Better Than Bedfellows
Abby Ebon
O.o.O.o.O.o.O
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter; or Sirius Black, or Remus Lupin.
Note; this story takes place the summer before Fourth Year (so far). Bellow is the difference in "Younger" and "Elder" Harry's history.
5th: The Worst Year (A Timeline)
-Ollivander convinces the fae folk to ally with the Order.
-Hagrid goes in search of giants with Grawp/Madame Maxime.
* Giants are age old enemies of Trolls (a breed of fae folk).
* Giants claim to want to assist the Order, but want to meet Dumbledore; Hagrid agrees.
-Harry has 'vision' of Sirius dying; he arrives at the Ministry of Magic.
*Sirius dies.
-Voldemort takes Hogwarts and Hogsmeade Village in one swoop.
*Hagrid is betrayed by Giants, who aid in attacking Hogwards - thus betraying the Order. Dumbledore dies.
-Diagon Alley's falls for Harry's sixteenth birthday gift.
-Harry and Ollivander go to Underhill (Fae folk).
O.o.O.o.O.o.O
Rinse & Repeat
O.o.O.o.O.o.O
As result he was startled when Ollivander grasped his wrist and hauled him upward, to his feet, and in plain sight of both Remus and Sirius, both. Harry let out a barely heard groan, and there was a satisfied look on Ollivander's face, and Harry knew he would be getting no apology at the end of the day.
"You!" Sirius was a mix of surprise and snarling rage.
"Me." Harry returned, dryly. Ollivander had let his wrist go, so Harry in turn offered up the wand and its box to Sirius. Vaguely he wondered if his wrist was going to be bruised, for Ollivander was much stronger then he ought to be by looks, in disguise or not. If he did bruise, it was nothing new, and probably what he deserved just as well.
"Who are you?" Sirius was looking him over with a leer of barely disguised contempt. That might be due to Remus having flinched, just a little at the sight of him; Harry couldn't blame either of them for that, though he did wish that Remus would look him in the eyes. He also thought the leer Sirius gave might have a promise of last night in it; despite the look and the words, he barely noticed the sudden lightness of his hands.
"Me?" Harry parroted his earlier word, pointing to himself now that the wand (its core a ripple of dragon heartstring and willow) was out of his hands. Sirius had never seemed so skittish of anyone that Harry remembered. Then again, he'd never witnessed his godfather in this sort of situation.
Sirius bared his teeth in some expression that was certainly not a smile. It was more of a snarl.
"Yes." That was certainly a growl.
"Elder at your service," Harry bows as best he can behind a countertop. He hides a grin as he thinks 'why not?' remembering this is the time of his younger self; and between them both – well, really, he's a intruder, and has the less right of the name. If nothing else, it'll stand as a reminder.
"Elder…?" Remus speaks, taking a sideways peek at him as if to double-check; Harry startles his best teacher by openly looking back, and winking. Harry knows, savage as he looks – and savage war lends a look of age that few can deny after being touched by it, they would not mistake his age as being much older then their own. Clearly the 'name' then isn't a title – certainly, at least not in the way they think.
"Elder what…?" Harry shrugs a slender shoulder at Sirius, taking a look at Ollivander. It seems a confused look, but it's more of an imploration, 'play with me?' this look says one fae to another fae; that's the beauty of it. Ollivander would recognize it – having lived among them as Harry has– though Harry isn't fae any more then his mentor is, and he does know that look, if the raised eyebrow is anything to go by.
"I don't really know." It sounds like a hushed confession – coming ashamed from Harry's lips.
"You don't know your own name?" Includes and a bit outraged, is Sirius's disbelief. A flush comes to Harry's cheeks, though it would seem like embarrassment rather then in ire.
"No, I do not. Do I - Uncle?" At that word, from Harry's lips, Ollivander all but flinches away from his eyes. Harry looks away, cautious, as it would not be good to seem to challenge Ollivander, who, he'd forgotten, had so recently sampled his memories. He would know who Vernon was, and what the word uncle had always meant to his Harry: yet, irony of age, Harry had as good as forgotten – buried among older sorrows his childhood paled in comparison of everything else so new and painfully sharp.
Ollivander would have looked to those memories most keenly, for his Harry was yet so taught by experience and roughly aged; not yet – not ever, Harry vows as he keeps his eyes on the wall of wands behind the counter. Harry hadn't realized what a mere word would do to his mentor; Harry closed his eyes – freshly pained at bringing pain to Ollivander when he hadn't meant it. Not that he'd ever mean it.
Ollivander looks up when Harry doesn't expect it, and his own eyes open not knowing the other sought his glance – it was a unguarded moment, and such moments are precious few and rightly so, for they are dangerous for those like Ollivander and he. Their eyes meet, a glance at the critical unguarded moment – and it is enough for Harry to know he's thrown his own thoughts between them, and it rings fading into echoes.
So this is what it is, to remember being human, yet not being human at all. Harry can't help the thought, can't take it back. He doesn't know if he would, even if he could. The bond that had been, that was and was not, it made them more then wizards, more then human. Not that Harry thought Ollivander had never been human or wizard; no, but he certainly had learned better then most what those words felt and meant, living among unseen for so long.
In terms of the bond, they were father, brother, friend: but the bond was broken between Harry and his Ollivander, leaving this Ollivander something like a uncle to a stray estranged orphan. That was how Harry had meant that term, that supposed endearment, the pain of family terms had lost it's meaning to Harry, use them as he must among fae. Ironic that Ollivander, a non-human, could yet still be more humane then any living human relative Harry could ever claim.
"Your own fault I suspect…" Ollivander whispers like a taunt, haunting them both with the hurt so freshly between them. Ollivander looks on at him, as Harry bows his head in something like blame settling its weight on him, but between them the meaning is clear: it is true apology, a gesture that says I trust you. Harry has made himself vulnerable to Ollivander, purposely so, uniquely so.
It isn't a human gesture, but neither Sirius nor Remus is blind.
"What are you?" Harry had almost forgotten about Sirius and Remus for all that this little 'show' was for their benefit. Ollivander rests his hand gently on his shoulder, and Harry had not realized he was so tensed, ready to flee or fight. He does not look up, and let his godfather and favorite werewolf, make of that what they will.
This is another gesture for Ollivander, one that he takes up without hesitation – what the wand-maker says can make or break Harry, so he listens just as keenly as the wizards.
"My nephew, from the Isle, he is a little more human then I. I take it he's slept with you?" When Harry jerks his head up at Ollivander, he finds himself being looked over – then a glance to Sirius and Remus, it's a decidedly amused look. Harry isn't sure how to feel about that, because he knows his Ollivander – not this one. What right does one stranger have to judge another near stranger? Only, this isn't the case – not really.
"Whatever would my brother say?" Ollivander teases, but Harry tenses – he forgets for a moment that this isn't his time, isn't his Ollivander – he knows both of Ollivander's brothers, and when Ollivander's eyes widen with a look, with curiosity and with something like incomprehension rather then shock, Harry merely smiles to hide.
"What he always does, I imagine." Ollivander's hand has not left his shoulder, and it is a reassuring weight that Harry can not begin say how grateful he is for.
Sirius looks between them, having some experience with family disputes, seeing something of his own family in this. Harry had realized they'd let more of the truth peek out then he'd intended, and wonders again if that was what Ollivander had intended. It's ironic, the bond of family, of husband, wife, and child, it's supposed to be the strongest support, yet it can break and tear into you – hurt you – like nothing no other bond can. It is love, after all.
"Why did you have us leave the way you did?" Remus blurts out, as if he can not help himself. Perhaps he blames himself – his curse – for Harry turning his back on them, wanting nothing to do with him – them.
"I was late." Harry frowns, as he pretends not to know that what he had done was on purpose, it is one of the harder things he's done in his life – but not the hardest or worst lie. Harry with a shrug looks to Ollivander, as if he cannot grasp what was wrong with what he has done - and needs to be told.
"You really aren't human, are you?" Sirius snarls, but there is relief in it; such a betrayal as Harry had given would never be truly forgiven – but Harry isn't human (he was, but he hasn't been – not really, and not for a long time) and there have been many misunderstandings between wizards and witches and non-human people in the past. Enough for pure-blooded wizards and witches to grasp that the truly magical creatures and peoples think differently, have a culture they can't truly understand. It isn't as easy as meeting and greeting.
"No." Harry says with a smile, because he isn't – and he can't pretend to be – this 'play' with Ollivander has taught him that much very quickly. He'd slip up if he tried playing human, perhaps in his own time he would be the better actor, as was his nature – but in this time and place, his strangeness is showing like sunlight behind the moon in eclipse. It was his bond with his Ollivander that makes him less then human and more akin to Ollivander, Harry Potter had been becoming something else, something like a god out of ancient lore, for a long time.
"Why don't you know your own name?" Remus asks, frowning – if anyone could piece this puzzle all together, it is Remus – and perhaps Hermione. Yet they wouldn't want to know it, not really, and that is what protects Harry most of all. He'd practically have to say it for them to believe he's their Harry: out of time, out of mind – so the sang goes. Harry preys so.
"I know it, but it isn't mine - it's been taken from me." Let them make of that what they will, but it isn't as if this is the first time he has gone by, used - or outright been known by other names before. As well, it can only help him, to have their sympathy. Harry locked eyes with Remus, tilting his head in curiosity.
"Now for a question of my own; why do you have two wands?" Harry hadn't made those wands, but he had felt them; had touched the surfaces of their cores like a stone being skipped across still water. They were old enough that Remus must have had them for a long time, time enough to have known their memories of Hogwarts.
"You know what I am; I have been warned often in my life, that for the lightest normal offense, my wand would be snapped – like Sirius here." Remus nudges his shoulder, as if to hide or disguise Sirius's flinch; all Harry glimpsed of what was clearly a painful memory. They both grin, though it is with some measure of the pain of a shared past; something, clearly, that neither wizard would give up.
"Still, you haven't answered 'Rius; what are you – both of you?" Remus inhales, as if catching a pleasing fragrance. Harry goes very, very still; those gold eyes, wolf eyes, are locked upon him in disbelief when they open.
Please, no…Harry thinks it so loudly, Ollivander must hear – but he can say nothing.
A werewolf, he had known – but forgotten what it meant. Those fearsome animal instincts, and senses; hearing, sight, taste, touch – and worse, far worse of all: scent. Remus could smell him, smell Harry where Harry should not be, when Harry could not look like this.
Recognition flashed like lighting and he could hear his heartbeat pounding like thunder that look, that knowing froze Harry where he stood; he was like a bug caught in amber.
"Ha-…? Harry…!" Remus gasped like he could not –quite – breathe, it was choked. Those gold eyes pleaded with him, say something – say no – change! Harry slowly shock his head, but not it denial of the words, but of the silent entreaty.
"What? Remy?..." Sirius tensed and jerked upright, like a puppet on strings. His wand was pointed at Harry's heart – and he couldn't move, not yet.
"He, he is Harry –" Remus accuses, not noticing the wand in Sirius's hand; his has eyes only for Harry – a Harry he does not know, but is in the here and now.
"He can't be." Sirius sounds like he can dismiss it – those words, the truth, yet his wand hand lowers, and he looks again.
"Yes, yes I am." Harry sighs softly in regret, and raising his empty hand to them – they won't strike him down, not now. Not ever. They can't, they love him.
"You won't remember that, I'm sorry, but you can't." His magic gathers in his fingertips, slow as if as reluctant as he is to do this; he hesitates as his hand is trembling. He fears this, and asks if this is really a betrayal– the wrong choice- he is about to chose; Ollivander takes his hand.
Harry sags back in relief, though he feels as if he's about to drop to his knees.
"No, Harry. I know you, you won't do this." His hand is still shaking, but it isn't just his hand he realizes, he's trembling. He's so glad to see Ollivander, to be at his side; to help him choose.
"What choice do I have?" His gut twists at the thought of taking a chance, let them know him (how will they react to what he's become? – to knowing whose bed they've shared, what he'd meant to protect them from at the start?) or, or not (strangers, strangers again) and that – that is surely worse. It is either know them as near-strangers, or know them too well and have them know him. Who he is (does he even want know himself anymore, let alone have them know him?), what he's become; he can't hide it, what's happened to him since they died in his own time. It'll all spill out like this, because Harry isn't human enough to play, to pretend to be what he isn't.
Will they even like him (let alone, can they/will they still love him)?
"There is always a choice, this isn't right. It isn't humane. They deserve to know you." Ollivander makes the choice for him, takes it from him, even with the word 'Obliviate' at the tip of his tongue.
"Thank you." Harry says instead, softly; he is grateful, even if it isn't true.
"Ollivander…" It's cold and hard, those words, like the ice of Sirius's eyes.
"What have you done to my godson?" Sirius's wand tip is glowing, boiling, simmering, and a seething hateful green.
"He hasn't done anything, Sirius. Where I come from, he's dead – you're all dead." Harry gets in the way, taking a step forward, with Ollivander behind him. He's never imagined putting himself between those who've been like family to him, but here he is standing among them; like the middle of a wheel, dividing them, connecting them.
"Harry…how long has it been…? How old are you?" Remus asks, gently, reaching out to him with words alone, even if it is obvious to anyone's eyes that he'd embrace Harry if he could. Harry blinks away the wetness in his eyes, and wonders if Remus really would, if he knew it all.
He will know, Harry decides no matter how painful it is, looking Remus in the eyes.
"Years, I don't know, not really – that's the honest truth of it. I've lived in two different realms since I was sixteen; the fairy Underhill, and outside it is Voldemort and the war. I look there about thirty, and when you leave Underhill the years add up, so I suppose that's how long it's been for them. Not for me." Harry shrugs his shoulders, as if to move his words away from him, distancing them.
"It doesn't matter." Sirius says, bridging that distance as if it's simply not going to be there.
"You're here now, and that means everything is going to change." Remus agrees, reaching a hand out, cautious but willing.
Harry stares at it and feels, feels a lot of things he'd thought he had forgotten how – love, upwelling and lifting, certainty and trust and truth – and painfully, hopes and doubt warring within him. They have a Harry, younger – a better person then he is, more human then he can ever hope to be; why take both? Why risk him?
"Your not alone here, Harry." Ollivander promises softly from behind him; Harry's been broken for so long, he doesn't know if they (or anyone) can fix him. Yet they are willing to try, and that's more then anyone has ever done.
"I know." Harry's voice is rough, broken – but healing: like he is, like he will.
They reach out to touch him – to reassure and sooth and steady, and he shakes, but he does not break.
O.o.O.o.O.o.O
Note; I'm holding with certain facts of Ollivander's name, one – "Olli" might refer to olive (like the tree, thus tree wood/wand wood) and "Vander" means protector (of man?); while also being similar sounding to "Winter". So it refers to both his skill (a wand-maker, which protects wizards/witches) and his nature (winter, snow).
The "winter" part, I obviously made up all on my own; moons just remind me of winter.
"An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop." –Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone