As nightfall approaches on their second day in Albania, they are almost halfway through canvassing the second and the largest of the three forests marked on their map when a dogshaped Sirius stops, quivering like he's just caught a scent.
"What is it?"
He just chuffs at her, still fixed on whatever has caught his attention.
"Come on. Tell me. People words."
The dog lets out two pants and then his head snaps left. In her pocket, the Dark detector lets out a faint buzz.
Lily curses under her breath and dives for a tree to hide behind. Brambles tear at her trousers, and she must be making enough noise to wake an army, but she's hidden a bit away and her wand is out.
There's a bark, but it's not a growling one, not a sound of aggression. Lily crouches and peers out to see Sirius bowing on his front legs the same way he does when he sees a squirrel or the rare other dog, tail a furious blur. And then legs, human legs, a voice, and Sirius flashes back to human and he's standing so close to the other human that they must be fighting even though she could swear she can hear Sirius laughing-
A voice says, in a hoarse half-whisper, "Padfoot?"
Lily creeps closer, still hidden, and the Dark detector buzzes faintly again.
"-thought you were dead-" she can catch, in Sirius' mumble, thick with emotion.
The quiet, clear voice responds, with both warmth and suspicion in equal measure. "I thought you were dead. It made the papers."
"Yeah, well. Can't believe anything the paper says these days." Sirius' legs turn away. "Lily, come out, it's all right."
She could strangle him. Well, the first step toward strangling him is getting out of this shrub. It's not as if she's terribly comfortable, so she stands, grunting a little, and looks across to-
A memory, vivid and present. On the Hogwarts Express, her fifth year, a brilliant gleam of the Prefect's badge on his shoddy robes, a smile on his scarred face as he sat across from her. And that same face now, aged beyond its years, smiling genial and only faintly surprised.
"Remus Lupin," she says. "As I live and breathe."
"As you do," he says kindly, but he doesn't take his eyes off the wand in her hand. "I didn't think you still managed it, what with the political climate being what it is."
"I could say the same of you." He always was quicker than Sirius in matters of subtlety. "How exactly did you come to be in Albania, then?"
"You never did mince words," he says. The genial smile goes rigid and stale on his face.
Her voice is no kinder. "Answer the question."
"Lily," Sirius says, almost pleading. "What are you talking about? It's Remus."
Another person she's expected to remember. To love. But this isn't the same as Molly, and Lily doesn't shift her gaze or her wand. "Sirius, don't you find it interesting that he's here, given what we're searching for?"
"What she means is, given what I am," Remus says, gentle but not moving. This is a man who's been held at wandpoint more than once.
His word touches off something inside of her, locked away, and it bursts open in a spray of light like no other memory has: the still shadow of James, voice a garbled whisper: werewolf. And then, near the end-very near the end-We can't trust Remus. You know what he is, what kind of creatures Dumbledore has his spying on. It has to be Peter.
She has been happier not remembering that, not knowing that either of these two men before her could have been the Secret-Keeper to her happy home more than a traitorous rat. At least Pettigrew is dead. At least Severus had given him no mercy and delivered him unto less; the end of Peter Pettigrew's life had been drawn out and horrible at the hands of the his own Dark Lord.
(Something inside her lingers over the violence Severus must have committed before handing Pettigrew over. It sings, mine mine mine.)
"Well? Are you taking orders from Fenrir these days?" Lily says, stepping forward. Her voice is too loud, too wild, but it does make both of them flinch as she comes forward into the clearing.
Remus finally breaks eye contact and seems to crumple, hurt. "Lily, you know very well that Fenrir is the beast who turned me. I would never be loyal to him, not even at the cost of my life."
"Talk is cheap, Remus. Why are you here."
"Believe it or not, Lily, I am where Albus Dumbledore placed me before his death."
Sirius says, "See? Let's set up the tent and put some supper on."
Above, the pines sway in the dusk breeze. Sirius isn't wrong; they should be setting up camp, should be protecting the place where they intend to sleep and putting up the tent. Instead they are arguing.
"I'm actually quite curious why you are here myself," says Remus, trying for a sincere smile once more. He errs considerably wide of anything truly kind, seeing Lily's still-stony expression. "Last I heard, you had been abducted by an old friend of yours."
She stuffs it all under ice, wills her face impassive. "You don't know anything about it."
"Best let that alone," Sirius mutters to Remus, and turns back to Lily, trying to make a peace that won't come together. "Come on, Lily, let's set up."
"I'm afraid I can't let you do that here," Remus says slowly.
"And there it is," Lily mocks. "Why not?"
"You're in our territory, you see. It's good that I found you, I can make the proper introductions."
"To who?" Sirius asks, bewildered.
"To the pack, of course, and Nicolas." Lily and Sirius exchange a glance, and Remus is sharp enough to at least see it and read half of it. "You can't tell me you aren't here to speak with Nicolas, to ask his help."
"Of course we are," Lily lies smoothly. Sirius isn't a fool but they don't have a lie ready and she'll cling to anything. "We didn't know he was with you and yours."
Remus' gentle expression goes a bit brittle, at that, and the discomfort-you and yours being werewolves, not themselves-glasses over all his suspicion with sublimated anger. He turns and gestures. "Come on, then. I'll take you to him."
Whomever Nicolas is, they mustn't be a danger to him. Lily looks at Sirius again, and he opens one hand at his side, as if to say, you got us into this. But they both follow.
It's a mile, maybe a little less, but with tired legs and cross-cut through territory they've already canvassed, the Dark Detector giving its soft vibration of Remus' proximity the whole way. Sirius tries to catch her attention with sly sideways looks but she can only shake her head; Remus' hearing is too good for that even if he weren't a werewolf, and it's hard to tell what's lore and what's real with Dark creatures these days. Sirius will just have to follow her lead, like she did when Molly asked too much. Lily wouldn't be here with Sirius if she wasn't confident he could do it, and if it's a trap they will have to fight their way out or fail in the attempt.
She clutches to the scrap of parchment in her pocket, to her wand. It isn't anything. It's nothing at all. Just a nervous tic, a hope for comfort of a comrade, nothing more.
They arrive to a massive clearing they had wound their path around before, and Remus finally stops. "Hold back. This is a bit complex."
The wards are similar to the ones they erected to keep Bellatrix out of the kitchen, but enlarged beyond meaningful comparison. As he unstitches them point by point, she files away their nature as best as she can see. This one, a disguise; that, repelling; another, a nasty deterrent. Information is currency just as much as galleons, after all.
Remus' hands fall, and the Dark Detector begins to vibrate with new ferocity as a small village of ramshackle tents appear from nothingness. Remus threads his way through it with the familiarity of a native, past lean-tos and yurts, cookfires and quiet children minded by painfully thin adults murmuring in tight circles or withdrawing into their tents as they approach. All werewolves, or enough of them werewolves; every time they pass close to a knot of people the Dark Detector feels like it's about to start screaming and Lily can't shut it up without drawing more attention than they already have.
The village has the feel of a lived-in place despite the temporary look of the tents; dirt paths wend their way between the doorways as clearly as any lane Lily has ever seen in Cokeworth, and Remus leads them ever inward, well past what Lily's legs would guess are the end of the clearing. It's a powerful enchantment indeed, though not a terribly surprising one.
What is a surprise is the red spire of an improbable tent jutting from the center, narrow and commanding as a lighthouse. "I take it this is Nicolas," Lily says.
Remus says nothing, just scans her with his calculating gaze before lifting the entry flap to the tall red tent at the center of the tiny village. He can tell that something's missing, off-she almost fathoms that he can smell Severus on her, and the hand she gave him fists involuntarily as if it's guilty of more. Before Lily can dismiss the thought as ridiculous or bury it in ice, he's looked away, dropping the tentflap behind him.
Inside, the Dark Detector goes utterly silent-there are wards, good ones, strong ones, in the fabric of the tent itself-and a glowing red gem sits upon a plinth. Behind it, the man prodding at the fire looks precisely like his chocolate frog card. He hasn't aged a day, but of course he wouldn't have. She had run through all the Nicolases it could possibly be but never thought-
"Nicolas Flamel," Lily says, unable to keep the note of awe out of her voice.
Sirius curses, and then apologizes, and then curses again.
Flamel takes his time as they fumble, straightening with both grace and pain that only six hundred years of uninterrupted life can give and turns his benevolent gaze upon them. "You were expecting, perhaps, Father Christmas?" His English is softly colored with French, as though centuries had buffed away all but the gentlest openness around the vowels. "Lily Potter. Sirius Black. Albus warned me you might come. Please, sit." Flamel gestures expansively to a set of matched, slouching overstuffed chairs that dissolve into being limned in red sparks.
He's not even using his wand as far as Lily can tell. Even his conjuration looks different than anything she's ever seen before. Remus sits as if he's used to it, the red sparks, the centuries-old wizard and Lily realizes for the first time that she's not sure if Remus-or Flamel, for that matter-even has a wand.
"Albus?" Lily asks, breathless.
"An old friend." A fleeting sadness tugs at his his mouth. "Still quite dead, I'm afraid, but he told me many things before he departed."
Sirius jerks his thumb towards the plinth. "Is that-?"
"Despite all reports to the contrary, yes." He laughs as he settles into a seat in the circle of armchairs, and it's a strange, musical sound. "I have kept the Philosopher's Stone from the grasp of Tom Riddle."
"And us," Remus adds quietly. He's still watching Lily, and he's clearly come to some kind of determination. "You lied, Lily. You had no idea Nicolas was here. So why are you in Albania?"
Lily sighs, putting her hand to her forehead and pressing her fingertips to her temples. "I could ask you the same question, and you won't answer for the same reason."
Remus' mouth thins. "The Eaten Ministry drove many werewolves into Fenrir's ranks, as I'm sure you well know. Those who refused to join found better luck fleeing. Nicolas is the only reason most of the people here have managed to survive. Did you know about us?"
"But this is brilliant," Sirius interrupts, excited. "This changes everything. We could work together, start getting werewolves out of the country along with muggleborns-"
Remus sounds exhausted. "We can barely feed ourselves without drawing too much attention. There are three wands between nearly a hundred and fifty of us, and hardly any magical training. I was lucky in that. Many others weren't. Nicolas and myself and a few others, we try to train where we can, but without wands these children are growing up almost entirely without magic to support them." Remus scrubs his hand across his mouth. "It's all we can do to keep their accidental magic from ripping each other or the woods to shreds."
Sirius comes around on him. "There are people suffering in England right now. What's your plan, wait here until you-know-who decides the peace with the Soviets is inconvenient and starts moving in on new territory? And then what, run further? It isn't sustainable."
"There are very few paths to sustainability. We are focused more on survival," Remus says wryly.
Lily interrupts their spat and comes back to Flamel. "You expect me to believe you were simply allowed to escape England with an artifact like that?"
Flamel nods along. "Of course not. But we keep a tenuous peace, Tom Riddle and I. He knows, approximately, where He believes that I can be coerced into relinquishing the Philosopher's Stone to him at some point in the future, and he does not feel he has the need for it now. He does send the occasional emissary." He pauses. "Are you an emissary for the one your friend calls the Dark Lord, Lily Potter?"
"How dare you," Sirius snarls. Lily's never felt so grateful for him.
Flamel continues on with the ease of the uncaring. "And yet you reek of him. You both do, but you most of all, Lily Potter."
She feels increasingly like a child being scolded by a teacher and it grates. "I can't help that. We live in his world, not in some forest in Albania."
Flamel leans forward, steepling his fingers. "Do you understand why Tom Riddle is dangerous, Lily Potter?"
Flamel is focused on her, so she must take point. Fine, she has answers to this, answers even that Sirius would like to hear. "He enslaves. He uses violence. He kills."
"You have killed, Lily Potter. As have Remus and Sirius. As have I, in this and other conflicts across the ages." Flamel's hands open and another shower of red sparks give way to an earthenware mug that fills itself with something that steams. "Every war has its price in blood and this war is not so unique as you might like to think."
Lily opens her mouth to retort, but Flamel raises a palm to silence her. "Oh, yes, Tom Riddle is violent, naturally. I do not seek to minimize his crimes. And the treatment of muggleborns is reprehensible. But these are equally merely a means to an end. They enable him to destroy intractable resistance and intimidate those contemplating the same. It is not what makes him truly dangerous."
"Then what?" Sirius asks, bursting with frustration. "What else is there?"
Flamel smiles at Sirius. "He offers dire consequence in one hand, which you are familiar with, but the greater hazard lies with the rich reward in the other. Without that he is merely a warlord. With it, he can convince individuals to hand over their power without even suggesting violence. Once they do so, he is capable of convincing them that doing so is not only in best interest, but also that the life they lead in his thrall is better than the one of freedom. Frightened and starved armies desert, mutiny, and defect. But the well-fed are just as faithful as the zealots. He is persuasive. Charming, even, able to allay fears in his allies. The danger he poses is not one to life and limb, but one to the mind and soul." He takes a sip from the mug, returning his piercing gaze to Lily once more. "I believe you both know very well the damage that Tom Riddle can do to a soul who submits to him willingly."
"Regulus is different," says Sirius, with a certainty borne of love.
(Lily wishes there was that kind of certainty in her heart. There isn't.)
"Is your brother so different?" Flamel asks. "Certainly Tom Riddle's forces are replete with those simple monsters like your hated Fenrir or Macnair, but there are more like your brother and Severus Snape who sought power, acceptance, exultation, and society. These are natural desires, utterly human; Tom corrupts them to his own end."
He's talking around it, and Lily doesn't intend to let him. "And what do you think are his ends?"
Flamel shrugs easily, as if they are discussing the score to a Quiddich game. "Power for power's own sake. It is the only thing he has ever truly been seduced by, I believe. Lily, you are bored by my question?"
She tosses her head, defiant and keyed up and uncomfortable and ready to fight or flee or do anything than sit here across from this condescending ancient. "I am. You aren't offering anything new. I know why he's dangerous."
"You do not, and this ignorance dooms you and your mission to failure."
"Then tell us," Sirius says, exasperated.
"Quite loyal, this one," Flamel says, flicking his eyes to Sirius for a moment. "Careful not to abuse that, my dear."
"My relationships have nothing to do with this war." Lily is tired of games, tired of being accused of things.
Flamel shakes his head. "You will find yourself mistaken in that, and at great cost, but very well. To the point I am attempting to make, though you may not hear it. Tom Riddle is lacks something we shall call a human heart." Flamel holds up an open, empty palm, as if weighing the emptiness. "It is an oversimplification but it serves my argument; he does not feel love or guilt or empathy the way you and I do.
"A creature without a heart would be a monster, surely, but with that lack alone he would be lonely one. No, Tom Riddle is dangerous because he lacks a human heart while possessing the rare talent of capturing the hearts of others. He can understand them, manipulate them, persuade them to tasks they would never dream of had he not entered their lives. No one is immune.
"And his ends, as I've said; he seeks control over them in order to obtain further control over other hearts and minds." He pauses, taking a sip of his drink, scanning their faces for reaction. "It is an ouroburous, but power does breed power. All great wizards know this madness. Few have been so consumed by it as he. Fewer still have found such success."
"People say you're a great wizard," Lily says, accusing.
He tilts his head. "I have heard this."
"You made the Stone. Sought to defeat death itself." It comes too close to it, to their secret mission, but Lily has to press the issue.
"I did."
"How are you different, then? How are you any different than Tom Riddle?"
Remus' sharp intake of breath is one of horror, but she doesn't spare a look for him. If Flamel wants to take her down this little logic breadcrumb trail then he must be able to deal with the consequences, and she doesn't trust him.
Flamel sighs. "Because, Lily Potter, I have had other goals. I have a wife whom I love. I have friends like Albus Dumbledore who have taught me lessons. They have told me when I have erred and I have listened. I have seen the suffering before me in wars and I have chosen to act-not always as the generals would have had me act, but I have not been idle. In short, I have the sort of heart Tom Riddle lacks."
"Prove it," she spits.
He laughs. Nicolas Flamel, six hundred year old wizard and sole creator of the Philosopher's Stone, laughs in her face.
"Merlin, but Albus did say you were a spitfire. Oh, sit down, you silly girl, and take a breath. What would you have me do, expose the heart in my chest for your scrutiny?"
"It'd be a start," Sirius mutters.
"Oh, certainly. It would also prove little. I could mention that I have been entirely transparent in this little argument, that I have attempted to appeal to your logic instead of your baser instincts the way Tom Riddle would, but that has more to do with the inner workings of my own mind than any kindness. I could suggest I have answered all of your questions, countenanced your rudeness, and showed you hospitality, but you would find that meaningless. I could, perhaps, describe the scent of Amortentia to you, or I could produce a corporeal Patronus. But I think not." He raises one finger. "Faith, Lily Potter. I ask of you only for a few hours of faith in me, which you are welcome to sleep through. When the sun rises, I will give you what you seek, though you will find no joy in it."
"And what do you think we came for?" Lily asks.
Flamel's eyes flicker past Remus and Sirius before returning to her own. In passing over them, he seems to have made a decision, and become grave. "You seek the diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw, which you believe to be made into a horcrux by Tom Riddle. You seek to destroy it that you may someday destroy him. As if that could possibly be enough." He pauses. "I believe you know the destruction of Tom Riddle himself will never be enough."
The silence that follows is leaden. There's no lie that springs to Lily's mind, nothing she can do to shove the words back into his mouth.
"Is that true?" Remus leans forward, almost pleading, an agony of hope in his voice. "Is that what you're doing? Is that why you're here?"
Sirius ignores him, growling, "How do you know that?"
It comes to her with a terrible suddenness. Her mouth goes dry. It's a question she could have asked, should have asked if she weren't so stupid. "Legillimency," Lily says, voice gone icy. "You don't know the first thing about it. You're plucking all of this straight from our minds."
"I confess it," Flamel says, smiling. "We have so little news here. Mostly I have borrowed from Sirius; you appear to be better trained in defense."
"Some might call that rude," Lily says.
"Some might call it equally rude to lie to your friends," Flamel retorts.
"I don't give a damn what you find to be rude," Sirius says.
"You each suspected the other of subterfuge before the death of your friend," Flamel continues calmly, nodding to Sirius and Remus in turn. "No one suspected the rat until too late. Tell me, Lily Potter, how did he die?"
This time she can feel the brush of his mind against hers, like breath on the back of her neck. In the horrible silence, she gives him nothing: the frozen tundra, winter at dawn, a waterfall of ice.
"Much better," Flamel says approvingly after long, tense seconds. "You may succeed yet. You have already done much better than anyone might have hoped, including Albus himself." The old man reaches his hand out to place the half-empty earthenware mug in midair, where it vanishes as if gone to sit on an invisible table. "I do have the information you seek, if you still desire it."
"Then tell us," Lily says flatly. She is through with this man, through with him changing the subject and hoodwinking them and moving along so quickly the moment she could have the upper hand. She doesn't want to trust him with her shoe size, let alone their mission. "No more games. Tell us now."
He rises to his feet and the chair disappears as he does, and Lily quickly stands as well before the cushion beneath her can dump her onto the earth. It very nearly unseats Sirius, but Remus is standing already, as if this has happened before. "As I have said, Lily Potter, you must wait until morning. A few hours of faith for an old man." His eyes shift. "Remus, if you could show them to the edge of our encampment, away from the others, and stay with them this evening?"
It's an order. These aren't refugees, or if they are, they are not only that. This is also an army, and Flamel is a general, and it's still entirely unclear whose side he is truly on besides his own. The nod Remus gives is unmistakable; she has seen him give the same to Albus Dumbledore herself.
"You may flee, if you feel you must," Flamel says, kindness in his face that does not quite reach his eyes. "But if you do, you will remain in ignorance."
Lily bites back any number of acidic retorts in favor of inevitability. "At dawn, then."
Flamel smiles. "At dawn. I will tell you everything I know."