A/N: Beta'd by the impeccable Thecookiemomma. All remaining errors are solely mine.
It is late. Very late. It is late and cold and far, far too lonely a night for the solitary boy to be perched out on the rooftop as he is. Despite the fact that this house is hidden, he never comes out to sit here during the day. During the day he works with those inside, or he naps, snatching bits of sleep here and there where there is sunlight to drive away his dreams. He… He gets that from his mother.
I remember her now, though I didn't a month ago. Well, to be more accurate, I should say I didn't remember all of her. Ly'laae was my best and most trusted friend. We were the first. Supposed to be the first, though we found out later there were…others. Sv'yr and J'met. And… Well, we weren't the only ones.
Remus Lupin had always been…strange. To the majority of Hogwarts—and indeed, the world beyond—he was simply a quiet, studious soul who had a strange love of books and chocolate and seemed…frail; almost sickly. To his Headmaster, teachers and friends he was the brave little werewolf working hard for his education, his right to be a wizard, too. But to his family, his pack, he was all of that and so much more.
This is why, when one evening he came late into the house and strode right into one of Harry's silencing disillusionment charms, the portrait of Mrs. Black was not in the least surprised. In fact, she did something she'd not done in turns. She smiled. "Lest'et al' Rusk'ayin." This made the werewolf smile and incline his head slowly to her before extending his hand towards the boy huddled against the wall.
"Come, Harry," he began quietly. "There is much to be done." The older wolf prides himself on the fact that there is very little left in the world to surprise him, but when the boy looked first to the portrait before nodding and taking his offered hand, he found himself surprised and more than a little pleased.
The two walked silently from the portrait to the door, which for once opened silently and without hesitation. It very much helps when the house's very spirit is with you, rather than against. Once outside, the werewolf wrapped his arms around the young one and they vanished from sight, seeming to melt into the darkness around them.
For Harry, it was…an adventure, the nice sort where no one is out to kill you and no one has to die to protect you or this mysterious Cause everyone talks about. One moment he had his feet planted firmly on the pavement outside Number 12 and the next, he's floating in a sea of emptiness, of nothing; anchored only by the strong arms wrapped around his person. It was so nice, being weightless, floating. He felt his eyes drooping closed and the heaviness of sleep stealing over his limbs and just as he was about to surrender to that blissful nothing, he felt his feet impact with ground.
It wasn't a rough landing, as far as these things go—Remus was there to support him, after all—but it was enough of a jar to wake him fully, which is exactly what was intended. Blinking rapidly, the boy focused his myopic eyes as best he could, needing to wipe his glasses on the hem of his sleep shirt before their surroundings became clear. A small gasp signaled his realization.
He and Remus were standing in the middle of a Hall. It was easily the size of the Hall of Hogwarts—if not, in fact, larger—and made more intimidating by virtue of its design. Black marble made up the entire room, shot through with veins of grey to create a smoky, hazy illusion. Along all sides, lounging on cushions, pillows and the odd chaise were the strangest assortment of creatures he'd ever seen. Canines, lupines, and felines of nearly every feral description were spread about the hall, mixed in with others who seemed…stuck in between. The closest things Harry could compare them to were the 'furries' drawn in evocative positions on posters and mags Dudley kept in his room. These creatures, however, put those drawings to shame, cheap imitations they were. These were beautiful and deadly in measures beyond what the boy had ever imagined could be contained in one being. All of them were frozen into a tableau, as if Harry's arrival had interrupted their flow of Time to leave them poised in mid-action, all faces turned to him.
From the 'head' of the hall, a sharp gasp broke the spell of silence and again that melodic language that the portrait had used to address Remus fell upon Harry's ears. Only this time, he found he could understand its meaning.
"Rusk'ai, you've found him…" The voice was irrefutably female, a rich, throaty alto that seemed to energize and soothe—a dichotomy completely lost on Harry, but not on his companion. Remus, upon hearing it address him, turned towards the source and offered a low bow. When he straightened, there was a bright, hopeful smile on his face.
"Yes, Aly'thae; I have." His voice was soft as always, but there was an extra strength to it that caught Harry's attention for an instant before the boy became once more absorbed in his surroundings. From the same direction as the first voice came another, this one male, but soft, light; a tenor to glide over the senses and lull them in for a fatal strike.
"Why do you hide from us, Rusk'ayin? You are among Chay'en, now." This question drew Harry's attention finally up to the head of the hall to rest on the two speakers. The female—Aly'thae—was a sleek lioness straight from the prides of Africa, distinguishable only by her eyes. Her mate, lying next to her, was a languid jaguar, large and deceptively sloth as he sipped lazily from a golden goblet. When the cup was pulled away, he licked a pinkish stain from his maw. Remus wasn't sure from this distance whether it is wine or blood. Harry couldn't tell which would be worse.
"Would you cloak yourself as one of the C'alu when first showing them to your cub, Melte'ayin?" Remus' voice was calm, mild, one brow raised in question and then amusement as the ao'ayin backed down. Aly'thae seemed most amused by this and chuckled softly to herself as she stood and jogged over towards the pair, shifting at the halfway mark to the half-form and then one that appeared fully human and kneeling down so she was more on Harry's height—the woman was obscenely tall.
"Little moon cub, can you understand what I say to you?" Harry seemed to consider this, tilting his head to one side and watching the woman most thoughtfully.
"I can." Such a simple answer, but it delighted the lady to no end. Her smile became radiant as the savannah sun and just as difficult to look at.
"We have found you then… Blessed suns, cub…you're home." And at that, for reasons Harry neither knew nor could begin to decipher, tears rose to her eyes and she enveloped him in a warm embrace. Harry tolerated it—much longer than he'd usually allow himself to be touched—all the while a bemused sort of smile on his face. Finally, when he could feel a patch of fabric at his shoulder grow wet from her tears, she pulled away, not bothering to wipe her eyes as her gaze shifted to Remus. "Take him to den and let him rest, Rusk'ai. Tomorrow there is much to be done."
"Of course, Aly'thae." Remus bowed to her once, just an inclination of the neck really, and turned to usher his cub away, but a thought gave him pause. "You will tell him?" It came out more as a statement than a question, but the lioness nodded anyway.
"Immediately."
Beyond that one word, Harry knew no more, just another bout of blissful blackness before passing into a more natural sleep.
It isn't often that I dream of my entrance anymore. It seems as if that night was a lifetime ago, or several. Years upon years of training, of learning and of changing have dimmed and blurred the memory until it is clear only in dreams. Now I more comfortable in my fur than I ever was in my C'alu skin. Well enough for me that most of the old ones still move about in their furs. Helps with the blending in, at least as much as anything could ever help. Once again in my life I am unique. I am the one and the only. But, over time, I've come to terms with this particular specialty. Mostly through patience and the near constant reminder that it's only fur-deep.
Only fur-deep…
They say I'm ready now. Ready to go back and face the rest of the wizarding world. When Rusk'ai first sat me down to explain, I had to focus a moment, just to remember. It's as if that world had been a dream, another like my arrival, lost to my reality. He says that's normal. It's the nature of our two worlds; a safety, if one were to borrow a C'alu term for it. Helps to maintain the balance and ensure our mutual survival.
I wondered at first, once the memories returned. That in and of itself took several days, but when I had it all straight, I wondered if they'd missed me. I have, after all, been gone for… Well, I'm not entirely sure how long, but it's been years at least.
Again, that's normal. Apparently. He tells me time passes differently here than there. Depending on how we travel back, I could have been gone a blink or a lifetime.
"It's why we seem immortal to them, cub," he told me. "Because those times we visit…it could be their whole life has passed without us." And he looked so very, very sad then. "That's why it is dangerous to befriend those you will not share a stream with. Too much unnecessary heartbreak."
He seemed so sad, so empty with those words that I didn't have the heart to question him, even though it made so little sense. Very little in my life makes sense. I should be used to this by now.
They have me packing. Very little can be carried over through the change, but I've learned a trick or two of my own and I have treasures I refuse to part with. Here, now, in my C'alu skin, I can feel the memories more strongly, probably because the emotions attached to them are so overly complex. Too complex for my mindset when I wear my fur.
Ron. Hermione. Ginny. Hogwarts…
I can feel the excitement building in me. It roils and churns in my gut until I feel as if I'm hunting for the first time all over again. It is…stressful, to feel this much. I can only hope it dims and fades back when I wear my fur again. No wonder the C'alu die so young. Stuck in one stream and overcomplicating the lives they do have? Complete foolishness.
Melte'i worries about this 'arrogance' of mine. He fears it will give me away. Rusk'ai is convinced it will fade quite soon. I don't see what arrogance they mean, but that's probably the case in point or point in case. Whichever.
Ah, that's so much better. Thoughts streamline down to what really is and is not important. Thoughts and emotions that are overly complex fade back into the realm of unimportant. As I jog down the hallway towards the grounds and my departure point, I shake and feel the last claws of uncertainty release me.
It's a good feeling.
This will not be my first trip through the streams alone.
It will be my first time crossing over, alone or otherwise.
I find the proper current easily enough. They flare to life brighter than neon road signs if one only knows how to read them. Now I just have to make sure I stay in just the piece of the current I want. Easier said then done. It's a lesson I learn too late as a particularly strong gust of pressure surges at me, forcing me to fight just to stay afloat.
I manage it.
Barely.
Lying on my side, panting heavily, I blink up at a ceiling I've not seen in a lifetime, fighting a growing sense of panic. This sense is only aggravated by the slam of a door downstairs being blasted off its hinges. I'm not where I should be. Or rather, I'm exactly where and not exactly iwhen/i I should be and something is wrong.
Something is very, very wrong.