cxciii. on holiday

The graying stairs creaked under Remus' feet as he climbed to the upper level.

"Girls," he said, rapping his knuckles against Harriet's door, then Elara's. "Come along now; we're running late."

He pulled out his watch to check it again, an instinct to look at the battered thing to see the moon's position and the date. It was the morning of the twenty-fourth, the full moon was a week behind him, and Remus could only sigh with relief to be away from Hogwarts for the rest of the holiday.

He enjoyed teaching—and he really enjoyed having a steady career instead of hopping from Muggle job to Muggle job. He had no difficulties with his furry condition so long as Severus continued to provide the Wolfsbane Potion, and no one suspected him to be anything other than sickly. It meant biting his tongue and keeping his opinion to himself more often than not, but so long as he continued to blend with the auxiliary staff, no one questioned his intermittent illness.

However, with the onerous burden of the Triwizard Tournament hanging over the school, teaching the students had been a touch more difficult as the excitement often overshadowed a lecture in magical history. His fourth year Gryffindors with Mr. Longbottom proved especially disruptive, as there seemed to be a schism between the boys they had yet to resolve. The gossip in the staff lounge had it that Mr. Weasley held Mr. Longbottom's admittance into the Tournament against him, because Neville had done little to dissuade others from believing he'd entered himself. Even after his rather…well, ignominious defeat in the first task, Ronald seemed no closer to a reconciliation with his friend.

Then, of course, came the stress of having to keep the castle secure during the event, trying to vet Aurors and Ministry officials who passed through with regularity on Minister Gaunt's every whim. Dumbledore had the old crowd pressing their ears close to the ground, looking for any whispers they could of You-Know-Who, and the Headmaster's insistence had Remus on edge.

So, being home after the Yule Ball with his family—as unrelated as they were: an ex-lover, a daughter he never got to raise, a dead friend's child, a government ward, and the world's meanest house-elf—felt very nice to Remus. Relaxing, for the most part.

Kreacher came slumping out from whatever grim corner he'd chosen to inhabit this morning. "Kreacher could help wake the Mudblood," he croaked with a smile that meant nothing but impending mischief. "Yes, he could."

"You are not to go into Hermione's room," he chastised the scheming elf, a stern finger held in the air. "You've been told this before."

"Kreacher doesn't have to listen to the nasty beast man."

"Yes, well, the nasty beast man is the reason your master hasn't given you clothes." Remus raised his brows and Kreacher scowled, muttering at the carpet. "Off you go."

Kreacher retreated, and Remus shook his head as he knocked on Hermione's door. "Hermione, we're due to leave soon."

He hadn't expected an answer, but the door popped open to reveal Hermione standing there in a nice pair of tawny robes, dressed for the day. "Good morning, Professor."

Hermione had primarily been herself since the break had started, though after she'd written a letter to her parents, she had been more…restless. More eager to learn and jump into studying to ignore familial troubles. Remus and Sirius had both asked if she wished to visit home, if she wanted to spend Christmas with her parents, but she'd been insistent on staying at Grimmauld. Without a means of contacting Mr. and Mrs. Granger, neither wizard knew what else they could do.

"Hello," Remus returned. "Can you lend me a hand getting those two up and about?"

"Of course." Hermione paused and peered past Remus' arm, worrying her lower lip. "I think Harriet was up late again, though."

"'Again?'"

"She's been having nightmares and pretends to go to bed with the rest of us at curfew, but sometimes I see her wand light in the middle of the night. I think she's worried about what Professor Slytherin is planning." Hermione straightened and raised her eyes to Remus'. "Will you talk to her about it? She just tells us she's fine and to leave it alone."

"I will," he promised. "Now, hurry along while I wake Sirius. We're expected for breakfast, and it's nearly brunch now."

Remus crossed the corridor and headed higher up the stairs to the level he inhabited during the holidays. The door to his room was shut, the one next to it Severus kept locked tight, and so Remus stepped across the narrow passage to tap his knuckles against the door to Sirius' room. When there was no response, he huffed, turned the knob, and walked inside.

Sirius lay shirtless, sprawled in his unmade made with the sheets strung about the footboard like wilting flower festoons. Remus' foot knocked against something in the cold dark, and he bent at the waist, fingers passing over limp cloth, then the hard edge of an empty bottle.

"Merlin, Sirius," he sighed, stepping over the laundry to reach the hearth, setting the bottle on the mantel. The fire had burnt down to the cinders in the grate, and so Remus conjured a new flame to sit atop the ashes, casting light through the room.

Sirius paused in his snoring to mutter and turn his face away from the light, reaching blindly for a blanket that had been kicked aside in the night. Dust clung to the every curve and ridge of the decadent headboard, the hangings left slack against the thick posts. A few more empty bottles had found a home on the nightstand with Sirius' wand, which had not been placed in the specific holder meant for it. Old clothes cluttered the winged chair and carpet, never quite making it into the hamper. Remus took in the state of the room, tutting under his breath.

"Sirius, get up," he said, smacking the outside of the man's thigh. He still wore his trousers from the day before, and one shoe. "We're meant to be at Andromeda's this morning."

Sirius grunted and rolled to his back. Remus went to give his leg another slap, well-acquainted with Sirius' proclivity for deep-sleeping, but then his eyes caught on the glyphs and runes scattered across his skin. Each had been done slowly over time, the slow, clumsy design of half-remembered images glimpsed on book pages during lazy school days. Remus recognized enough of them to read the pillars for strength, regret, and patience. His fingers brushed the sigil nyd above his heart.

Sirius stirred. "'emuss?" he slurred, half-asleep.

Remus moved his hand from Sirius' chest to his shoulder, clearing his throat. He ignored the warmth in his cheeks. "You need to get up. Get washed. Andromeda's expecting us."

Groaning, Sirius said, "Fuckin' hell," as Remus waited for him to, at the very least, sit up. "S' too early for that."

"No, actually. We're bordering on excessively late at this point." Sirius got himself upright and slumped at the edge of his mattress, grimacing against the firelight. Remus sighed. "You need to drink less, Sirius. Especially when the girls are here."

Sirius blinked at him as if he didn't know what he was talking about, and Remus tipped his head at the collection of bottles on the nightstand. They bore Muggle labels, so at least Sirius had kept his vices out of Diagon Alley or the wizarding quarter. Magical society could be so very narrow, and Remus didn't want Sirius' perceived weaknesses to reflect on Elara or be used against her.

"'S okay," Sirius mumbled.

"It is most definitely not okay." Hesitating for just a moment, Remus reached out to brush Sirius' hair back behind his ear. The touch stirred the other wizard, and he turned his head toward Remus, a cheeky grin twitching over his mouth. "I worry about you here alone during the year."

"You don't need to. I keep myself busy—learning everythin' I've missed, keeping Kreacher out of things, and I pop by Andromeda's on the regular for tea and a chat. She updates me on what's happening in the Ministry." He dragged a hand through his messy hair, then across the stubble painting his jaw. "Ah, she's going to have our bollocks for being late."

"Your bollocks maybe. I prefer mine exactly as they are, thank you very much." Remus stood—and then grabbed Sirius' arm before he could flop backward onto the mattress again. "Oh no you don't. Get up. Merlin!"

Once Sirius was suitably awake and mobile, Remus excused himself and headed back down the stairs to check on the girls. The shower was running in the bathroom, Elara's door open, and he could hear Hermione downstairs fussing with her car, ensuring the little devil got fed. Remus directed his attention to Harriet's room, the door ajar, and he tapped against the wood.

"Come in."

Remus stepped inside to find Harriet still bundled in her dressing gown with a fresh change of clothes next to her, waiting for the bath to be free. She sat at her desk, poking through her post, frowning in thought. There was a new frame on the corner of it displaying a picture from the Yule Ball, the one of Elara, Harriet, and Hermione squeezed together, laughing. He thought it rather telling that Harriet would rather keep a photo of her friends out than her supposed boyfriend, but that was a topic for another day.

"Good morning," Remus said, peeking about the room for signs of a sullen reptile. He found it beneath Harriet's desk, coiled on her feet like a faithful puppy. The Horned Serpent stared at Remus as he came closer—its unnerving eyes never straying from his form. "Did you sleep well?"

"Okay," Harriet replied, setting her post aside. Remus noticed a large box on the floor, and as he glanced at it, the box gave a definite shake, startling him. "Don't worry, there's nothin' alive in there." Harriet yawned into her hand.

"What is in there, if you don't mind me asking?"

"It's from the Weasley twins. They've been making things, mostly joke stuff, and they send me prototypes." Harriet bent to flip the box's lid open, revealing a motley assortment of strange items. One spherical item appeared to have some kind of stiff little legs and had been giving the box feeble kicks, causing the shaking. "Dunno what that's meant to be. I think it gave up the ghost before getting here."

Remus continued to peer, puzzled, until Harriet let the lid shut again. "Not that I want to stifle their creativity, but why are those boys sending you these things?"

Harriet shrugged, and Remus sensed a deeper story with information she didn't want to share. He didn't think much harm could come from their silliness, so he let it go and shook his head. He considered how best to broach the subject Hermione had mentioned to him, but Harriet had her head bowed, her tired eyes set on the desk. The snake hissed something to her, head balanced on her knee, and Harriet didn't reply.

If I ask her now, Remus thought, a small stirring of helplessness turning his stomach, she won't say anything.

"Do you have everything ready for today?" he chose to inquire instead. "Are your snakes all right to be alone for a while?"

"Yup."

"We're due at the Flamels' at midday and most likely won't have time to stop by here after the Tonkses'."

"Mhm. I put the gifts on the table downstairs and told Kreacher not to touch them."

"I had better go make sure they're still there…."

Downstairs, he found the wrapped parcels untouched on the table, though he suspected it had less to do with Harriet asking nicely and more to do with the looming threat of a rather large serpent eating Kreacher whole if the elf irritated his Mistress. Remus watched the minutes tick by on the carriage clock until all the girls arrived in the kitchen, followed at length by Sirius bearing no trace of his morning languor.

"Hurry up, Remus. You're lagging behind!"

"Why do I put up with you?"

"My winning personality, of course. Now, through the Floo, you lot. Forty-Seven Balder Court—say it nice and clear!"

The Tonkses resided in an old Victorian house at the end of Balder Court, a lane cordoned off from the burgeoning Muggle world surrounding it by heavy wards. Several other old pure-blood families populated the homes dotting the street, many of the buildings more like manors in Remus' estimation. It wasn't a far journey, located just on the other side of the Thames in Camberwell, and Remus spent only an instant in the Floo before it spat him out onto a homey hearth.

"And here I thought you'd gotten stuck in a chimney somewhere," Andromeda Tonks said as she came in through the lounge door, arching a brow at Sirius.

"Andy!" Sirius greeted, open arms, but Andromeda passed him to see the girls, bestowing prim kisses by their cheeks. She shook Remus' hand before returning to Sirius, giving his shoulder a fond smack.

The rest of the party had arrived—a very odd allotment of distant, mostly disinherited Black cousins and Tonkses from Ted's side of the family who were either Muggleborn or in the know about magic. Remus felt like the odd one out and naturally gravitated toward the edge of the room.

Andromeda proved an excellent host, and Remus found himself plied with spiced eggnog and light fare that came floating out of the kitchen on prepped trays. Most of the cousins were passing through on their way to other parties or relatives' houses, stopping by to exchange gifts and well-wishes while stealing a nibble from Andromeda's pantry. The girls gravitated to Nymphadora, who was so excited to have someone even relatively close to her age in attendance, she rushed to greet them and knocked the fairy-lit tree down. Andromeda righted it with a practiced flick of her wand.

"Enjoying your holiday?" Sirius asked as he found Remus hovering by the wall covered in framed photos. Remus eyed the cup in his hand, and Sirius huffed. "It's just cider."

"Hmm." Remus sipped his eggnog. "It is nice to be away from the school for a bit."

He half expected Sirius to come back with a retort about how Remus should be grateful for the work, because at least he got to leave the house and feel useful. Sirius' letters usually contained at least one snappish line about wanting to do more, wishing he could do something more than keep Grimmauld livable and be a place for the girls to return in the summer. Remus thought he underestimated the value in being a soft place to fall, in creating a home when Elara and Harriet had not known what that felt like in their childhoods.

Sirius said nothing, however. He merely swirled the cider in his cup and surveyed the room of people, the smell of disturbed soot from the Floo and wafting food thick in the air. "It feels like it did before," he softly said. "Before the fighting broke out. Quiet. But not exactly the same, because things never really went back to normal, did they?"

"No." Remus glanced at the photographs behind his shoulder, the face of Ted Tonks smiling from beside his wife and daughter. No one, not even Andromeda, knew what had become of him, only that he—like many other Muggle-borns—had revolted against Gaunt's Registry and fled the country. Whether he was alive or dead was a mystery, as he couldn't risk his family by staying in contact.

"It scares the shit out of me to think about what's coming," Sirius confided, downing the rest of his cider. "To think about who might be missing at next year's party, or the year after—because it's coming whether we like it or not." He Vanished the empty cup to the kitchen. "Have you noticed Dumbledore's more paranoid of late?"

"Yes," Remus admitted. "He's privy to information we're not, and there's been…stirrings in less savory corners of our community."

Sirius scoffed and made a subtle gesture in Andromeda's direction. "She's had a letter from her sister."

"Narcissa, I'm assuming."

"Well, lovely cousin Bella certainly isn't up to sending out post right now," Sirius laughed, the sound bitter and cold.

"I thought Narcissa and Andromeda did not get on?"

"They don't. If Narcissa is trying to mend decades-old fences, then she's terrified. Andy didn't go into what she said, of course, but she vaguely alluded to Narcissa and Lucius trying to ensure their brat gets sent somewhere unaffiliated if something were to happen to them."

"Merlin," Remus said, and it was all that came to mind. The world kept turning, and yet underneath the thin veneer of order, it seemed everything was going to absolute hell. Even the privileged social elite were fearing for their lives. The Ministry kept pressing itself upon Hogwarts, and all the while, their Defense professor grew surlier and surlier like some primordial monster growing furious as its den was encroached upon.

"We really must be in the muck if the Death Eaters are nervous," Sirius remarked. "It scares me, Remus."

"It frightens me, too."

They said nothing for a while, simply sharing space, soaking in the revelry that heated their bones as well as the fire did. Remus half-fancied that if he could stop time, he'd do it at that moment, when everything was peaceful and the snow fell outside. The horrid, wretched fears of tomorrow remained forever a day away.

There were many people who weren't there with them anymore, but Remus was thankful for those who remained. He was grateful Sirius was free, Harriet and Elara were alive, and they'd found a best friend in Hermione. He was grateful—and sometimes that feeling made him all the more afraid to lose it all again.

xXx

They didn't spend very long at Forty-Seven Balder Court, long enough to exchange well-wishes and gifts—which included a case of Black knives from Andromeda to Elara, a set of eight meant to be nine, passed down through the family and stolen by Andromeda many years prior. Sirius protested, but Elara kept the case to return to Grimmauld Place.

They used Apparition to depart the Tonks home for Trefhud, Devonshire, walking the rest of the way with the relatively balmy coastal breeze at their backs. Harriet was the first through the front door when they reached the house, right into the embrace of the French Alchemist waiting to greet her.

Many people crowded Flamel's comfortably cluttered home, mostly foreigners, but foreigners from every walk of life. If his nose didn't fail him, Remus thought a few might be werewolves. Some were definitely fae, smelling of distant places, sweet and strange, others like quiet, still swamps or brine-filled deltas. One was a vampire—red-eyed and sallow with the odor of mothballs coming off his velvet coat.

Remus felt less of an intruder here—mainly because no one was related aside from Elara and Sirius, and many of the party-goers had backgrounds in magical academia. He got caught up in conversation with a man from L'accademia di Storia Sociale nella Società Magica, a research center and archive in Rome. He spent almost half the evening arguing about magical creatures and their role in social history while Sirius sampled a bit too much wine and earned a lingering, sharp side-eye from Nicolas Flamel.

He didn't have a chance to speak with Harriet again until it was nearly time to depart, well after dinner and dessert had been shared. He stepped outside to clear his head, taking in a deep breath of the temperate, salty air, and found Harriet sitting on the garden bench, looking out toward the dormant woods, the skeletal branches swaying against the clouded sky.

"Taking a break?" Remus asked as he lowered himself to sit next to her, and Harriet looked around, startled from her thoughts.

"For a bit, yeah," she said, smiling. Something of the expression appeared strained, though more genuine and affable than her mood had been that morning. Flamel had passed her a book earlier with a conspiratorial wink, a book that was most likely about Animagi and their transformations if Remus were to guess. She'd enjoyed spending time with her friends outside of Hogwarts.

"Have you been sleeping well, Harriet? We've noticed your light's been on later than normal."

She shrugged her skinny shoulders. "I've had a lot on my mind, I guess."

"I'm sure you have." Remus folded his hands together between his knees, studying the garden. "It's been rather…hectic at the school of late."

"That's putting it mildly." Harriet shifted. "Remus, can I ask you a strange question?"

"Of course."

"Why would Snape call my mum a Mudblood?"

Of all the things he anticipated her asking, that certainly hadn't been among the options. If he were Sirius, Remus would have responded, "Because he's a git," and he almost blurted it out despite himself. "What—what brought this on, may I ask?"

"He tried to make me angry," she explained, and at Remus' confused expression, continued to explain. "You've noticed he does that, right? He says things to get under your skin—well, not yours so much, but definitely Sirius'. I think…he likes it best when people don't want to bother with him, so he doesn't have to interact, or something. I'm not sure. I finally stopped being so bloody mad at him, and he—." Harriet expelled a heated breath. Severus had made her angry, no try about it. "Did he really call my mum that?"

Remus recalled the exact moment in his mind with considerable embarrassment. At the time, he'd been so incredibly angry with Snape for saying that word, but time and age had a way of weathering the lurid, blinding quality of outrage. He himself had been called much worse than Mudblood and had experienced things more terrible than a spat of schoolyard name calling, nasty though it might have been. He remembered what he and James, Sirius, and Peter had done to Snape, what they'd felt justified in doing. If he could still conjure the image and the sound of their classmates crowing in vicious approval, he imagined Snape could do the same.

Part of Remus thought it justified. Just look at the man Snape had become—Death Eater, Dark wizard, bastard. But how much of that was a predetermined path Remus and his friends had helped Snape along?

He looked at Harriet and realized he had only been a year older than she was now when James and Sirius had attacked Snape by the lakeside. When he'd done nothing to stop it. Not even for a moment could he imagine the girls doing anything like what they'd done, nor standing by and letting it happen.

Shame squeezed his heart.

"He did, yes."

"Why, though? He and my mum were friends, weren't they?"

Remus blinked. "Yes. They didn't speak much after he said that, but before…the end, they were friends again." He sighed, scratching at his hair, hearing the sounds of the party continuing through the side door he'd left slightly ajar. Far, far in the distance, past the music and the way the breeze pulled at the trees, waves crashed on the shoreline. "It's not my place to defend Severus; I think he was wrong to say what he did, and no matter how…agitated he was, it should not have been part of his vocabulary. However, I will say that he was not entirely at fault that day."

Harriet raised her gaze to look at him. Remus struggled to find the proper words, trying to wade through his own garbled emotions concerning the subject. "Severus wasn't popular in school. He was bullied, both in his House and without, the worst of his bullies being James, Sirius, myself, and Peter." Remus grimaced. "We were young—stubborn, opinionated. Severus bore the brunt of that, more than he should."

Harriet continued to watch him levelly as Remus tried not to make her father sound like an utter pillock; he wasn't, had never been. He'd been a good man, a good friend, but not one without his faults and demons. Trying to deify James would mean defending a few of the rather heinous things he'd done, mostly to Snape, but Remus wouldn't sit there and bad-mouth James when he couldn't defend his own actions.

At length, Harriet broke her gaze away and simply shook her head. "Boys are stupid."

"Well, I can't argue with that." He paused. "Is that all you're worried about?"

"No, but it seemed the only thing easy to fix."

And wasn't that the truth? Remus could think of nothing to assuage her mind when it came to Slytherin or the Dark Lord or the Minister; he could think of nothing, because similar thoughts kept him awake at night too, and nothing could abate those nightmares.

Harriet rose to her feet, brushing the cold dew from her robes. "Coming inside, Professor?"

"Yes, I suppose."

He stood and followed her back into the inviting light of the house, leaving the night and the heaviness of old, poisoned memories behind.