He walked through the main courtyard slowly, limping ever so slightly as his still-healing wounds flared with each step, leaning on the cane he had been using to alleviate some of the weight – it barely helped. He forced himself not to grimace, and politely brushed aside a young woman that moved to help him with a wave of his hand.
Collapsing into a chair at an empty table, in the shadow of the Owlery, he swept his right hand down his face, grimacing at the feel of the coarse beard he hadn't shaved in the past month; his thumb caught a still-healing scar that cut across his chin, and he felt his lip curl into a frustrated snarl before he could stop himself.
He looked up as one of the many servants placed a mug of cool beer on the table before him, the dark, foamy liquid sloshing in the cup and lapping lazily over the sides. He paid it no mind, and quickly raised the mug to his lips, gulping several mouthfuls quickly – it wasn't quite a Guinness, or a Carling; the Muggles really knew how to brew a good beer, but it was cool, and it quenched his thirst.
When he lowered the mug, he drew the back of the same hand against the bristles along his top lip, grimacing at the feel of the beer lingering in his moustache. He glanced around the courtyard, idly watching those go about their lives within the walls of Arpton Keep. He spied men and women loading and unloading carts, the smiths pounding away in their forge, and the guards patrolling the high ramparts with the measured paces of trained, dangerous warriors.
How different things might have been had they had them instead of Amelia's Aurors?
He blew out a breath and leaned back in the chair, grimacing as a wound on his back rubbed against the hard, unyielding wood behind him. He was tired, exhausted, even.
Quietly, he was glad that Sirius had set himself to the task of helping Harry on this short, impromptu trip; he wanted to do nothing but get piss drunk and sleep for a decade – he doubted he would ever be so lucky. He loved Sirius and Harry dearly and knew he would do anything for them – he had fought and bled for both.
He took another mouthful of beer, letting the bitter liquid sit on his tongue for the briefest of moments before swallowing heavily. Everything felt like such an effort since he had woken up in the Hogwarts hospital.
On the far side of the courtyard, he spied Brandon hurrying across the cobblestone, smiling at those he passed, and patting one young man on the shoulder. Yes, he was definitely glad that Sirius was handling the business with Harry.
The entire trip had been rather sudden, if not unexpected – after all, it was Remus' job to be able to predict the needs of his Lord, his friend, before he would even think to ask something of him. He had done that job wonderfully for years, first, with Arcturus – he had been rather easy to work with; a sensible, proud man, who made a point to do much of the day-to-day work of running House Black himself. There were many Lords and Ladies he had met over the years that relegated that task to their Stewards.
Sirius was similar to Arcturus in that respect; for all that Sirius loathed being the head of the family, and having to be respectable, he had admired Arcturus too much to sully his memory by relegating much of anything to him. Remus still handled the finances, and managed the various estates and properties owned by the family, but it was largely Sirius these days – particularly since his placement at Hogwarts.
Where Sirius fell short, in his private, humble opinion, was the belief that he could run both House Black, and House Potter, even if it were only for a short time. Brandon, Remus knew, handled much of the business concerning Arpton, and its associated lands and wealth, while Sirius dealt with much of the lands belonging to Rosestone, which was still vast and considerable. In fact, if Harry hadn't brought Wesley Williams into the fold, Sirius might have bitten off more than he could chew – an annoying habit he was well known for.
He grimaced, staring into the deep, dark depths of his mug. He shouldn't be so harsh on his friend. He was doing his best, forced into a position he had never desired, nor strived for, and had only Harry's best interest at heart. If it hadn't been for Amelia, he was sure that Sirius would have been miserable beyond belief.
Amelia had been good to him; he was almost unrecognisable from their days running through the Forbidden Forest, and those simple, early days when Harry had scurried around Blackwall on short, stubby legs, trying to stick everything not nailed down into his dribbling mouth.
Harry wasn't that little boy any longer.
Sometimes, he half wondered if that boy had even existed, if he hadn't been some sort of blissful, waking dream in the years following the death of James and Lily. Had he fooled himself into imagining some small happiness, some small sense of normal in the wake of the war?
No – Harry had been the best child he could have ever asked for, and if it wasn't for those fuckers that had ambushed them all those years ago, he might still be that same happy, carefree boy. Now, he was a quiet, solemn young man, forced to grow up before he should have, and he was now a killer.
They were all killers – it was the way of the world. It was how you survived. He had learned that the night Greyback had broken into his home, spilled his father's innards onto the carpet of the living room, and crushed his mother's neck between his teeth and shook her corpse like a doll. He had hidden, squeezed beneath the large, three-seated sofa with his hands clasped over his mouth, and warm, silent tears trickling down his cheeks.
His sister had tried to avenge herself on Greyback; she had been in her third year at Hogwarts when Greyback had attacked; he had only been four at the time, and he had loved and adored Aurora like no other. She had been smart, beautiful, and most importantly, she had been kind.
When she had thrown herself at Greyback, her wand firing off half a dozen spells into the beast's back, he had thought for a moment, as brief as it had been, that she might defeat the monster that had broken into their home. She hadn't.
Now, older as he was, he knew she had never stood a chance against Fenrir; Werewolves were remarkably resilient, and their hides were tough. Greyback had pounced upon Aurora, pinning her to the floor, and torn her to pieces. When her screams had stopped, she had been looking right at him, her green eyes wide and pleading, but glassy and vacant. Gods, she had been Harry's age.
Greyback had eventually found him, and he had thought that the end – like Aurora, Greyback had pinned him to the carpeted floor, only, he hadn't killed him. No, instead, the animal had buried its teeth into his right shoulder, shredding and crushing the muscle and bone, leaving scars that remained even now.
Just at the thought of it, he slowly reached up and ghosted his fingers along his doublet, the fine weave of the material doing little to mask what he was; what Greyback had made him.
The first time he had killed had been during his first transformation; it was always the most dangerous, and he had witnessed many first transformations over the years. They were bloody, and as dangerous as Werewolves were, they were never as dangerous as in the presence of that first full moon. He had killed a bull – it was one of the worst parts about the transformation itself, and one never really spoken of to those that would never understand it.
People thought the human mind was completely lost, that the inner wolf took control. That wasn't it at all – the wolf and the human were always in perfect harmony; they were two parts of the whole. What the human mind wanted and desired, so too did the wolf, only, without the restrictions and restraints of morality and law. It was primal, raw, and not at all limited by the tight, unyielding shackles the human mind placed itself in.
He could still see the bull, large, powerful, and rippling with thick muscle; its horns had been sawn off by the farmer whose land he had prowled. He had been hungry beyond belief, and the inner wolf had seen to it that they would eat; he had danced around the bull, leaping out of the way at the last second each time it had charged him, until finally, he had seen his opportunity, and ripped the throat of the animal out with a sharp swipe of his claws. They had eaten well that night.
Later, he had killed humans, and even other Werewolves. Some had been his choice, others hadn't. There had been one Werewolf; a girl with auburn hair – it had been some years after his first transformation, in the time he had spent at The Kennel, a pseudo-prison for children infected with Lycanthropy that couldn't settle in the few homes that were willing to adopt Lycanthropic orphans.
She had been kind to him and was perhaps only a year or two older than him. He couldn't remember her name, only her inexhaustible optimism. When she transformed, however, they often came to blows. Relationships between humans are complicated, tangled, messy things – relationships between wolves are simpler.
He couldn't remember what started the fight, only that by the end of it, he had her neck in his jaws, and her body had been limp and unmoving. He had been eight, when that had happened.
The first time he had killed as a human, he had been seventeen – or was it eighteen? It had been the first mission in The Blood War, alongside Sirius and James; they had answered Dumbledore's call, and the three of them had been young, and eager to do what they thought was right.
James had taken the lead, as he always did – he was the heir to House Potter, even if he avoided the name at every possible opportunity. He had been born to lead, and Remus… well, he had been born to follow men like James Potter. It was the way the world worked.
They had raided a group of wizards that had taken up Voldemort's banner; faceless men and women in dark robes that wore etched silver masks. James had fought ferociously; Sirius had been quick and sly with his spells, but the two of them had held back – they had lacked that one basic instinct.
Kill, or be killed.
Remus had no such handicap. He knew what he was; he was the monster parents warned their children about at night; he was the reason people didn't venture outside during a full moon; and he had been like that almost all of his life.
He had waded into the midst of his enemies, his wand flicking back and forth, and he had felt alive – oh, he despised fighting and the cost of it now, but he was older, wiser, and more importantly, tired. But back then, back then he had been young, reckless, and he had enjoyed the thrill of it all. He had been stupid.
The first Death Eater he had killed had lost their mask as they fell – she had been blonde, with her hair tied into a braid that hung down her back. She had been in their class at Hogwarts, though he had never known her name. She had been a Hufflepuff student, and he had punched a crater the size of a Quaffle through her chest.
The others had been a blur after that.
Had it been like that for Harry? Over the course of the past month, trying to get anything more than a handful of words out of him had been like trying to bleed a stone – Sirius' stubbornness, no doubt. Or was it James'? Or Lily's? It was hard to tell who he took after the most these days. He cursed the lot of them and took another mouthful of beer.
He should have known something would have happened once they left the castle, but, like Sirius, Harry was stubborn, and once he set his Gods-damned mind to something, there was no changing it. Admittedly, Harry hadn't been left with much of a choice, and he pitied him for that – personally, Remus thought the whole affair had been nothing but a bloody, violent affirmation that the Nobility were fucking idiots.
Sometimes, he couldn't even remember how he had gotten involved with them. It had seemed like one day he had been a Kennel-pup, resigned to the fact he would likely live out much of his life in a specialised cell, or sleeping in the rough, picking up odd jobs here and there, and then all of a sudden, he was in a large home funded by House Holloway and given his own bed.
Back when he'd been nothing but a boy, the Noble Families had been distant, abstract things – at one point, he'd thought of them as little more than stories. Powerful Lords and Ladies, full of honour and holding to the Old Ways, remnants of centuries past. He scoffed into his mug, remembering just how surprised he had been when he had met the then Lord Holloway.
He had been a thin, old man that walked using a dark cane with a golden handle. His ears had been as large as a bats, or so it had seemed at the time, and his head had only several strands of wispy, white hair. He had walked the length of the row of cells that his had been located on, and he could still hear the echoing thud-tap of his cane as he moved down the line.
All of the children had rushed to their doors in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the stranger, but he hadn't. He had remained at the back of his cell, a small copy of Beedle and the Bard in his hands. Stories had helped, in those years.
Lord Holloway must have seen something in him, or, perhaps, he had simply been amused by his lack of interest – oh, he had been interested, but he had lived through too many beatings from their Kennel-Masters to go out of his way to earn more simply because he was curious.
He had moved into the home near Newcastle the following month, along with several other children, and a pair of guardians employed by House Holloway that had their same affliction. It had been a haven for them all, with plenty of land to prowl on a full moon, and plenty of livestock for them to hunt.
With his lodgings from House Holloway, came the opportunity for schooling and education – each of the children had been sent to different boarding schools, some in entirely different countries; one boy, Jasper, had been sent to Beauxbatons, and another, a girl by the name of Joy, had been sent to some school in Turkey. He had been sent off to Hogwarts.
Sorted into Gryffindor, housed with the heir to House Potter and to House Black, nothing had been the same since. It had seemed as if his entire life had been influenced by someone other than himself.
Gods, not even his current injuries, that were slowly but surely healing, were truly of his own volition. Oh, he would do anything to protect Harry, and the sight of Greyback leaping at him had sent him into a frenzy, the likes of which he hadn't felt since his first months of his affliction.
He had thrown himself at Greyback; the root cause of everything that had befallen him over the years. He had swiped, clawed, kicked, scratched, bitten, and chewed on any part of the larger, more powerful Werewolf that he could.
Greyback hadn't recognised him – not that he ever expected him to – but he'd been able to get the bastard's attention long enough that the bystanders had been able to rally and disperse into the trees to take the fight to those that were attacking them.
In the end, he had towered over the creature that had been responsible for everything – he had avenged his mother, a kind woman that sang him to sleep as she tucked him in at night; he had avenged his father, a confident, solid man that had pulled faces at him at the table when he wouldn't eat his vegetables…
And Aurora, his big sister. His best friend, and the one that would play with him in the garden on the weekends, chasing him around and making him squeal as she tickled him.
They were avenged, and Harry was safe. Protected.
He took another pull from his mug – the last – and set it down, empty, and his thirst quenched for now. He looked around the courtyard once more. High above, he caught sight of Clara and Hedwig flying around the towers; it was the owl's first visit to Arpton, and neither Familiar had so much as left Harry's side in the weeks following the attack.
He snorted, remembering some of the first classes in the days that followed where Clara had sat perched on Harry's shoulder, or watched her wizard from the thick beams of the rafters. Little Astoria had likewise been sure to keep her favourite Potter within her sights at all times; more than once, he had caught sight of her squeezing between Harry and Neville on the trestle benches of the Great Hall, all knees and elbows as she pushed Neville aside.
"You seem happy." The familiar voice of Felix Cale said, just as his shadow appeared over his shoulder. Remus turned and glanced up at him, squinting against the sunlight that had appeared in the sky – it seemed the shadow of the Owlery had moved on. "Or maybe you're just piss drunk."
Remus scoffed. "I'll need more than this pint to get drunk. Sit, if you're not too busy."
Felix was out of his armour, and his staff was nowhere to be seen – his hair seemed a little longer than he remembered, though his beard was still full and well-trimmed. He slid into the chair opposite him, and just as his arse touched the seat, another mug appeared on the table, along with a pitcher of the beer. Remus didn't hesitate in refilling his mug. "So," Felix said, "What has you sitting out here with the common rabble, and not with my Lord?"
"I'm off-duty." Remus said, lifting his mug in a mock-toast. "Apparently, I need to take it easy."
"So, you're getting drunk then."
"Nothing much else to do. I'd rather sleep for a decade, but I'll do that when I'm dead."
Felix chuckled, scratching at his jaw with his free hand, his blue eyes sparkling in the warm sunlight. Summer was in full swing at Arpton. "From what I've heard, you've all earned some rest. Are your wounds bothering you much?"
"Not as much as they were. I was still able to teach, though I'll be glad for the few months of rest before I'm back to the school." He sighed, running a lethargic hand down his face. It was mostly true.
He had been battered and bruised when the fighting had ended. Greyback had nearly torn his right arm out of its socket, and his left femur had been snapped like a twig in three places. According to one of the Healers, he couldn't remember which, at the school, Amelia had made sure a glamour had been placed over both himself and Sirius to alleviate the sight for Harry's sake – he didn't necessarily disagree with her decision, but it now had the additional consequences of forcing both himself and Sirius to be more mobile than they probably should be, given their recent injuries.
Externally, he was covered in fresh scars to add to his ever-growing collection, and his skin was still black and purple around his ribs; most of which had been broken – three had to be completely regrown. He still had to wrap the bandages around his rib cage every morning in front of a mirror; he pointedly ignored the dark circles of exhaustion around his eyes in those early moments of the day.
Sleeping had been easier before the fighting.
In his dreams, it was naught but the flashing of half-transformed fingered claws, thick with coagulated blood; it was always fresh, and the thick, coppery taste would sit on the back of his tongue for hours after waking. There were other details too, like the chunks of torn, freckled flesh, or the clumps of matted hair hanging limply from the deep creases of large, meaty hands.
Sharpened, canine-like teeth set into a maw far too wide to resemble a human mouth would snap at his throat, and the rancid breath that carried heavy the stench of fetid decay would make him flinch violently; he would never forget that breath. He suppressed a shiver, despite the warmth of the overhead sun.
"You think you'll be going back? After everything?" Felix frowned, pulling him from his spiralling thoughts. The man rolled his lips between his teeth and swiped at his moustache with his thumb and index finger. "I can't imagine people were too happy about that."
"Let's just say that Greyback didn't give me a ringing endorsement and leave it at that." Remus scoffed, feeling his top lip curl of its own accord.
"You know I meant nothing by it, old friend – you know I don't care for your condition. We can't ignore the fact that a skirmish took place on ground officially recognised as belonging to Hogwarts – as a parent, I would have concerns." Felix said, holding up a hand apologetically before dropping it back to the table.
"I know, I know…" He sighed, using his good hand to rub at a deepening crease between his brows. "It's just… been a lot. I apologise."
"You've got nothing to apologise for – I should have been clearer. Still, did no parents raise concerns about the battle?"
"Several did – from the Nobility, mostly. There are a lot of heirs at Hogwarts; not as many as are here, of course, but you get my meaning." Remus said, waving a finger to indicate the Arpton grounds and eliciting a nod from his drinking companion. "Those that had saved enough to send their children to Hogwarts from the lower classes though? Not as many as you'd think – Hogwarts tuition is expensive; many of them saved for multiple generations, and the Muggle-Born probably weren't even told. To them, it'll just be tall tales they'll tell their parents."
"The Nobles-" Felix began, frowning. Remus cut him off, shaking his head.
"Will do whatever those more powerful than them tell them to do. But that's the way of it though, isn't it? There's always someone you answer to, one way or another." Remus said with a roll of his eyes. "I have Sirius, and Sirius has Harry. Even Harry has Trevelyan and The Council."
"Is it true? What's been said about Elbert Crane?"
"I wasn't-"
"Yes or no, Remus, it's a simple question." Felix interrupted him, his voice and expression as hard as steel.
"Yes." Remus muttered after a long moment, glancing around surreptitiously. "I wasn't there, but Harry said he had him beaten – seems to think everything with Greyback was his idea."
Felix pursed his lips and tapped a finger against the rim of his mug thoughtfully. "I knew Crane, way back when. He's not an easy man to get the better of; he's as powerful as he is strong. My Lord should never have been in such a situation."
"That's what he's here to see to, apparently. Out of school for less than a day, and he's already making plans for the rest of the summer." Remus sighed, lifting the mug to his lips, and allowing the cool liquid to run down his throat. "One day they listen to you like you're gospel, the next they're ordering you around."
"That's the curse of having children grow up, my friend." Felix grinned, raising his own mug in a toast. Remus glared at him, though there was no heat or malice to it. The bastard had a point.
"I wouldn't know."
"Perhaps you should have some children of your own – My Lord would have certainly prepared you. He'll give you grey hairs before your time, mark my words. Looks like he might have already started." Felix chuckled, tapping at his temple where Remus knew several strands of grey were already making their presence known. Silently, Remus was glad for the obvious change in topic.
"I think I preferred you when you were in armour." He muttered, making an obscene gesture with his fingers. "You talked less."
"Aye, true, but then, you'd miss my worldly wisdom." Felix remarked, leaning back in his chair, and propping his feet up on a nearby, beer-stained stool. He crossed them at the ankle. "Who else would learn from it?"
"Harry hangs on your every word."
"Aye, but he's a Lord. Advice comes to him in every direction, and as he gets older, he'll listen to it less and less, and prefer his own thoughts and opinions. It's the way of the Nobility. You know this."
Remus shook his head. "No, Harry has a good head on his shoulders, and you know it. He'll take advice until the day he dies – but you already knew that."
"Which begs the question: Why is one of his most intelligent advisors sitting at a table, in the sun, attempting to get piss drunk in the middle of the afternoon, and not advising the young Lord he helped raise and care for?" Felix asked, raising a single brow, and placing the mug on the table before him and folding his fingers across his stomach.
"Like I said, I've been told to get some rest. Besides, we're not here for long – we'll be leaving tomorrow. Sirius is watching over him with Brandon."
"I can't decide which of the two of you is in a worse state." Felix muttered, running an absent finger along the hair on his chin. "The two of you shouldn't be on your feet."
"Sirius is stubborn."
"And you're not?" Felix scoffed, folding his arms, and stretching out his legs beneath the table. "Something is troubling you, my friend."
"Aye, and he's sat across from me." Remus muttered, filling his mouth with the cool beer once again. "It's been… a busy month. I'm just tired, is all."
"Clearly – those Dementors your Ministry likes so much look better than you do. I heard they took some losses; have you considered the position? You'd fit right in, you know." Remus said nothing, simply raising a single brow. Felix rolled his eyes and sat up in his chair. "You fought a battle, man – and that's to say nothing of your injuries, which, I'm sure were much worse and ghastly at the time. I don't remember you in such a state when we fought side by side on the road. This wasn't much different, was it? Nobody has really shared many details, I'm afraid."
"It was… bigger." Remus sighed, rubbing his forehead as he leaned his elbows on the table. "We had several platoons of Aurors, and only about a third survived by the end of it. We were beyond the most protective Wards of the school, but several others stretch all the way to encompass Hogsmeade itself. They caught us by surprise but we rallied and overcame them. Harry killed, as did several of his friends – and Fenrir Greyback made an appearance."
"I hear tell that you were the one that put an end to him. We've heard of him, even here." Felix nodded, clearly impressed. "There was a bounty and an Order of Merlin, no?"
Remus couldn't help but bark out a humourless laugh. "There was supposed to be, not that I could really give a damn. Amelia managed to get me the bounty, but there was an objection in the Wizengamot over setting a precedent for awarding creatures an Order of Merlin. At least the Ministry apologised to the Houses involved, I guess."
"I suspect many of them wouldn't know what to do with a creature if it bit them in the arse." Felix spat, scowling. "I am sorry, truly. There are few as deserving of the recognition as yourself, Remus."
He dipped his chin and bowed his head. "I appreciate it. Still, Sirius pays me well, and I have the opportunities few of my kind can scarcely dream of. I'm happy with my lot."
"Clearly – that's why you're out here drinking." Felix hummed, raising his mug to his lips; his eyes sparkling over the rim of the mug. "I've heard that happy men often drink alone. In the middle of the day."
"Yes, yes, you've made your fucking point." He grunted, leaning back against his chair, glaring at his companion over his own mug. "Don't you have a wife to be spending time with?"
"Sabine? She's currently with her sister to the North in Greenstrand; family business, she said. I avoid it as if it were the plague."
"Greenstrand? That's on land that belongs to Elverstone Lookout, correct? Isn't that House Massey's seat? On the southern-edge of the Greenwood?"
"Aye, that's the one." Felix nodded, frowning, and cocking his head to the left slightly. "Why? Something I should be aware of?"
Remus blinked a few times and slowly shook his head as his brows moved toward his hairline. "I wouldn't want to be Lord Massey. Harry's furious with him."
"Can you blame him? The man, along with the others, forced his hand – if my Lord didn't attend the meeting, he would lose face with those sworn to him; they would think he thought their opinions and concerns invalid. If he attended, he was vulnerable to a potential attack, but his Lords would have no incentive to move against him. No matter what he did, there was always going to be a consequence."
Remus frowned across the table, a lazy cloud high in the sky momentarily casting the grounds in shadow before moving on, heedless to the conversation. "But this particular consequence had a thirteen-year-old boy killing grown adults and getting set-upon by a horde of Dementors. That is to say nothing of the men and women that were killed."
"Compared to the men, women, and children affected, should my Lord alienate his Bannermen? They are sworn to the Family Magic, just as you and I, but there are ways to circumvent it. You forget, my friend, Harry is the last of his House – should House Potter show weakness, then the vultures will swoop in, and believe me when I say this Remus; they're already circling."
"There is no weakness." Remus said, firmly, the alcohol long forgotten with the turn of the conversation. "Should any vultures swoop in, then they'll not find a carcass, but a beast fit and able."
"On that, the two of us can agree. Of the vultures, however, I would be more concerned about hungry Griffins – that family has always given me an ill-feeling. I was sworn to an absent Lord before meeting this one; I swore no oaths, and The Old Griffin knew it – many of my former comrades answered to the Viscount, despite their house colours; many of them of ill repute in the first place. Always judge a man's character by those he surrounds himself with, my friend."
"You're speaking of Crane."
"And others, but yes. Crane does Trevelyan's bidding – little more than his personal dog; but he is dangerous. If Trevelyan has unleashed Crane upon House Potter, we must prepare."
"With what evidence do we justify this preparation, Felix?" Remus asked, waving a frustrated hand through the air. "Crane escaped, and no evidence from the aftermath of the battle suggests anything more than some well-organised thugs led by Greyback. We have nothing."
"My Lord's memories!" Felix insisted, leaning forward on his elbows over the table. "With a Pensieve-"
"Inadmissible," Remus cut him off, shaking his head in frustration. "Sirius and I already talked about it. Harry has yet to come into his title, so it would be chalked up to the fanciful imagination of a frightened young boy."
"But we know-"
"We have to provide reports to the Capitol about our spending – if it was revealed that we were spending more than our usual amount on arms, armour, and other war-time supplies, the allegations laid at the feet of Harry at the Great Council would be justified. We have to be careful about all of this!" Remus sighed, staring forlornly at the mug on his side of the table. Gods, he was supposed to be having the day off.
"I don't like this, Remus."
"I'd have never guessed." He muttered, blowing out a breath and running his hand through his hair. In a louder voice he said, "Look, you're not saying anything that Sirius or I haven't already argued between ourselves – believe me. We'll think of something, but we have to do it smartly. If we rush it, it'll be all our heads on spikes for rebellion."
Felix rubbed at his forehead tiredly, a deep crease appearing in the centre as he massaged the spots just above his eyebrows. "My life was far simpler in the Capitol – there I at least knew there'd be a knife around the corner and could take measures to prevent it. Here…" He sighed, waving a hand through the air in exasperation. "Here I feel like I'm waiting for the blow to land before I can do anything about it."
"You and me both." Remus agreed quietly. "My days were simpler when all I had to worry about was watching out for James and Sirius getting up to no good. Maybe the brief period when Harry was first learning to read, but that was a different kind of simple."
"And now he's got a book in his hand every opportunity he gets." Felix grinned through his beard briefly, the two of them falling into a shared quiet over the fondness of the boy in question. "Did you see the last one he was carting about the last time you all came?" He asked after a moment.
Remus shook his head. "I assume it was suitably thick?"
"Not quite, and that's what made me notice it, actually. I caught a glimpse of it at his bedside – missed the title though. I assume it's one of the Potter accounts he's been reading through over the years."
"Probably." He nodded, pursing his lips. "Either way, I'm sure he absorbed every letter by the time we left. I caught him reading ahead for his next school year in the last week; submitted his elected classes the same day as Miss Granger and Greengrass."
"The Miss Granger I should expect at Rosestone?"
"The very one." Remus smirked, shifting his weight in the chair slightly – the cane threatened to fall to the ground, but a gesture of a finger and a little bit of magic righted it. "That should be a fun one."
Felix hummed to himself and tapped the table thoughtfully with a calloused finger. "I'm not sure how I like the idea of unknowns entering and leaving the castle."
"Gods, man – they're children!" Remus scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Granted they are exceptional children, but hardly infiltrators looking to harm Harry."
"It's not the children that bother me, Remus. Exceptional or not, if any of them so much as twitched a finger towards Harry with any ill intent, the men and women stationed there would cut them down without a thought. No, what worries me is the supplies that would need to be ferried between the surrounding grounds and the castle to accommodate them."
"Why would that be an issue?" He frowned, cocking his head slightly.
Felix glanced over his shoulder at the surrounding people milling about now that the day was drawing to a close – Remus had barely noticed the sun getting lower and the pink and orange hues appearing in the sky. "Brandon and I were talking the other day; Rosestone is a powerful fortress, but it's barely been manned in the past three hundred years. It's going to take a lot of bodies to fully garrison it, let alone prepare it for the guests Harry has planned."
"It's always looked fine when we've gone there?"
"Aye – but Harry, and by extension yourself and Sirius, only really stick to one part of it. Are you really going to sit there and tell me that a group of fourteen-year-olds aren't going to sneak off and explore the first chance they get?"
"That's a suckers bet, and you know it." Remus agreed, idly rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. "I hadn't realised we hadn't seen more of it – we're always so caught up with Harry that I'd never given it any real thought. I'll speak to Sirius about it."
"It'd probably be for the best – I'll stick by him as best as I can, but by Tora's tits, that boy is becoming slipperier and slipperier. Are you sure you want him to go through with the ritual next year? If he gets a form that gives him wings, you know there'll never be any keeping track of him, don't you?"
"It's what he wants. For what it's worth, I've been praying for the last decade that he becomes a giant tortoise."
Felix barked out a laugh and slapped his thigh. "Oh, I'd pay good money to see that! Bless the lad, it'd be a living nightmare."
Remus chuckled before glancing up at the sky one last time and blowing out a breath. "I should probably go and see to a few things; scheduled potions to take and all that." He said, pushing himself on shaking arms to his feet. Gods, he hadn't been so tired or exhausted in years – to think it had only taken nearly dying to feel that way again.
Felix nodded and got to his feet just as Remus began to rest some weight on the cane, the familiar coolness of the silvered-brass head bit into his palm. Felix held out an arm, and Remus clasped it in his own. "If I don't see you before you leave, it was a pleasure to see you again my friend. May your injuries heal quickly."
"Thank you, Felix – it was lovely to see you again." Remus smiled, returning the gesture. "May the return of your wife bring you as much joy as when you first laid eyes on her."
The coy wink that the head of Harry's Household Guard gave him was all the response that Remus needed on that particular subject.
The following day came with little fanfare beyond a slightly cooler than normal breeze. With the recent turn of the season, the sun was high and warm, and the grounds that the castle overlooked were lush and vibrant with shades of green and blue.
Originally, the plan was to leave Arpton by lunch, but that had come and gone just as quickly as the morning had – not that Remus had found himself doing much of anything beyond wandering the castle or sitting in a quiet nook in the Potter library and getting some much-needed reading done on his latest novel. The fire had kept the high-vaulted room a comfortable temperature, and the library was seldom visited by anyone other than the core members of the family, despite being available to the entire household.
He had settled himself into a comfortable, high-backed chair that was wrapped in a soft satin material and padded to be so soft he thought he'd momentarily sat in a cloud. It had been nothing short of complete bliss, and before he'd realised it, the morning had disappeared, as had almost a dozen chapters of his book. Quite the pleasant change-of-pace.
Now, he found himself, after feeling a gentle brush of Sirius' magic against his own, walking with the click-clack of his cane echoing down the long corridor of the family-wing of the castle on his way to find the wizard that had summoned him.
It had become a sort of game for the two of them over the years – at first, Sirius would brush his magic against his own when he had first entered the employ of Arcturus; Remus had initially deduced that Sirius had done it for his own benefit, to remind himself that he was in fact there. That he wasn't alone.
Over the years, especially as the two of them had healed gradually from the still-festering wounds of the war, it had become a silent communication between the two of them. If Remus required something of Sirius, he would ghost his magic against that of his friend rather than bother the Elves. If Sirius needed something of Remus, then he would do something similar, though far less subtle.
Arcturus never had clocked on to just how the other would appear when needed. That thought brought a small smile to his lips.
He came to the door he was looking for – it was plain, unassuming, but the sigil of the House of Potter was emblazoned on it proudly. This was the room that Sirius often conducted his business from when they came to the castle.
While Harry would be visiting his parents, training in the yard with Felix, reading in the library he had only recently vacated himself, or sitting under the oak with a book and Clara, he and Sirius would be locked in this room handling the affairs of House Potter.
The thought that one day in the not-so-distant-future, they wouldn't be conducting business in the room, that they would be downstairs in the Great Hall, or sitting in the gardens much like Harry liked to do, or maybe even taking a ride to the plains at the base of the cliff, stilled his hand as he raised it to knock.
A strange sense of sadness began to stir in the pit of his stomach; it was a funny feeling – it felt like something had passed him by, something was lost and never to be found again. It lasted but a moment, but it had been deeply felt. He shook off the feeling as best he could, but it lingered, just on the edge of his perception.
Three thuds from his fist echoed along the corridor, and the metal brackets and the door handle rattled in their mountings. Seconds later, Sirius's voice called him to enter. When he swung the door inwards on silent hinges, despite what the rattling brackets had just led him to believe, he saw both Sirius and Harry standing there.
Harry had his back to the door, and his arms were folded comfortably across his chest – it was broadening, Remus noted – his legs were slightly spread, and his hair was loose. As the sunlight caught the glass in the far wall, it momentarily cast warm light across the profile of the boy he had helped raise since he was but a little boy that could barely say 'Padfoo'.
It was with a profound sense of realisation that he knew what that feeling had been just outside the door; Harry was growing up. His fourteenth birthday was mere weeks away, and in only two agonisingly short years, the world would acknowledge Harry as a grown man. Silently, he mourned for the young boy with the head of messy hair that could never be tamed, with muddy fingers and bruised knees.
Harry glanced over his shoulder at him and smiled – it was full of white teeth, and his eyes crinkled in the corners just like Sirius' did. Gods did he look like his father. "Remus." Harry smiled as he turned and wrapped him in a hug. Remus returned it eagerly, only just now realising that the top of Harry's head settled just below the hollow of his throat. When had he missed that growth spurt?
Remus threaded his free hand into the loose hair at the back of the boy's neck and leaned away from him after a second, his lips twisting into a lopsided grin. "I disappear for but a day and you already look years older – I'm taking this as my cue to never take my eyes off of you again, or you'll be an old man before I."
Harry rolled his eyes but laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You'll always have more grey in your hair than I ever will, Moony." He grinned, cheekily. He sobered after a moment. "Sirius and I were talking about the plans for the Bannermen."
"You're still going to call them here?" He asked, glancing for the first time at Sirius on the far side of the large oaken desk strewn with a mixture of papers and sheets of parchment. Sirius looked worse than he did, and that was saying something.
Sirius' face was gaunt, and his skin looked sallow. While his hair remained thick and well groomed, there was a tiredness about his entire being that broke Remus's heart. Dark rings circled his friend's eyes, and his normally well-groomed beard was speckled with frazzled hairs and stubble along the edges. He knew that a cane, much like his own, was placed just behind the desk to help him walk as he recovered from his injuries.
Sirius nodded at the same time Harry did; Sirius' gaze was locked on his Godson, while Harry continued to hold his own gaze. "It's the right move." Harry said, resolutely, his voice never wavering. "They have to be held accountable for what happened."
"You'll hear no argument from me." He said, glancing and nodding at Sirius before looking back at Harry. "I think Sirius and I need to talk about a few things; why don't you go and check on Clara? She's been circling the castle all morning. Go and terrorise Felix with her before we leave."
Harry glanced over his shoulder at Sirius, who bowed his head and smiled. Harry, as usual these days, wore a baggy tunic with the sleeves loosely rolled up – a far cry from the pristine doublet that Sirius wore. At Sirius' nod of permission, Harry began moving toward the door, but Remus' hand lingered on his shoulder. "What happened to your doublet you brought? It might be sunny, but the breeze is rather cooler than normal."
"Nah, I'll be fine – I gave it to Dobby to take back to Blackwall; he went back through the Ro'rim last night after dinner. Besides, I'll have a Phoenix." Harry shrugged before ducking out the door.
There was a beat of silence as the two of them, for he keenly felt Sirius' eyes lingering on the now closed door, waited for a few seconds and between them, blew out a long-held breath. It wasn't a sigh, per-say, but a noise that could only be described as being made because no other sound or action had yet been made to describe just how they felt. There were no words they could conjure between themselves to describe the aches in their bones, or the straining of their aching muscles. Nor for the stress of having to parent a boy that, at times, almost seemed grown up.
"You look fucking awful." Sirius said, ending their quiet. "Come sit with me by the window. We need to talk." He said, grunting as he pushed himself to his feet. The charade of pretending to be healthier than they actually were seemed to be having more of a toll on Sirius than either of them wanted to admit.
"I distinctly remember overhearing a conversation about the pot calling the kettle something." Remus replied, eyeing the way Sirius limped wearily to the alcove benches along the far wall on either side of the large window – there was no balcony, so the windows couldn't open beyond a handful of inches, but the view was fantastic. Below, one could look out on much of the castle grounds, and while it didn't look to the north over the plains beneath the cliff, it instead looked to the south, and the dense woodland that lay between the castle and the city of Cochenwaith.
Sirius settled himself into the plush cushions on the stone bench and leaned back against the cool brick behind him, his chest heaving, and a light sheen of sweat appeared on his brow. If Remus focused enough, he could hear the hammering of Sirius' heart. "I don't know how much longer I can do this." Sirius said between deep breaths. "Everything feels like shit."
"You decided to stand next to, what I can only assume, was a Bombarda Maxima. That's on you. How's your hearing? Do you still have the tinnitus?"
"It comes and goes." Sirius sighed, pulling the cane into his lap as he visibly tried to relax. The polished Mithril head caught the sunlight and glinted beautifully – he recognised it instantly; it was the same one Arcturus had occasionally used when his condition got the better of him, rare as it had been. His own had a simple motif of Prongs, Padfoot and Moony etched onto its surface in gold filigree. "It's getting better though."
"You need your rest." Remus tried, breathing out heavily through his nose. "You need to let your body recover."
"I'll rest when I'm dead." Sirius snorted, wincing once he did so and shooting a hand to his ribs. Remus could smell the faintest hint of the fresh blood that was soaking into the bandages beneath Sirius' clothes. "Which could be sooner than I'd originally planned at this rate."
"Sirius, you've re-opened your wounds – let me call a Healer to see to you." He said, moving to stand; though at Sirius' quick grasping of his arm, he reluctantly lowered himself back into the bench across from his friend.
"After." Sirius breathed, opening his eyes tiredly and allowing his shoulders to finally slump. The glamour that he had been projecting for Harry's benefit fell in a cascade of dissipating magic, and Remus could see the state that Sirius was truly in.
There were no injuries that wouldn't heal from time and rest, but the sight was grim. Jagged, almost serrated, cuts and gashes, several inches long in many places, marred the right side of Sirius's face; a clear reminder of what he knew to be the remnants of deeply embedded shrapnel. The skin which had previously been sallow and sunken was now so ashen that the blood vessels were just visible beneath. His eyes, normally dark and warm, creased in the corners from lines of laughter, were bloodshot and puffy. "Gods, Sirius, why didn't you tell me you were this bad?"
"Appearances to keep up, teenagers to alleviate the concerns of; you know how the whole damn thing goes. Gods, what I wouldn't give for your ability to heal."
Remus' eyes narrowed instantly. "No, that's not what you need right now, and if you ever suggest something like that again, I'll finish the job that the spell fucking started." He bit out, sharper than he had initially intended, but he kept himself from apologising. Sirius grimaced and nodded, nonetheless.
"A shit joke," He grimaced. "In poor taste. That's all it was."
Remus nodded his head once but said nothing for a moment; his nose was full of the smell of blood, from the freshly opened wounds beneath Sirius' clothes, and the coppery tang sat on the back of his tongue – in equal amounts it filled him with both disgust and excitement. "Does Amelia know anything of this?"
"No," Sirius chuckled, humourlessly. "Do you think she'd let me live if she knew? Only Andromeda knows, and that's only because she took over my treatment after she saw to the children. It had to stay in the family."
"Stay in the – Sirius, if you don't get the rest you need, you will kill yourself. What's the point of it staying in the family if you die? What happens to Harry? To Andromeda? To Susan?"
"Measures have been taken." Sirius said slowly, his breathing slowing and evening out. "Gods, Remus… I don't think I've ever been so scared in my life."
Remus was on an aching knee before Sirius could so much as lift a finger. Remus abandoned his cane and wrapped Sirius' hands in both of his own. He frowned, blinking quickly as he looked up at the man he'd called his friend for so many years – between the two of them, they were the last remnants of their old lives, of their days filled with laughter and mischief. It was just the two of them now. Nobody else.
"You're going to be fine." He said, thickly – the wounds were leaking a little more now, it was in the air. Gods, how long had Sirius been trying to continue this charade; how long had he been straining his battered and broken body in this way? He hadn't even known that Sirius was in such a poor way!
"That's good," Sirius said, sleepily, his voice beginning to slur and his face going slack. "That's good. Gods I'm tired – do me a favour, Moony; don't… don't let Harry see me like this." He said with one last herculean effort of will.
"I won't. I promise." Remus swore, blinking quickly. "Now, you stay here, and you stay awake – do you hear me, Sirius? Stay awake. I'm going to fetch a Healer."
Remus scrambled to his feet – his bones and muscles protesting with every movement; he pushed the pain to the back of his mind, and rushed from the room, shouldering open the door so violently it bounced off of the wall and struck him in the shoulder again. His bellowing roar echoing throughout the corridor and beyond.
"Healer! Someone get me the fucking Healer!"