Half Lives – Chapter Seven
The shadows could not pull Sirius back. His body was confined within Number Twelve by Dumbledore's magics. The shadows still pulled and tugged at Sirius to return, though he knew he did not want to. In the day, there was colour and noise and people to keep him here, but at night, when Sirius barely knew he wasn't dreaming and he headed downstairs, the shadows flummoxed at the barrier of the front door, confused by something solid, not of their realm, they took him as close to his home as they could. More than one night a late returning Order member had found Sirius seated in the far corner of the kitchen.
Then the shadows would slip and slide, distorting the familiar shaped of Grimmauld Place until Sirius felt, till he knew, he was in Azkaban again. If a guest came upon Sirius in the kitchen, the shadows would slither across the floor and creep over the traveller, tearing at their face and the memories associated, snapping into place over their features and replacing them with half-torn dreams from Azkaban. Sirius was used to this. Not entirely conscious, but not dreaming, his shadows latched onto every good thing that he came across and took them to a place of unrecognisable familiarity. So used to this was he, that one not so special night, when James Potter stumbled into the kitchen, Sirius didn't even blink.
The first night, Sirius didn't say anything. James talked and talked about the Marauders' Map and how useful it was to him. When James refused Sirius' mute offer to share his drink, he didn't say anything. He just listened to James tell him a lively tale of how he once got on the wrong end of a House Elf, which led walls covered with pudding. So it came as quite a shock to Sirius when he next looked up, to find Harry regarding him with a cautious expression.
"Hello." Sirius said finally.
"Um, hi, Sirius." Harry replied without a smile.
"You're so much like your father, Harry." Sirius watched the shadows flicker in and out of existence along the contours of the boy's face. "He was just here. You just missed him. Pity. You're so similar. You would have gotten on brilliantly. Yet you're so different. I wish you could have met him. But you're dead. You'll never meet Harry till he follows you."
Harry's eyebrows shot north. "Really?" He asked in surprise, "Oh." He looked around the kitchen. "He must have left just as I was walking downstairs then, ey Sirius?"
"I'm convinced your father's still alive sometimes you know Harry." Sirius said conservationally, aware that awkwardness had settled over them. "Sometimes I think I can hear him whistling. Or that I hear his footsteps just around the corner – he had a bit of grit stuck in the sole of his boots, clicked as he walked. Used to annoy the magic out of me. He loved those boots, belonged to Alastor Gumboil, apparently. Famous hit wizard." He added. He looked at his goblet, wondering if it was here when his family was still alive. "I'm not mad, Harry." He said quietly. "I'm just, forgetful. Azkaban, it, it has this way of stopping time. All my memories from the past get mixed up with now. I sometimes wonder if I'm temporally confused with now then, or temporally confused with then now. Arrested development, Tonks calls it. But I'll get better. And I'll remember who you are all the time, I won't get confused with generations, and we can finally live together. It'll be just like at school, and you'll survive this war, and move in here, and I'll be a proper godfather. A normal one." Sirius looked up, mid impassioned (fevered, desperate) speech. "Harry?" The kitchen was empty.
"You didn't have to do that Harry." Remus said gently.
Harry started; he had one foot on the bottom of the stairs, having just sneaked out of the kitchen away from his godfather's half-conscious ramblings. "I didn't do anything."
Remus looked gaunt and grim, he had been travelling, gathering intelligence, and his brown hair was now streaked liberally with grey, his clothes more ragged and patched than ever. "You sat with Sirius." He said, without question. "It's not your job to fix him, Harry."
Harry tried to meet his former professor's eyes, and, when that failed, he looked at his cheerful Dobby socks. "I know." He said haltingly. "It's just that when I'm there, he talks. Or at least he listens, properly listens, and not just hears. Sure he's not always in the right decade, and he sometimes forgets who I am, but, he's an Azkaban veteran you know. You can't ask any more."
"But that's just it, Harry, he's not an Azkaban veteran, he's still in Azkaban." Remus sounded weary. Harry briefly thought of how terrible it must to condemn your best friend to a life there, pluck him from it in joyful relief, only to find that despite your best efforts nothing had changed. "If not mentally, or consciously, some part of Sirius is, and always will be, tied to that place. It's been too large a part of his life to leave. During the day he's the Sirius we all know and love, albeit slightly damaged, but when he's not consciously trying, such as when he's halfway to sleep, he forgets. He doesn't know any different, Harry."
"He does." Harry said defiantly. "Sometimes, he talks about what Azkaban has done to him, and he says the only way he knows he's not still there is because whether I'm James or Harry, we don't blame him." He chanced a glance up at Remus, who was watching him carefully. "And so what, if we're never who he thinks we are. It's worth it. Isn't it?"
"It must be annoying, being compared to James every waking moment." Remus said suddenly. "You mustn't let Sirius' wanderings convince you that he'd rather have James."
"It's okay." Harry cut across, "He already apologised for calling me James at the Ministry."
"He's wrong to confuse you so much, you know." Remus said warmly. "Yes, you look similar, and you have shared similar mannerisms, but you're so different." Harry squirmed under his scrutiny. "You've led such different lives, different influences; you'd react to the same situation so differently. You don't have the same opinions, or hobbies."
"But, Quidditch-" Harry began.
"Yes, but honestly, it's the only sport on offer at Hogwarts, any slightly athletic person has to choose it. You play different positions; you even have a very different flying style, for all your shared prowess." Remus gave Harry a kind smile. "And don't you start about your mother. You're not her copy either, no matter how many people tell you so amazing she was. You have his looks, his flying talent, her determination, and, as you've just demonstrated rather nicely, her ability to see the best in people. But a person is more than just the sum of their parts."
Remus seemed to think he had out stepped the bounds of their rather tenuous relationship, for he halted abruptly and looked a bit awkward. "It's late; you'd best go to bed. I'll see that Sirius doesn't come to any harm."
Harry, for his part, felt too out of his depth to do more than mutter a "thanks" and a "good night", before he scuttled off to his shared room.
But even as Harry ascended the stairs, feeling Remus' all too knowing gaze upon his heels, he decided that his former Professor was wrong. Sirius would rather have James. Maybe not for life, he wasn't a masochist, he knew Sirius would rather James died if that meant Harry lived, but now, right now, whilst Azkaban still clung to Sirius, he needed James.
Harry didn't know Sirius well enough to drag him out of the prison's grasp.
But James did.
The next morning Harry woke feeling distinctly unrefreshed. He rolled over, and, seeing that Ron's bed was empty and that the sun was shining through the window (as much as it ever did in Grimmauld), he put in a colossal amount of effort and rolled right out of bed.
It was as though his brain had been fully awake and conscious all night, for he had awoken with a plan fully formed in his mind. He had put the lives of his friends in danger, and almost lost Sirius, because he had been quick to anger, impulsive, and hadn't discussed problems any more than was required of him. This was unacceptable. He needed to fix that attitude if he wanted to stop leading his friends to danger and accidentally causing or being present at major catastrophes (a pretty long established habit for him), he needed to think through his feelings and actions before implementing them, and more importantly discuss them with someone trusted and wise (read, Hermione). In fact, he should probably just listen to Hermione more. And finally, he needed to do something about Sirius. Harry had almost lost him once, and hadn't liked it. Now, he was going to use the above resolutions to fix Sirius and hopefully, though his inner teenager shied away in embarrassment at the thought, establish some sort of friendship or relationship with his godfather.
Harry smiled as he thought of this. Summary; he had two plans, the Anti-Catastrope Plan (feel, think, discuss, plan, and above all, listen to Hermione!) and the Get A Godfather Plan (act like James to get to know Sirius better, use James to help Sirius and then use this knowledge to integrate himself into the latter's life). This was good. Normally Harry ran into things without thinking, so having not one, but two plans was good work.
"Remus!" Mrs Weasley cried joyfully. "When did you arrive? Now come on, sit down dear, let me get you some breakfast. You need it more than ever. How long can you stay with us? How many eggs would you like? No, down here dear, that's Harry's seat." Amid the bustling and welcoming, for everyone in the kitchen was exceptionally pleased to see Remus, Harry took his cue and hurriedly sat down. He was surprised to see that Mrs Weasley had allowed, nay, directed, him to sit next to Sirius.
"Late last night, Molly -no, two eggs is plenty thank you- I thought I best just to head up off up to bed without disturbing anyone." Remus replied, dutifully taking his seat. "I'm only here a couple of nights, however."
Mrs Weasley paused and smiled indulgently down upon him. "It is so good to have you back with us, Remus, no matter how long for. To think, it's the weekend, Bill's here, soon Tonks will be dropping by- and we will have a full happy household then won't we?" Remus smiled tersely and picked up his fork. But he never got a chance to use it, because Hermione interrupted him.
"Oh Professor, we got our OWL results yesterday!" She exclaimed. "I know you're not our teacher any more, but well, you're kind of our friend, and we all did so well. Ron got seven in all, and Harry got an 'O' in Defence, though I was a bit disappointed in my Defence, I only got an 'E' I wasn't sure what went wrong, I mean, I think it must have been the practical, I'm sure my flick was just a little too-" Remus let Hermione's prattle wash over him, occasionally offering her the reassurance and advice he knew she was looking for from her once professor. But he did find time to glance at Harry and mouth an 'Outstanding?' when Harry nodded, Remus briefly looked immensely proud, before turning back to Hermione and her anxiety.
"You should not be vexing poor Meester Lupin with your childish concerns." A new voice said from the doorway Harry looked up from his eggs to see Fleur teasing Hermione. The latter however, did not seem to appreciate this and was beginning to look indignant. Ginny, Harry noticed, had already progressed beyond this and was almost glaring. "I'm sure you preformed wonderfully. Bill tells me you are ze bookworm of ze group, no? He will 'ere later. 'Ee sleeps like a baby." She laughed and moved to sit down at the table.
"Oh! Before you do dear," Mrs Weasley said a bit too sweetly, "I've got a job for you."
"But, I 'ave yet to eat breakfast." Fleur protested.
"No this really cannot wait." She continued briskly. "There's golem arisen in the attic. We thought that your...allure...might calm it. Be quick about it, it's assimilating the roof sealant."
Fleur stared at her soon to be mother-in-law, who would not meet her eyes. But she decided to be the better witch, and instead stood fluidly. "Very well zen. Come on, 'Arry, zis ees a two person job. And your 'O' speaks for eet's self."
Harry looked at Fleur blankly. It was all he could do to parrot; "But, I haven't eaten..."
Harry massaged his shoulder where the surprisingly strong quarter-Veela had dragged him up to the attic. Fleur herself was stood next to him, looking in morbid fascination at the stodgy lump of grey matter that was failing its half formed limbs at them vaguely. "Zis 'ouse ees a magnet for ze peculiar." She announced. Harry rather thought that the house made the peculiar.
Just then the semi-sealant-golem accumulated enough energy to launch an attack at the intruders, in the form of small soggy lumps of roof sealant. They were lobbed at the pair, but efficiently deflected by Fleur's shield. "O' do be quiet." She snapped. Losing patience, she actually took Mrs Weasley's advice and set her allure at the offending creature. Golems incorporate their characteristics and substance from their surrounding, be they controlled and chosen by a crafting wizard, or whatever was nearest, as in the case of the spontaneously arisen. Fleur allure pacified the golem, and it fell back as though sitting on its haunches and looked around beatifically. It slowly began to dissimilate back to the ceiling at a wand wave.
"Snap out of eet, 'Arry." Fleur said impatiently. Harry shook his head, feeling as though he had been submerged in water. He had always done fairly well against her allure, maybe it was the constant exposure to her as a fierce adversary during the Tournament, maybe it was sheer dumb luck, but he hadn't been affected like that in some time.
"I apologise," Fleur said graciously, turning to check he was okay, "ze close quarters must 'ave affected you." She looked at him steadily for a second. "And I am grateful zat you treat me like a 'uman being, not fall at my feet like ze men, or narrow your eyes at me like ze women of zis 'ouse." Still feeling a bit unsure of himself Harry merely nodded. "Also for dragging you up 'ere, I am sorry for zat too. But I thought zis would be a good 'iding spot from 'er. And I could not face ze 'ours alone."
"That's okay." Harry spoke for the first time. He had wondered why Fleur asked for him, if all he was to do was stand here with a fuzzy head. But he thought of Ron and Hermione's uneasy manner around him, Ginny's suspicious looks, Sirius' blank memory and the general annoyance of so many Order members with no answers. "I don't mind getting out of there."
"You are sweet, 'Arry." Fleur smiled. "Now, I zink we both need cheering up, and we 'ave 'ours to ourselves up 'ere. What shall we do?"
Harry's thoughts immediately went places they shouldn't, and he shook his head again. "Sirius stores everything up here. Black heirlooms, old clothes, broken experiments, photos, memories from Hogwarts, demon furniture, confiscated items... There's got to be something worth finding here."
Fleur smiled again. "Well zen." She said. "A treasure 'unt eet ees." She laughed. "I feel like a child again." She leapt over a trunk in a cascade of silvery hair and tinkling laughter to crouch down next to an open box. "Last one to find somezing is un vilain oiseau!"
Harry grinned, and, turning away from Fleur, methodically began looking for information on James Potter.
Suddenly, Fleur screamed. Harry straightened up from the box of letters, stuff several in his pockets, and turned to see Fleur leaning against a growling chest of draws, her hand at her throat. "O', o', eet ees okay." She panted from the shock. Harry picked his way over the debris to see a silver and black snake curling back into its nest from where it had struck at the woman. "Eet surprised me, zat ees all." She laughed nervously. "Eet ees not real." Harry raised his eyebrows, both at her casual assumption of the snake's existence, and at the incomprehensible hissing of the latter. Fleur bent down again to examine the lid of the trunk she had been investigating.
"Fleur, wait-" Harry cried, putting one hand out to stop her. "It could be poisonous."
"Non, look." Fleur fearlessly pushed past the snake and pressed down on the serpent emblem of the trunk lock. The snake writhed and snapped at them, but, like smoke, was drawn back into the lock mechanism. "Eet was just a 'booby trap'. Zere ees something interesting 'ere I think." Having sifted through the sheaves of parchments in the trunk, Fleur suddenly laughed. "'Arry! Look at zis!" Looking down at the photographs held in Fleur's faintly glowing hand, Harry nearly split his sides to see a very grumpy childhood Sirius, whom Harry recognised from the photo album given to him by Hagrid, standing next to an equally foul looking boy of striking similarity, and three extremely triumphant, laughing girls all about their age, two with wild dark curls and one of refined blonde hair, who Harry was startled to recognise as the future Mrs Malfoy. All five of them were wearing the finest women's robes.