It had been nearly a week since Christmas and still Harry and Ron were ignoring Hermione. This was really beginning to annoy Amelia, who had thought better of them, and she said as much to Severus as they relaxed in the Dungeons that Thursday.
"Well, you are aware of my opinion of the boys," he said, reaching for the wine. He took in her exasperated expression and quickly continued, "However, I'm sure that they're good sports under that rough, boyish exterior," in a rather flat tone.
Amelia rolled her eyes.
"It's just a bloody broomstick, and Hermione's right, it could have been sent by Black."
"Sirius Black?" he asked, surprised, practically spitting the name.
"How many mass murderers out for Potter's blood can you think of?" She looked at his expression, "you don't count."
Severus nodded thoughtfully.
"I knew him, you know, Black."
Amelia looked at him; his outward expression hadn't changed, but the atmosphere had altered quite subtly – she wondered whether her talents had passed beyond tactile with her odd friend. She made a mental note never to play poker with this man. Severus was staring at the wall, speculatively.
"He was an intelligent bastard," he said, with feeling. "Always finding inventive new ways to torture those he considered beneath him."
"Sounds like you speak from experience," she said, carefully; while not wishing to pry she was well aware that Severus seldom let his guard down this much.
"We… never saw eye to eye," he said quietly. "He and James Potter found public humiliation a source of particular delight," he continued, bitterly.
Amelia frowned: Remus's description of James Potter was a good deal kinder than Severus's. Taking pity on her friend, she attempted empathy.
"Everyone gets the crap kicked out of them at school."
"What? Oh, yes…" He appeared to have been lost in unpleasant reminiscences. "You said Miss Granger thought Black could have sent the broom?"
"Yeah," she replied. "There was no note with it, and none of us could think of anyone he knows who would or could do that for him. Firebolts cost the earth you know."
"It's the kind of rat-bastard trick he'd think of – sending the boy something he's bound to use, and let's face it, no Potter is going to pass up the opportunity to play quidditch on a top notch broom."
Amelia nodded, "How would he know, though? I mean I know he's famous, but it isn't common knowledge that Harry's a quidditch nut – or incautious enough to take up an anonymous broom."
Severus considered this for a moment, before musing: "Except by those inside the school."
The two Professors were quiet for a moment.
"Well that's a chilling prospect," said Amelia unhappily. "I mean I kind of figured he was trying to stay nearby, but the thought of him inside the castle…"
"Or one of our colleagues is helping him in," said Severus, nodding gravely.
Amelia, who had been sipping her wine, very nearly spat it all over him.
"Who would do that?" she demanded.
Oddly, Severus didn't seem to be able to meet her eyes; slowly he shook his head. She was about to press him further when they were interrupted by a tentative knock. Amelia was secretly impressed by the speed at which the wine bottle was concealed.
"Come," called Snape, glad of the interruption. "Ah, Mr Zabini, what can I do for you?"
As the young Slytherin began his tale of woe (largely surrounding a lost essay for Professor Sprout) Amelia left them to it, feeling that eavesdropping on so obvious a scale would be downright rude.
Severus watched her go, only half listening to the hapless boy before him. Silently he thought that if he'd voiced his suspicions their friendship would be over once again; she'd never believe me, anyway.
0o0
The feeling of unease brought about by Severus's speculation followed Amelia around like a murky cloud. She found herself snapping at students in the corridor and growling at even the most polite intrusion into her thoughts. The afternoon class with the fifth years was a particular disaster, Fred and George's usual exuberance resulting in a detention (and a narrowly avoided hex as they sped from the classroom); it was as if the students were deliberately playing up to her mood.
At dinner, she sat at the very end of the staff table and avoided conversation, much to the confusion of her colleagues. Each of them fell under her scrutiny as she tried to imagine them passing information to a man intent on murdering one of their charges.
They only one that she could even vaguely consider was Hagrid, who she knew would talk uninhibited after a pint or two – but he'd never hurt Harry, and would presumably have known Black well enough to recognise his face.
So engrossed was she in this deconstruction of her colleagues that she entirely failed to notice Remus approaching her as she left the Great Hall, and left him peering after her looking rather crestfallen.
0o0o0o0
Lupin wasn't having a particularly good day himself, still tired and drawn from his last transformation he was finding engaging his students trickier than usual. Naturally, he'd assumed that Amelia's dismissive behaviour was a sign of the inevitable end of their relationship; although he'd been expecting it he couldn't shake off the deep ache of sadness that this assumption produced.
So it was that he arrived in the History of Magic classroom to begin Harry's extra Defence lessons in something of a sombre mood. Harry seemed to be in fairly good spirits, though Lupin suspected that he was trying to hide his nervousness behind joviality, just as his father had.
He heaved the packing case containing the Boggart onto Professor Binns' desk and rather nastily thought that if he left it here his old tutor wouldn't notice.
"What's that?" said Harry.
"Another Boggart," said Lupin, stripping off his cloak. "I've been combing the castle ever since Tuesday, and very luckily, I found this one lurking inside Mr Filch's filing cabinet. It's the nearest we'll get to a real Dementor. The Boggart will turn into a Dementor when he sees you, so we'll be able to practise on him. I can store him in my office when we're not using him; there's a cupboard under my desk he'll like."
"Ok," said Harry, trying to sound as though he wasn't apprehensive at all and merely glad that Lupin had found such a good substitute for a real Dementor.
Lupin smiled to himself, Harry's forced bravado was making him feel like he was back with the Marauders again.
"So", he said, taking out his wand and giving Harry an encouraging nod. "The spell I am going to try and teach you is highly advanced magic, Harry – well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level. It is called the Patronus Charm."
"How does it work?" said Harry nervously.
"Well, when it works correctly, it conjures up a Patronus," said Lupin, "which is a kind of anti-Dementor – a guardian which acts as a shield between you and the Dementor."
Watching Harry suppress a smile, he continued. "The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the Dementor feeds upon – hope, happiness, the desire to survive – but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the Dementors can't hurt it. But I must warn you, Harry, that the Charm might be too advanced for you. Many qualified wizards have difficulty with it."
"What does a Patronus look like?" said Harry curiously.
"Each one is unique to the wizard who conjures it."
"And how do you conjure it?"
"With an incantation, which will work only if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a single very happy memory."
He paused to allow the boy to think, wishing that the boy could have shared some of the Marauder's antics with his father.
"Right," he said, clearly trying to sound braver than he felt.
"The incantation is this –" Lupin cleared his throat, "expecto patronum!"
"Expecto patronum," Harry repeated under his breath, "expecto patronum."
"Concentrating hard on your happy memory?
"Oh – yeah –" said Harry. "Expecto patrono – no – patronum – sorry – expecto patronum, expecto patronum –"
Something whooshed suddenly out of the end of his wand; it looked like a wisp of silvery gas.
"Did you see that?" said Harry excitedly. "Something happened!"
"Very good," said Lupin, smiling. "Right then – ready to try it on a Dementor?"
"Yes," Harry said, gripping his wand tightly and moving into the middle of the classroom. The silvery wisp had been promising, although currently Harry looked as if he were trying not to be sick.
Lupin grasped the lid of the packing case and pulled.
A Dementor rose slowly from the box, its hooded face turned towards Harry, one glistening, scabbed hand grasping its cloak. The lamps around the classroom flickered and went out. The Dementor stepped from the box and started to sweep silently towards Harry, drawing a deep, rattling breath.
"Expecto patronum!" Harry yelled. "Expecto patronum! Expecto –"
He realised too late that Harry was losing consciousness; swiftly he trapped the Boggart back in the trunk and moved to the younger wizard's side. Harry appeared to be gasping for air; his eyes were screwed up and his skin pale.
"Harry!" For a fleeting moment he was afraid he'd killed his best friend's son, but then Harry opened his eyes. Sitting up, he looked rather sheepish.
"Sorry," he muttered.
"Are you all right?" he asked, somewhat relieved.
"Yes…" Harry pulled himself up on one of the desks and leant against it.
"Here –" Lupin handed him a chocolate frog. "Eat this before we try again. I didn't expect you to do it first time. In fact, I would have been astounded if you had."
"It's getting worse," Harry muttered, biting the Frog's head off. "I could hear her louder this time – and him – Voldemort –"
Remus felt himself blanch. The thought of Lily Evans begging before that son of a bitch made him shudder.
"Harry, if you don't want to continue, I will more than understand –"
"I do!" said Harry fiercely, stuffing the rest of the Chocolate Frog into his mouth. "I've got to! What if the Dementors turn up at our match against Ravenclaw? I can't afford to fall off again. If we lose this game we've lost the Quidditch Cup!"
"All right then…" said Lupin. "You might want to select another memory, a happy memory, I mean, to concentrate on… that one doesn't seem to have been strong enough…"
There was a pause while Harry considered his choice.
"Ready?" said Lupin, gripping the box lid.
"Ready," said Harry, firmly.
"Go!" said Lupin, pulling off the lid. The room went icily cold and dark once more. The Dementor glided forwards, drawing its rattly breath; one rotting hand was extending towards Harry –
"Expecto patronum!" Harry yelled. "Expecto patronum! Expecto pat–"
Again Remus rushed to Harry's side, full of concern.
"Harry! Harry… wake up…"
He tapped Harry hard on the face. This time it was a full minute before Harry understood why he was lying on a dusty classroom floor. In the back of his mind, Remus made another mental note to speak to the house elves about their inability to clean floors.
"I heard my Dad," Harry mumbled. "That's the first time I've ever heard him – he tried to take on Voldemort himself, to give my Mum time to run for it…"
Through the shock of that statement, Remus noticed tears on the boy's face, tears that even now he was trying to hide. It seemed suddenly that it was impossible to breathe. He'd always assumed that they'd died together, side by side in death as they had been in life, though of course he'd heard from others who'd found the young family of their ruined state.
To hear that they'd died alone, terrified, nauseated him.
He heard his own voice ask, "You heard James?" though it didn't really sound like him.
"Yeah…" Face dry, Harry looked up. "Why – you didn't know my Dad, did you?"
"I – I did, as a matter of fact," he managed. "We were friends at Hogwarts." Privately, he reflected that it would be just like James, so brave and sometimes so foolish, to try to save his wife and child… and just like Lily to try anything she could to protect her son. Her face snapped to his memory, laughing at the antics of the Marauders in the Common Room, the two of them trying to appear aloof as they felt good prefects should.
He swallowed.
"Listen, Harry – perhaps we should leave it here for tonight. This charm is ridiculously advanced… I shouldn't have suggested you through this…"
"No!" said Harry. He got up again. "I'll have one more go! I'm not thinking of happy enough things, that's what it is… hang on…"
Again he waited. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to hear his friends die; over and over. He was about to tell Harry that they should call it a night when the boy turned back to the packing case, face set. Against his better judgement (and perhaps to satisfy the James-like Marauder instinct at the back of his mind), he pulled off the lid.
The Dementor rose up once more, sucking the light and warmth from the room.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry bellowed. "EXPECTO PATRONUM! EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
To Lupin's amazement and pride a huge, silver shadow came bursting out of the end of Harry's wand, to hover between him and the Dementor… Harry was still on his feet.
"Riddikulus!" roared Lupin, springing forwards.
There was a loud crack, and Harry's cloudy Patronus vanished along with the Dementor; he sank into a chair, looking drained.
Having subdued the now lunar Boggart for a third time he strode over to the boy.
"Excellent! Excellent Harry, that was definitely a start!"
"Can we have another go? Just one more go?"
"Not now," said Lupin firmly. "You've had enough for one night. Here –"
He handed Harry a large bar of Honeydukes' best chocolate.
"Eat the lot, or Madam Pomfrey will be after my blood. Same time next week?"
"Ok," said Harry.
Remus began to clear away the debris of the lesson and extinguished the lamps, musing once more on his old friends; Harry called him back to the present.
"Professor Lupin?" he said. "If you knew my Dad, you must've known Sirius Black as well."
He turned, sharply.
"What gives you that idea?" he said sharply.
"Nothing – I mean, I just knew they were friends at Hogwarts too…"
Remus relaxed, the fleeting terror of being called 'accomplice' leaving him.
"Yes, I knew him," he said shortly. "Or I thought I did. You'd better get off, Harry, it's getting late."
He watched him leave the classroom and found that he was sad not to know this fierce young boy as well as he should. Collecting the packing trunk he set off to his own office, haunted by the echoes of laughter, long since ended. As he stowed the Boggart under his desk he allowed himself to wonder, briefly, what his and Harry's lives would have been, had circumstances been different…
He and Lily would have taught the boy to read and be studious, of course, and he would have had his mother's kindness – some of which he thought that he could see in him now. From James he would have inherited that arrogance so little of which he seemed to possess, along with that talent for trouble that Harry had definitely received. And from Sirius? He paused: thinking of his old friend cost him.
Sirius would have taught him to laugh, countless pranks with which to irritate his teachers and (the non-evil Sirius) his bizarre sense of honour. Despite everything, Remus smirked. He'd probably have taught him every unsavoury word under the sun by the time he was four.
But it was pointless, really, to think of all those lost chances now.
They're dead, he told himself sternly. They all are, and dreaming of them won't change that.
Angrily, he brushed away a tear and crossed into his bedroom; he suspected that Amelia would be happier without him tonight. In this he was most definitely mistaken.
0o0o0o0
She'd spent a miserable half hour bumming around her rooms, making a half-arsed attempt at tidying up before giving in and just stomping around listlessly. As time crept forward she began to notice her loneliness; childishly, she got ready for bed, becoming increasingly annoyed with Remus for not coming to check on her. Surely he must know she was upset!
Finally succumbing to her own impatience she wrapped her blanket around her pyjamas and stormed towards Remus's rooms, banging on the door.
Too annoyed to wait when there was no response, she opened the door and went in. Expecting to find her lover selfishly marking homework or writing up a lesson plan, but instead the lamps were out in the main room. Mildly concerned, she moved towards his bedroom. She could see lamplight spilling out from under the door; her irritation was ebbing away with each step. Gently, she pushed the door open and found him curled up on the floor with an old photograph album beside him.
As he looked up at her it was clear that he'd been crying.
He also looked confused to see her.
Foul temper gone, she moved to sit with him, quietly wrapping the other half of her blanket around him and feeling thoroughly ashamed of her earlier childishness. She should have known that he needed her.
For this part, Remus was so certain that he had somehow fallen asleep and that Amelia was a part of a bittersweet dream, that he hardly dared to touch her, lest he should wake and find himself alone once more.
Not meeting his gaze, she gently took his hand in her own, lacing their fingers together firmly.
She felt him shiver against her, but as he didn't try to pull away she moved to put her arm around him. He was cold to the touch.
Wearily, he rested his head against the shoulders of a dream.
"I was remembering them," he said, voice hoarse from sorrow, gesturing towards the album in front of him. Amelia tightened her grip on his shoulder.
"I had my first tutorial with Harry this evening, and he told me that when he's near the Dementors he hears Lil' dying – and James too, tonight."
"Oh, Remus, I should have come up earlier." Close as they had become, she couldn't help feeling that now she was here she was intruding on something private.
"He faced Voldemort alone, trying to give Lil' and Harry time to escape – Lily begged for her son's life…" He took a deep breath, "and I can't help thinking that I could have stopped it. If I'd just seen through that bastard's lies!" he sobbed, dryly.
Her heart broke for this quiet, lonely man that had found his way into her life.
"How could you have? Even Dumbledore was fooled." Amelia rubbed his arm in what she hoped was a comforting fashion.
"But I shouldn't have been! I'd known him since I was a boy!" he cried, hotly, desperately pulling away from her. "We stood together as brothers, so many times! And to think, while we were planning James's stag party or Harry's first birthday he was quietly selling us all out – and himself!"
Remus was on his feet now, pacing agitatedly around the bedroom. "I would have died for him!" his voice cracked, "I would have died…" he looked at her helplessly, hopelessly, "just for one more hour of their company. For Harry to have grown up loved."
She went to him then and held him until he stopped shaking; carefully she led him to the bed, where she sat beside him, not letting go.
"Do you know that Harry told me the happiest thing he could think of for our session earlier was leaving his aunt and uncle? From his whole life… Sirius and I," and here his voice threatened to crack once more. "Sirius and I were appointed his guardians – though I wasn't officially named. If it hadn't been for my damned condition I could have taken them away from him."
Amelia, not for the first time, couldn't think of a single thing to say.
"And now, to make things worse," he concluded, looking up at her, weary defeat etched on his young face, "you've finally realised that a life with me is no life at all."
He reached up and stroked her cheek, sadly. "I don't blame you."
If he had thought it were a dream until now, Remus was swiftly disabused of this notion as she smacked him, relatively gently, around the back of his head.
"Ow!"
"Well, don't be so bloody stupid then. I'm not going anywhere."
He stared at her, flabbergasted, one hand nursing his head.
"B-but at dinner –" he managed.
Amelia looked sheepish.
"Yeah, I'm sorry about that… I was in a foul temper."
"You mean, we're not… finished?"
She shook her head quietly. "Not unless that's what you want…"
"No, far from it!" it was Remus's turn to look sheepish, though he also looked relieved.
"I'm glad," she said, smiling a little. "Now I think you'd better get ready for bed."
About to protest and reluctant to have her leave so soon he half stood, before she waved him back down.
"I realise that I have no right to issue orders, but issuing them I am. You get cleaned up and I'll fetch us some supper."
A little surprised (and more surprised that he didn't object) he nodded his assent and did what he was told as she departed, presumably to the kitchens.
Lifting the album to the bed he couldn't help but imagine the responses of his old friends. To his surprise, his earlier bitterness had left him and he allowed himself a small smile as his mind supplied the voices of his long-time confidantes.
Behind him a half-imagined Peter sniggered while Sirius (the non-evil one) leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smirk resting on his handsome features.
"Looks like Moony here's on a short leash," he remarked, looking over to James (who would, Remus knew, be sat in his armchair, Lily on his lap).
His smile grew a little, and he said, without turning, "I really like her guys, and for some reason she likes me."
From the doorway, Sirius scoffed and exclaimed, "Of course she likes you Moons, you're a Marauder!"
"Hear, hear!" cried Peter, cheerfully.
"That I am," he said quietly, chuckling a little. Then he sighed, and said, "And I know that if I turn around, you'll be gone… I know that." He turned then and stared sadly and wistfully at the places where his friends should have been, empty once more.
"I know that, but I am not resigned," he said aloud, sadly.
"Quoting poetry?" Amelia asked, returning with a tray of chocolate themed goodness.
"Not that I knew," he replied, smiling. "I thought you said supper, not a feast?" he added playfully.
"You looked like you needed it," she smiled, placing the tray on the bed next to the album.
He brushed a strand of hair tenderly out of her eyes.
"Thank you," he said, gently.
"What for?" she asked, head to one side and pulled him into a hug. Muffled by his jumper he heard her mumble, "daft sod."
After a time they curled up together on the bed with a substantial slab of chocolate cake apiece, mugs of hot tea steaming on either side.
"What poem was it, out of interest?" Remus asked, having swallowed a particularly good morsel of cake.
"Hmmm?" Amelia asked, mouth full of fudge, "Oh." She swallowed, "Just this poem by Edna St Vincent Millay, seemed appropriate."
"I've not heard of her…" he said, drowsily.
"She's a bit obscure; good though."
"How's it go?"
"Erm, let's see:
0
"Dirge Without Music
I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned with lilies and with laurel they go: but I am not resigned.
0
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains – but the best is lost.
0
The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love –
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses.
Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.
0
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave.
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know, but I do not approve.
And I am not resigned."
0
She finished the poem sadly, thinking of her own family.
Remus nodded, "Sometimes poetry can speak more aptly than our own tired brains."
They finished their supper quietly, each lost in their own thoughts; then:
"Why were you in such a bad mood earlier?"
"Oh, it was just something Severus said."
Protective anger coursed through him and he reached out to her, reverting, for a moment, to his teenaged self, and he snarled, "If that filthy, jumped up snake said anything –"
"Oy! Settle down!" Amelia started, surprised by both his vehemence and his odd turn of phrase. "He didn't say anything unpleasant. Well he did, but –" she hastened to placate her lover, who was once more bristling with anger, "it wasn't an insult or anything like that."
Remus was still frowning and the furrows in his brow deepened.
"Then what was it?" he asked, a little confused. Amelia closed her eyes briefly, she'd have much preferred to stay away from any subject that might cause Remus to dwell on his friend's betrayal.
"It's just, we were considering how much Black seems to know about Harry – his habits, hobbies and so on."
Lupin shook his head slowly, not liking where this train of thought was heading.
"… and Severus suggested that someone in the castle could be passing information to him. I spent the day thinking the very worst of everyone… except you," she finished, shuffling closer to him.
"You do know that I'd be the most likely candidate to fall under Severus's suspicion, as Black's old friend?" he asked, all in a rush; it was as if he were afraid that he would be unable to continue if he were to pause.
"I know that, and that would be why he couldn't look at me when he suggested it. But you and I both know that you couldn't hurt Harry," she hesitated, a little reluctant to continue. "…and I can feel how strongly you hate what Black became."
Remus agreed, quietly.
"Yes. When he betrayed us, Sirius died – there is nothing of the man I once called brother in him how."
0o0
As she was drifting off, safe in Remus's arms, she could have sworn she saw figures around the doorway and settled in the old armchair under the window; there was the sound of distant laughter. One of the shadows stepped closer and leaned towards her, before pushing his glasses back up his nose and patting her lightly on the shoulder.
"Take care of him for us," he said and turning, took the hand of the woman behind him; together, with the two other shadows, they left the room. Amelia slipped into a deep and contented sleep, where her dreams were all sunshine and stories and bright laughter.
0o0
Remus woke early with a smile on his lips. He'd dreamed that they'd walked in a green forest, sharing laughter and stories with his old friends; Harry and his friends had been there, along with a few people he didn't recognise but who Amelia and Hermione seemed to know. Harry and Ron had played an impromptu Quidditch match with James and Sirius, much to the older wizards' delight.
He looked at Amelia, still sleeping peacefully beside him with her hand in his, and watched her dream for a while. It occurred to him that if he should be required to produce a Patronus at this moment it would be the best and strongest charm that he could ever have cast.