"You won't win any battles being angry, Harry," he said more softly. "And you are. You are angry, and it's not without reason, but . . . you're angry at Voldemort and at Snape and at Malfoy and Peter and I don't even know who else. Anger will only exhaust you, Harry. It doesn't help. Believe me, I know. You have to let go of that anger. As impossible as it sounds, you have to forgive these people." Harry looked away.
"Anyway," Remus said wearily, beginning to walk again. "That's why I owe Peter something. Because when he saw his choice was to destroy Voldemort only by destroying his friends, he chose to protect his friends instead. He chose to protect me, and I know it sounds backwards, that he protected the ones he loved by betraying them, but . . . our safety was more important to him than his own. And that's commendable, even if things didn't end the way he intended. The point is, he tried. And I owe him recognition that he tried."
They walked in silence the rest of the way to Godric's Hollow. As Remus wordlessly led the way to the grove, Harry drew his wand, body tense and eyes moving, searching the surroundings.
If someone knew that a house had once stood on the land Remus walked through, the evidence could be seen. To anyone else, the one time foundation of the Potter House was only an overgrown field standing in front of the forest line.
But the marks were still there. A low stone wall still stood beneath the tall grass, and the lane that had led to the house was still visible. The copse of trees Remus was walking toward was not quite part of the forest.
There was also a kind of dormant power in this place. Harry couldn't fully explain it, but he lowered his wand and relaxed. He knew he had been here before, and he knew nothing could hurt him here. He stopped walking to look around, caught up in that inexplicable power he was feeling. He slowly turned, taking in the view of the place that should have been his home. It was what he saw in one corner of the property that made his heart stop.
Rows of rounded stones stood nearly hidden by the growth around them. It looked as though there may once have been an iron fence around the stones, but it had long since been removed. A lump formed in his throat as he looked at them. He forced himself to tear his eyes away from the small cemetery that held, he was sure, held his family.
Taking a deep breath, Harry nodded to Remus and the two of them continued walking toward the small copse of trees. At the threshold, Remus stopped and gestured to Harry. "You first," he said.
Harry felt the barrier as he passed through it. A moment later, Remus stepped through. Harry opened his mouth to ask Remus what would happen next, only to find he didn't need to. For no sooner had Remus entered the grove than a wooden chest began to rise from the ground. Harry and Remus stood perfectly still, watching it. The lid rose to reveal the inside, divided into five sections. Beneath each section was a tiny plaque bearing a name. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs, The Marauders' Keeper, these plaques read. In each compartment was a parchment envelope and a black velvet bag. Harry looked to Remus.
"Well, go on, then, Harry," he said. And Harry knelt before the trunk. It was then that he saw the envelope attached to the inside of the lid. He reached for this first, and opened it.
We are the Marauders, it read. The Marauders plus one. We are a group of school friends, now trying to live in the world. We face an evil foe, who would destroy everything we stand for. We cannot know how the fight will end; therefore, we live this chest behind. It in, we have put ourselves, the essence of the Marauders. We have each chosen an item that we believe embodies ourselves individually, and the Marauders as a whole. We have agreed to keep these items secret from one another, and have placed a charm on this chest, that it may not be opened until all or all but one of us is gone. If all of us, this chest is here for anyone who finds it.
That may be you. If so, we hope this shows the magic that we know will overcome in the end – the magic of friendship. It is stronger than the evil that threatens us, strong enough to survive. It is a bond formed in love, and we know it will last. Let it live on in you.
"Who wrote this?" Harry asked when he was through reading it. "Was it all of you, or . . .?" He trailed off.
Remus smiled. "It was your mother, Harry. It was Lily. She always had a way with words."
"She could have passed that along," Harry muttered, startling Remus into a laugh. He clapped Harry on the back.
"We all made that wish at one time or another, come midnight before an essay was due."
"Even you?" Harry asked wryly, looking up at him.
"Well . . ." Remus conceded. "Not so much me, really. Occasionally, but not anywhere near as regularly as Sirius and your dad." Harry smiled and reached for Remus' compartment of the trunk.
"Tell me about yours, then. Since you're here." Nodding, Remus took the black velvet bag from him and upended it. A small gray lump slid out into Harry's hand.
"Silver?" he asked.
Remus nodded. "Bought it on my first trip to Diagon Alley, just before I started at Hogwarts. My mother didn't know; I purchased it with pocket money I'd saved."
"Why?"
Remus gave a wry smile of his own. "Silver to ward off the wolf, Harry."
"I thought that was just a myth."
"Oh, it is. Silver, in truth, has little to no effect on werewolves. But I felt better carrying it around in my pocket, as though I was doing something to further my cause. I stopped carrying it on my person once the others found out, but I always had it with me at school, in the room. Putting it in the capsule was symbolic for me. I saw it as saying I didn't need it anymore. With friends like these beside me, what did I need a talisman for? Anyway, that's what my note says, in nicer language, of course. Who next?"
"Do you know what the others put in? I mean, can you guess?" Harry wanted to know.
There was a moment's silence as Remus considered. "I have no idea what Sirius put in," he finally said. "Can't even guess. The others? . . . Yes, I think I might have an idea. But I don't know for sure, so let's find out." And he gestured for Harry to remove another black bag and letter. Harry hesitated for a moment before pulling out Sirius'. Inside the bag was what appeared to be a small, wilted branch of a tree. As Remus held it in his hand, it twitched as if, in another life, it might have had the strength to attack. Both Harry and Remus looked at it curiously, then at each other. It was clear that neither of them knew what it was. Harry opened the note, and they both leaned over it.
I am Padfoot. Or Sirius, if you prefer. The thoughtless trickster, the impossibly good-looking, suave, debonair, charming young man. Or at least, that's what I used to think. I wanted to believe it, too. I wanted to think that I could always be that person, doing whatever struck my fancy and just talk my way out of trouble after. Boy, was I stupid. The worst part is, it took the most immensely stupid act of my life for me to realize it. I put my best friends in danger because of my immaturity and thoughtlessness.
Harry looked up. "Is he talking about . . .?" he asked.
"I think so," Remus said, looking slightly pained. They continued reading.
That's the reason for the somewhat odd contribution. It's branch cut from the Whomping Willow. I have another branch with me. It always seems to fall in my line of vision when I'm getting ready to slip into thoughtlessness again. We grew up after it happened, we all did, and it was for the better. I guess this represents growing up. We all have to. The thoughtless trickster I used to be wouldn't be of any use in the coming fight. He'd probably get himself killed. Here's hoping I've learned enough to escape that fate. Here's hoping we all have.
Harry looked up at Remus when he had finished reading. "He wanted so badly to prove himself," Remus said quietly. "Especially after . . . it happened. He wanted so badly to prove himself, to prove he had something to give. And, I think, though I'm not sure he realized this, to prove that he had the right to be a Gryffindor. Sirius' mantra was 'stay one step ahead.' That's what he was always trying to do – stay just one step ahead. And yet . . . he always found a way to do it with a smile on his face and a laugh at the ready. His humor could disarm people, and that's when, in school, the rest of us would strike with whatever prank. He always went for the laugh, and if his sense of humor was dark at times, well, that's because his life was, too." Remus sat, looking at the branch for a long moment, then he set it aside, smiled and said, "Next, Harry?"
Harry reached for Peter's letter and bag, determined to do as Remus had asked, and keep an open mind about whatever it would reveal. Out of the bag fell a strange, smoky piece of glass that made Remus gasp.
"I thought this might be it," he said. "It's lightning-made glass," he said, to answer Harry's unspoken question. "Lightning struck sand and made glass." Nodding, Harry looked to the letter.
I am a rat. They call me Wormtail, and I am a rat. More so than they know. This is hard to write, as I don't know who will be reading this, nor under what circumstances. If my friends, I hope that the information I give here is already known, known because I have had the courage to speak up before the unthinkable happens.
I made a mistake a while ago, and I don't know how to fix it. I thought it was the right choice at the time, but now I wish I had not made it. I am leading a double life, and it is hard, because I am not clever enough to do it. I wish I could say I am a willing spy, for the side of the light. And, in some ways, I am. But I have betrayed that side, betrayed my friends to keep them safe. My service for their lives, that was the deal they made with me. I took it, for what was the point in nobly refusing? My own death I could handle. Theirs I could not. Only time will tell if I made the right choice.
I wish I could, even now, go to them, beg forgiveness, but when I try to speak of this, I can't. It is clear to me now what I should have done. I should have gone straight to the others when they started contacting me. I should have gone and told Dumbledore everything, but I was determined to do something on my own for once, and not push my troubles and ineptitude on them yet again.
My one comfort is that my weakness is keeping them safe. Sirius is their Secret-Keeper, I am not. They would never dream of making me Secret-Keeper, and this thought gives me the strength to go on. I cannot betray them. They are safe from me, from me and my horrible fear. I cannot hurt them. I can only pray that before this is all over, I will have escaped from his hold over me. Before this is all over, I hope I can be honest with them, and that I will have the right to ask for their forgiveness.
This piece of glass was made by accident. A horrible accident, one terrifying moment in time that had the potential for awesome good or awesome bad. This piece of glass was born of that moment. It is shocking and misshapen and, some would say on first glance, ugly, with nothing to recommend it. But I urge you to look again. There is beauty in it, beyond the dark exterior. It is rough and clouded, perhaps, but there is still beauty and goodness in it. That terrifying moment of potential here turned out for the best. So may mine, in the end.
And Harry could no longer be mad at Peter. He was only twenty-one when he wrote this, Harry thought. People at twenty-one do not always make the best choices. He could see from Peter's point of view now. Peter's sacrifice had not been so very different from Harry's mother's, in reality. Both had cared more for the safety of those they loved than their own. And then another thought struck Harry. He gave his life for me, tonight. He made that sacrifice.
"He was fiercely loyal," Remus whispered, eyes closed. "Please, Harry, he–"
"I know," Harry said softly, and meant it. He waited for Remus to speak again.
"He – James and Sirius could have been friends with anyone they wanted," he said, eyes still closed. "And he knew it. But they chose him, their friend from before school. They chose him, and Peter . . . he knew he would never be as clever as they were. He knew it, and he was determined to deserve their friendship and not be a burden." Remus looked then at Harry.
"People underestimated him all the time because he was quiet. But," here Remus gave a little laugh, "he was the reason your dad and Sirius only spent half of their time in detention. James and Sirius . . . they would come up with an idea and rush to implement it, without thinking how the best way to do that might be, or how they were going to keep out of trouble. That was our job, Peter's and mine. We planned the pranks and came up with most of the more sophisticated ones. We bailed James and Sirius out of trouble all the time." Remus smiled, remembering. "He wasn't always the most courageous person, but when bravery was needed most, he had it. He was loyal. He just made a mistake. He would have written this the night before . . . he really did think they were safe from him."
Harry nodded. They sat in silence for a moment before Harry turned once more to the chest. He reached for his father's letter and velvet bag.
A book. His father had given a book. Capturing the Seeker, the cover read. As seen by Lily Evans. Harry heard Remus breathe in, and then out. When Harry turned to look at him, Remus was nodding.
"I thought so," was all he said.
My name is James Potter, the letter stated. I once told my wife, before she was my wife, that I really couldn't write very well at all. That was three years ago, and I haven't improved in that time. But she insists on this, so I will make the effort.
When I was young and egotistical, this same item may have been my choice, but for vastly different reasons. I do not choose this now because it focuses on me, but because it focuses on us. What we were, what we stood for, it is all within these pages, written by one who had no reason then to look on us kindly, yet did anyway. My name is James Potter, and I am a Seeker. At this moment, I seek peace and safety for my family and a childhood for my son as carefree and full of love as my own was. I seek, but I do not know where these things might be found.
But I have my friends and my wife and my son, and even those things are threatened. I remember what we had, once, and I know that friendship still holds. It lives in these pages. If you wish to know who the Marauders were and what they stood for, read. You will find us there.
"My mother wrote this?" Harry asked, looking back at the book. Remus nodded.
"Yes, she did, and before I tell you about it, see what she put in." Nodding, Harry reach for the last black bag. Inside he found a black velvet box, and inside that was a ring. It was a silver ring and looked to be formed from two clasped hands. Harry opened her note.
We wait. There is nothing to be done now but wait. We wait and we watch and we worry. And, worst of all, we don't know. There is so much we don't know.
The things we do know may not seem to be much. Strength, friendship, courage, love. Those things so very basic are threatened. We are faced with one who wants to see them die. And I think, How can I dare to bring my child into such a world? How can I leave my son to face this on his own? This world is no place for a child. It has nothing of childhood or innocence about it.
In idea, I write this letter to the world. In truth, Harry, my dear child, I write it to you. Here, Harry felt a lump form in his throat. He swallowed and continued to read his mother's words. I feel something I don't understand. I feel the worst is about to happen, and though it will be horrible for us, I know it will be so much worse for you. When I think of the horrors the future brings down on us, the one that hurts me most is what will happen to you when your father and I are gone. What will you think of us? Having left you before you had a chance to know us?
I cannot say why I feel so certain this will happen. Hopefully, you will read this and laugh, laugh at your mother's foolishness. Hopefully, that feeling which urges me to write this is only the overprotectiveness that comes with motherhood.
But I do not think it is. Somehow, I feel certain that we are leaving you to cope on your own. My dear child, know that this will never be true. If what I understand of the capacity of love is true, you will never be alone. I will always be with you.
Maybe you have been told that this capsule was my idea. If not, you are now so informed. And, yes, it was a way to preserve the ideals of the Marauders. But it was also this: a doorway to a mother's love.
I do not know why I am so certain that you will survive what is coming and we will not. But I am. I am told by everyone around me that we are safe, as safe as human means can make us. That knowledge, however, does not stop me from writing this.
As I pass this ring to you, I make it into a family heirloom. Your grandfather gave it to your grandmother, who passed it to her son, your father, who gave it to me. And now I pass it to you. It is a friendship ring, and, as James told me when he gave it to me, it holds whatever power the giver and receiver bring to it. If that is true, then this ring has accumulated enormous power over the years. Give it to the lady you care most about in the world, Harry, and may it protect the both of you with the love of two generations.
If you have grown up without me, Harry, know this now. No mother has ever loved her son more. No parents have ever given to a child more love than the love James and I give to you. If love is as powerful as they say, and I know it is, then you are as protected as I could wish for. I wish I could hold you so tightly that no one could ever rip you from my arms, but I know I can't. Even if I am there to see you grow up, at some point, I have to let you fight your own battles, as hard as that may be.
Don't push away the ones you love, Harry. You need them. Yes, the actual fighting of the battles must be done on your own, but going to fight those battles requires your friends around you. Know what you are fighting for, and don't lose sight of it. Don't ever let go.
I'm fighting for you. James and Sirius and Remus and Peter, we are all fighting for you. And there is nothing you can do that will not make us proud of you, my dear, blessed child.
If you hold enough love in your heart, you cannot fail and you cannot fall, because your heart will be too full of love to have any room for hatred, anger, or fear. Keep your heart clear of these and live each moment of your life for those who love you, and you will succeed. You will simply have no other choice.
I cannot guarantee that you will always win, and I cannot guarantee that your life will be free from trials and pain. And the sensible part of me not completely entrenched in motherhood knows this is good, for these things should not be guaranteed.
You are my son, my child. And I know I cannot give you all that you deserve. So I give you what I can, the most sacred part of me. I give you my love. I give you the love of your family and the symbol of that love, to be wrapped tightly around you and hold you as safe as it can.
Never doubt that this is true. You will never be alone, my love.
Harry looked up and away, trying and failing to blink back tears. "How did she know?" he whispered.
"She didn't," Remus said, softly. Harry looked at him. "She didn't need to know. Not in the way you mean, Harry. She was a mother. That was enough." Harry nodded, some part of him understanding.
"Tell me about them," he whispered.
"Where to start?" Remus asked, chuckling. "Their . . . relationship for six years was colored by their first meeting. Neither saw the other in the best light. Your mum had gotten into trouble on the train with a Slytherin, and your dad got her out of it. He saw someone who needed his protection and she saw someone who didn't think she could take care of herself. Which was a little true, I can imagine. I mean, I didn't know your dad at that point, but I can imagine he was . . . quite condescending. The first thing you'll read in that book is an account of that day. She said he was showing off for Peter and Sirius, and he probably was. 'I don't care what house I get put in, I just hope he's not in it' were her words, I think."
Harry started laughing.
"What?" Remus asked him.
"It's just . . . that's what Ron said to me about Hermione after we had first met her, almost exactly." Remus smiled and nodded.
"In a lot of ways, Ron and Hermione are very much like your mum and dad. In the sense that they seem to be quite oblivious to what is so obvious to the rest of us. Oh, it took us forever to convince James to change the way he acted around Lily, and it took us forever to convince Lily to admit that James had actually changed. Even once we had done that, it took us forever to convince your mother that she was actually in love with him, and to convince your dad that he shouldn't give up on her." They both smiled appreciatively at that for a moment, then Remus laughed and shook his head.
"What?" Harry asked.
"It's strange for me; I've already told you these stories." Harry look mildly confused.
"When? I don't remember."
"Oh, you wouldn't. You were only six, seven months old at the time." When Remus didn't elaborate, Harry said, "Well?" which made Remus laugh.
"You were seven months or so, like I said, and you wouldn't go to sleep. You weren't fussy or anything, you just refused to go to sleep. Your mum tried to rock you, feed you. You rocked, you fed, and were still wide awake. Sirius and Peter and your dad tried to wear you out with highly active rambunctiousness. Only succeeded in wearing out themselves. Not to mention getting you even more wound up. Lily was not pleased." Remus smiled and rolled his eyes at the memory. "Anyway, since they had all failed, I said I had an idea. I picked you up, took you to the bedroom and started telling you stories. About your mum and dad. Half hour later, you were out. Lily and James couldn't believe it. 'He's down?' your mum asked me. 'Out like a rock,' I said. 'How did you do it?' they wanted to know. I just looked at them both and said, 'Lily, James, your history would exhaust anyone.'" Harry laughed at the story, then grew pensive. He looked away, through the trees in the direction of the small cemetery.
"I wish I could have known them," he said. Remus reached over and laid a hand on Harry's shoulder.
"I wish you could have, too." Harry looked at him, looking as though he wanted to say something, but then thought better of it. He nodded instead. "Ready to go back?" Remus asked. Harry's eyes strayed toward the cemetery again.
"Just a moment?" he asked. Remus nodded.
"Of course." He turned to pack up the trunk while Harry stood and made his way toward the stones. Upon reaching them, he walked through the rows until he found the ones he wanted.
James Robert Potter, read one. Lily Marie Evans Potter, read the other, with dates underneath that were far too close together. Harry felt tears prick the corners of his eyes as he knelt silently before his parents' graves. A line from Peter's letter came to Harry's mind.
I told James my fear, and he said it didn't matter. I asked him, "What if I fail?" He just shrugged and said "Oh, well."
And another, from three years ago. James would have understood, Harry . . . he would have shown me mercy . . .
Would his father have forgiven Peter? Harry didn't know. There was so much he didn't know about the two people buried here, so much that he should have known, had a right to know. He wanted to say something, because he had a feeling that something was listening. But he didn't know what to say.
"I don't know how to do this," he finally whispered. He looked at the dates carved in the stones. "Seventeen shouldn't be about this," he said. "The fate of everyone's future shouldn't rest on the shoulders of one seventeen-year-old boy. You shouldn't be seventeen and die three years later, just as your life and another is starting. Remus is right; I'm angry. I should have had more. I should have had you. A dad to teach me how to ride a broom and how to get away with being late to classes and give me advice about girls. A mum to nag at me about getting work done and to worry about if I'm eating enough and to show me how to be sensitive. Parents to love me and be proud of me and protect me and show me what a family really is. Yes, I'm angry. I deserved that, and so did you. We were both robbed of it. And I'm going to fix that. I don't know how, but I promise I will fix things or I'll die trying. I know to do it, I can't let my anger control me. You told me that, mum. And so did Remus. But I don't know that I can not be angry. I don't know how to not be angry. When I think of the things I should have had . . . Maybe some anger is good. Maybe some is what will keep me focused on what I'm fighting for. I think I need to keep a little anger because if I don't, I'll start to doubt myself. And I can't doubt. I have something to do, just like you did, and I'm not going to give up. Because you didn't."
He wiped his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'll do it for you. So that no one else has to grow up without parents. So that no one else has to grow up alone and lonely. So . . . thanks," he said, reaching out to touch the names on each stone. "For loving me as much as you did and for what you've given me. I won't let you down." And he stood and walked to the edge of the trees where Remus was waiting for him, carrying the trunk.
"Let's go," Harry said.
The trip back happened in silence, both men lost in their own thoughts. They reached the edge of the Weasley's property in time for supper. Before they headed into the Burrow, Remus handed the trunk to Harry. When Harry tried to protest, Remus cut him off.
"I told you, Harry. It was always for you. Take it." So he did.
Once inside, Molly led Remus to the table, Harry promising to follow as soon as he had taken the trunk to his room. On the way to the table, Remus heard Harry warding off Hermione and Ron with a "Later, I promise. Later."
After supper, Remus tried to slip quietly away from the Burrow, but he had just started off down the drive when a voice called out his name. Turning, he was not at all surprised to see Harry standing in the doorway. "Thanks," he said. "For today. For everything."
"Of course, Harry." Then, he turned to leave again.
"Remus," Harry said again, this time actually crossing the lawn to where Remus stood. He looked as though he wanted to say this before he lost the nerve. "Remus . . . you're the closest thing to a father I've ever known," he said. The admission took Remus aback.
"I –" he started in surprise. Then he stopped, and looked down. "Thank you, Harry," he said softly.
"So . . . any advice?" Harry asked awkwardly but sincerely. Remus looked down at his best friends' son and thought about all he wanted to say. He had come so far, and Remus was so proud of him and all he had done.
"Don't do anything stupid, Harry," he said. "Don't feel as though you have to prove anything to anyone. To those that really matter . . . you've already succeeded. Your parents would be as proud of you as I am. Whatever happens . . . you won't let them down." He smiled at the boy. "You couldn't." Hesitantly, Harry nodded, unsure what to say next.
"I-" Then, instead of saying anything, Harry embraced Remus, an embrace which Remus returned wholeheartedly. "Thanks," Harry said into Remus' shoulder. Remus patted Harry's shoulder twice, and the embrace ended. Remus smiled at him and nodded, not needing to say anything more.
They turned to go in their respective directions then, when Remus thought of something. "Harry," he said. Harry turned back. "When you've read that book . . . come find me? There are more stories you should hear."
Harry nodded. "I will," he said.
"Talk to Ginny,"
Harry rolled his eyes, but smiled. "I will," he said.
"Remember," Remus emphasized. Harry almost laughed.
"I will," he said. And they parted for real this time.
Back in his room at the inn, Remus thought about the day. He thought about what he would tell Harry when the boy came to him tomorrow. He thought about his friends and how proud they would all be of Harry. Smiling, he pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill and began to write down some of those thoughts.
Harry had avoided Ron and Hermione and gone to his room after Remus had left. He stayed up late into the night, reading his mother's words by the light of his wand.
Once he sees what he has, once he sees what he has become and what he has achieved, he will stop drowning. He won't stop Seeking, because a Seeker never stops. But he will Seek higher heights and achieve higher dreams. Once he sees, he will live!
A seeker never stops, she had written. He closed the book, setting it on the table by his bed. On top of it, he set his mother's letter and the ring. Tomorrow, he thought as he looked at them.
Tomorrow he would explain the day's events to Ron and Hermione. Tomorrow he would talk to Remus. Tomorrow he would learn more of his parents. Tomorrow he would work things out with Ginny and give her the ring. But tonight, he would keep company with his mother's words and his parents' love. Tonight he would remember. And it was enough for now.
It was interesting, he mused, lying back in the dark after extinguishing his wand. All his life, his parents had been little more than an abstract idea. He knew, of course, that they had been real people, but they had never quite seemed real to him. Maybe that was because he hadn't seen pictures of them until he was eleven. Maybe that was because, for so long, his parents had only been mentioned as 'the freak and that boy'. Then, from that extreme, he had moved to a world where his parents were tragic heroes. He'd had images and illusions of his parents all his life.
But now . . . now Lily and James Potter were real. They were real people with a history that was anything but dull. There had been a time in his life when he had hated them for dying and leaving him with the Dursleys. He had thought they hadn't cared enough about him to stay with him. He had learned a long time ago that wasn't true, but now he knew the extent. He had proof of how much his parents had loved him and loved each other. He had his mother's words written just for him. And he had gifts from the both of them, passed on to him. He had, after today, the gifts of the Marauders.
Wisdom. Laughter. Courage. Pride. Love. Were these really the weapons to combat the greatest evil the wizarding world had ever known? And did he, a seventeen-year-old boy, really have a chance? Something in him said yes.
He watched his curtains flutter in the night breeze, thinking about all these things. "What will come, will come," he whispered, echoing Hagrid's words from long ago. "And I'll meet it when it does." And he knew he would be able to.
As he drifted off to sleep, he thought maybe he felt someone, or someones, in the room with him. The presense was comforting, but whether it was there or not, he was never quite able to say.
It's done! Finished!
Did you like the end? Cause I was having major trouble with it. I had another idea, but as I started writing it, I found it was really really sappy and just . . . too melodramatic. But I don't know. OPinions?
Stayed tuned for more coming from the Seeker universe. I've got one coming with Remus and TOnks, (another) one with Petunia, and I'm even tying the Founders in. Thanks to all who have read!