DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, I am in no way affiliated with JK nor the Harry Potter franchise.
Chapter 3: Memories...
Remus ducked into the tiny room that he shared with Tonks, it was barely more then a closet, but they had to make do. He locked the door behind him, walked over to the tiny double bed and sat down on it. It groaned under his slight weight, he leaned over, reaching under the bed to the far corner next to the wall, finding a small box.
He set it on his lap, it was a cigar box from sixteen years past. A swell of emotion rose inside of him, he'd found himself going through this more and more lately. He didn't know why but four months ago he'd had the sudden urge to pull it out of storage.
Inside there were several photographs and other various odds and ends. He pulled out a small glass dragon, it looked up at him, blinking sleepy eyes, before nipping at his fingers. He set it down next to him, retrieving an ornate golden armlet studded in ruby. He smiled, running his fingers over the well-worn ridges.
His hand paused over one of the pictures, written on the back was To my Remmy, don't worry, I'll write,--Love, Jack in very messy, scratchy handwriting. He turned the photograph over, a girl of seventeen and a boy of eighteen waved up at him. He'd changed so much in almost sixteen years that he hardly recognized himself in the cheerful, if tired, youth. The girl was beautiful, she had her arms around young Remus' neck, kissing him on the cheek repeatedly until he pushed her away. She crossed her arms and pretended to be mad at him until he slung his arms around her shoulders, resting his chin in the crook of her neck. They smiled up at Remus and waved.
He couldn't believe she'd died only five years after the picture was taken.
III
Nearly Four Months Ago...
The first thing that she became aware of was a soothing, warm feeling, she felt like she was floating in a warm ocean somewhere. She sighed, but realized she couldn't do so because her windpipe seemed to be obstructed by something. Spasms tightened her chest, she realized she was choking! She was drowning! She was in an ocean and she'd just breathed in a lungful of water. She struggled, her hands finding glass walls on either side of her. She started to panic, bucking and writhing, finding that she was in fact cased in glass! Oh god--she was going to die!
Hands grabbed her shoulders, pulling her upwards. She broke the surface and began to cough; leaning over the edge of her prison and vomiting whatever it was she'd breathed. It certainly wasn't ocean water; it was more sweet then salty. But at the moment she wasn't thinking about that. All she was thinking was--air!
"Breathe." His voice echoed through her mind, it was concerned, warm. She'd heard that voice so few times in her life but she knew it right away. She gasped inwards, still coughing up the sugar water, it stung her tongue and lips.
She tried to open her eyes but found that she couldn't seem to tear her eyelids away from the bottom lid. She panicked again, clawing at her eyes. Those hands grabbed her wrists, pulling them away. A second set of hands grabbed her around the shoulders, a third around the waist. Before she could do anything about it she was lifted up and set on a cold surface. "Tie down her hands." A woman's voice came. "She can't think straight with her brain being shut off for all those years."
Jack felt restraints appear around her wrists and ankles. She strained, screaming, her voice sounded foreign to her, it cracked. Suddenly she was immobile, she could breathe but not much else. Something was put on her eyelids, a warm liquid. She felt the gummy substance holding her eyes shut dissolve. She opened them slowly, but closed them immediately, the light was so bright that it caused pain to shoot through her head. She tried to cry out but couldn't manage it. "Turn the lights down." The familiar voice came. "You can open your eyes now, Jacquolyn." He said gently.
She opened her eyes tentatively, finding that the lights were indeed all but out. The light no longer hurt her, but she found it hard to see, her vision was blurry. She blinked repeatedly, feeling the spell of immobility ease away and the restraints recede. She brought her hands up to her face, rubbing at her eyes, she felt sticky, gross. She sourly wanted a shower. She kept blinking until the world around her began to come into focus.
The first thing she saw was Dumbledore's face. He was smiling down at her, his hand on her shoulder. "Hello." He said pleasantly. "Did you sleep well?"
"Hardly." She replied, her memories returning to her. "You could've told me that it was going to be an unpleasant wake-up call." She said crossly, sitting up slowly, her muscles groaning in protest. They hadn't been used in-- "How long have I been asleep?" She asked.
"Sixteen years." Dumbledore replied.
"Sixteen--" she breathed, shocked. She'd expected two, five, seven maybe, but sixteen? The two nurses came into view; they were staring at her, looks of shock and horror on their faces. They obviously didn't see someone being resuscitated after sixteen years of ageless slumber before. A dark thought entered her mind, a weight in her stomach beginning to strain. "Is he back?" She asked quietly.
"Yes, he's back." Dumbledore replied.
"How bad is it?" She threw her legs over the side of the table.
"No, no, Ms. Avvor, you can't walk so soon! Your muscles have atrophied--" One of the nurses rushed forward.
"No they haven't." She put one foot on the floor, drew it back, it was cold. She bit back her reaction and put both feet down, standing up, her legs shaking beneath her. They buckled and she grabbed hold of the table. The two nurses grabbed her and tried to put her back on its surface. She shook them off and succeeded in standing again, taking an experimental step. "Like riding a bike." She murmured under her breath. "You haven't answered me, Albus, how bad is it?" She looked up at the old man.
"It's bad, my dear. It's very bad." He replied darkly.
III
Present
Harry walked out the back door of the Burrow out onto the grass, looking at the woods behind it. He had a headache from all of the chaos inside; he'd needed some air, able to loose Ron in talking to his brother, Bill, and Shacklebolt about a band he'd just recently started listening to, an old band from almost twenty years ago named the Reprobates. Apparently Shacklebolt had heard of them but Bill hadn't.
He walked across the scrubby back yard, jumping the hedges and walking out into the clearing between the fence and the woods. "What're you doing back here?" Ginny's voice surprised him, he spun around, suddenly assaulted with her face, her beautiful face. Her long, red hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, she wore a red, striped t-shirt and a pair of Muggle Jeans, her hands pushed in her pockets. She'd developed some more curves over the Summer Holiday; sixteen looked very good on her. Her freckles were fading, leaving her with a creamy, white complexion and she wore a sad, but kind smile.
"I couldn't stand all of the noise inside." Harry confessed, running a hand through his fly-away hair and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose nervously. He'd thought about Ginny a good few times over the summer, but he hadn't really decided what he wanted to say to her should this meeting happen--and it was inevitable.
"I know what you mean." Ginny perched on the fence, looking over at her ex. "How are you, Harry?" She asked, concerned. She cocked her head, smooth strands of hair slipping into her eyes in a very attractive way.
"Alright, s'pose." Harry answered blandly.
"Do you think they're going to open the school?" Ginny asked, obviously trying to make small talk.
"S'pose." He repeated.
"Harry, why won't you talk to me?" Ginny asked, Harry jumped when her hand touched his shoulder. He'd been so lost in thought staring out at the forest and trying desperately to get out of this conversation.
"I can't." he stepped away from her. "Look--what I said last year--I meant it. It's too dangerous." Harry said, looking at her intensely. "I just--I can't do this now." He pushed past her and walked back into the Burrow, leaving her standing, shocked.
He ducked his head and made his way through the hubbub to the steps. He'd nearly made it when-- "Harry!" Hermione's excited voice came from the door. She'd arrived just before Ron and the Order had gone to pick up Harry and was tired, but she'd been looking forward to seeing her friends all summer.
"Hey, Hermione." Harry said, obviously exhausted. "How are you?"
"I'm better now!" she said cheerfully, bounding up to him and pulling him into a tight hug. "How're you?" She asked in his ear, keeping him close.
"I'll be okay." He promised, not totally honestly. She pulled back, giving him a sympathetic look. "I swear."
"You're lying." She accused gently.
"Does it matter?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.
"No, I guess not." She looked down at her feet. "You, uh, you want to talk?"
"Why don't you go find Ron? He's in the kitchen with Bill talking about the wedding. That's the sort of thing you go in for, right?" he asked.
"Harry..."
"Hermione, please?" he asked, then turned and ascended the steps, his shoulders slumped, defeated. Hermione watched him go, her heart aching for her long-time friend. She knew that Harry had to deal with more then most, more then he should have to, more then anyone should have to. She wanted to tell him everything was going to be okay--but she knew she couldn't. The last thing he needed was to be lied to.
"'Mione!" Ron sprinted out of the kitchen, his face alit with a smile. He swept her up into a strong hug and then beamed at her. "How're you?" he asked. "Have you seen Harry yet? I think he went out back--"
"I only just saw him." Hermione replied. "He went upstairs, I think he was going to take a nap or something." She shrugged. Looking at her friend she realized, with a surprise, that he had gotten even taller. He must be more then 6 feet tall now! His red hair hung past his earlobes in a particularly attractive fashion, the sparse acne that he'd been having trouble with looked all but gone, and his blue eyes danced merrily, he looked as though he'd finally grown into his nose. She remembered warmly the day she'd first met him and had informed him that he'd had dirt on it.
He whistled. "You look good, 'Mione!" he exclaimed, nearly buoyant at that moment.
"My parents and I went to the Caribbean on cruise to get away from all of this." She indicated the rush of Order Members and Aurors. "A worry-free month in the sun will do one wonders." She smiled self-consciously, pulling at her robes.
"C'mon, come and say 'hi' to everyone." He grabbed her hand. When he touched her they both froze momentarily, blushing. He dropped her hand and cleared his throat. "They're in here." He ushered her towards the kitchen.
III
Jack wrinkled her nose at the terrible smell wafting from the cauldron in front of her. She coughed, looking at the hand-written book. So far so good. She thought. She'd followed his direction to a T--and he usually knew what he was talking about.
The smell of decay sent her plummeting back towards that dark night almost three months ago. She'd been standing at the huge double doors--waiting. She heard the battle above her and itched to join in. But she'd had strict orders--she couldn't intervene. She had to remain anonymous and with a face like hers--she'd be recognized immediately. She ran her finger over the raised scar that ran down the side of her face, through her eye, although, miraculously, not nicking it. She hated that scar. Whether people knew her or not her scar was practically legendary--or that's what Dumbledore had told her.
Dumbledore... She remembered the sick crack from only yards behind her. She'd jumped turned around, seeing his broken body lying in the grass, his silver-white hair spread around him, blood marring his face and matting that hair. It oozed sickly across the front of his robes.
Moments later he'd come barging out, the Malfoy boy in tow...
She brought herself back to the present, refusing to get caught up in the past. What had happened had happened. There was nothing she could do about that--only try to keep the future within Albus' vision. Oh, it wasn't that she liked him much, in fact she'd always rather disliked him, but that was for her own personal reasons. She couldn't deny that he had vision.
The potion sizzled and bubbled, it smelled of rotten gym socks. She felt like she was going to be sick to her stomach. And she was supposed to drink that gunk? Distastefully, she picked up the lock of hair that sat on the table next to her, it was lustrous and black, not that unlike Jack's own long, dark hair. She added it to the potion and the potion immediately turned blood red and began to smell like rotten flesh and flowers. It was a nauseating smell.
