Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Thirty-Eight—Fools Rush In

"I really do think that he's coming around to have a relationship with us, Remus."

"That's great, Sirius."

"You don't sound like you think it is."

Remus sighs and glances up from the pile of essays spread out on the table in front of him. To think that he never once wondered how his professors got so much work marked in such a short period of time. Now he knows: unrelenting effort. "Sorry. I'm just distracted by these essays. Some of them are dire."

"Oh, yeah. I suppose they would be. None of them are putting in the effort that we did to our essays, huh?"

Remus smiles at the thought of how much time they would spend playing pranks instead of writing, and then shakes his head a little. "Yeah. But that means I need to spend time marking them."

"Of course, Remus, sorry."

Sirius seems to go back to daydreaming about how to get Harry to cooperate with them, and Remus bows his head to stare at the messy ink with a small sigh.

He wishes that he could think Harry listening to and talking with Sirius means Harry is relaxing and will let them closer still. But he just can't believe that, no matter what Sirius thinks, no matter what Harry says.

His mind is still on the way Harry looked when they were talking about extra Defense tutoring. How Harry looked when he refused it.

I would love it if we are getting through his walls. But I don't think we are.

"Tell me what you can make out of this."

Harry hesitates. Steel has presented him with everything from very fine dust to stiff, thick leather when it comes to making his creations, but he didn't expect to be confronted with a small pile of his own skin.

"That's why you wanted to cut off little bits of my skin last week," he murmurs. Steel used a painless hex that healed instantly even as it harvested, apparently a kind that's often used on reptiles, but Harry still thought it was a little weird.

"Yes." Steel folds their hands in front of them the way they often do, claws projecting into the air. "Do you believe that you are unable to manipulate it? If so, then we will do something else."

"I think I'd like to try. But I want to know why you wanted to do this."

"You did not question me last week when I took the skin."

"No, because Aradia trusts you."

Steel tilts their head, and their mouth is loose around their fangs for perhaps only the second time since Harry has met them. "You would do well to question more in the future. Even if only because you will someday have enemies who try to use your trust in the Zabinis against you."

Harry nods. He can see the sense in that, even if he thinks that Steel would never turn, if only because Aradia would probably destroy them.

"But you still haven't said why you wanted me to work with my own skin."

"It is good to know how to use the one weapon that no one can take from you, your body, in situations such as surprise duels. Your friend Mr. Zabini is learning to use his body in one way. I thought you should learn another."

Harry pauses. That does make sense. But—"I thought that I couldn't learn to manipulate my blood the way you do."

"It is harder for humans, which is why we are starting with skin. But that does not mean that you would never be able to learn to weave blood. You would need to do it in different ways, however."

That makes sense. Harry faces the small pile of skin again. Artemis lifts her head from his pocket. Steel doesn't object to her presence—they never have so far—but only watches with their head tilting slowly back and forth like a metronome.

"We use the skin?"

"Yes, Steel wants us to do that," Harry murmurs, and gathers up the closest piece. When he looks at it, he thinks he can see possibilities in it, the way that one of the books Steel had him read talks about sculptors seeing possibilities in stone. Only Harry isn't skilled enough to see something like a whole statue yet.

"I think that piece on the bottom looks like a snake."

It does, Harry thinks. The piece of skin has a somewhat blunt "head" that could resemble a serpent's if you were looking for that. He gathers it up and spreads it out in front of him, and then he touches it with his magic.

The skin lifts its head and dances back and forth. Harry frowns a little. It isn't complete, and not just because he can't see a true, living snake in it.

He gathers up the spools of colored thread that are always lying around when he and Steel use this particular classroom and ornaments the skin-snake with absent flicks of his fingers, making scales and patterns that don't resemble any living snake he knows of. That's all right. Artemis doesn't, either.

"I think it needs eyes."

Harry nods and doesn't pause to question his instincts. He holds out his hand to Artemis, who bites the tip of his little finger. The drops of blood form the perfect eyes on the end of the snake's head.

"I thought that you would not be working with blood so soon."

"It seemed like the thing to do," Harry says, as he steps back and studies the snake. It's close to being complete, but he needs to wind magic into it so that it can have a purpose, the same way that he's made little creations of dust and glass and the like to be a companion to someone or guard a specific place.

Then he gets it, and smiles. He feeds magic and purpose into the snake, and it writhes off the little table where the skin scraps are piled and slithers across the floor to Steel.

The vampire watches it come, head still tilting slowly back and forth, but doesn't lower a hand to help the snake climb their legs. Harry wouldn't want them to. The whole point is that the snake is doing things Harry commands it to, the same way that anything made of another material would.

The snake comes to rest wrapped around Steel's wrist. Then it leans forwards and flicks its tongue against their lips.

The vampire laughs quietly, showing their fangs again, and glances at Harry. "I didn't see you add the tongue."

"No. I did it with a bit of magic after it left me."

"This is pure magic?"

Harry nods, not understanding the way that Steel's voice has sharpened. After all, they've seen Harry use pure magic to make the other things, too, like the way that the planetary model spun on pure magic to make the various spheres turn around the "sun."

"And yet it looks and behaves perfectly like a serpentine tongue," Steel says quietly, lifting their hand so that they can look at the snake from another angle. "Remarkable."

"Is it?"

"Oh, yes." Steel smiles at Harry, without fangs this time, and walks over to hand the snake back to him. "It means that you might not need even your own skin and blood to create life, only your own magic and will. And that opens up a whole other category of things that I can teach you."

Aradia Apparates into place behind the house, concentrating on silence this time. One of Harry's letters piqued her curiosity, and she thinks it might be too revelatory for their enemies if they noticed her interest in Godric's Hollow.

Especially because the ruins of the house where Harry's parents apparently met their fate hum with active wards.

Interesting. Beyond interesting.

Aradia moves in slow circles around the house, her wand out in front of her, her footsteps making the soft mixture of mud and snow and dead grass crunch. She's under a Disillusionment Charm, but she soon comes to believe that no one is there to monitor the wards, strong though they are. They are meant to alert their maker if someone breaks in, though.

Aradia comes to a stop, eyes fixed on a particular jut of wall near the edge of the wards. It's broken as though someone hammered it with Blasting Curses.

That's not part of the tale of that night, but then again, Aradia is coming to believe that much of that night is exaggerated. Or lied about. There is always that possibility, too.

Aradia closes her eyes and sinks into her magic, into a piece of it that she kept for herself once, long ago, when she unexpectedly battled an opponent she intended to sacrifice who turned out to be almost too strong for her. But almost too strong. And so, while she had to absorb this magic into herself instead of feeding it to the Suns as she intended, it remains useful and not devastating.

It's akin to stepping into a dark, cold pool, given that the magic still remembers its original wielder and regards her with animosity. Aradia uses it sparingly. For its owner, once, it warned him of coming threats.

For Aradia, it simply evaluates something she is already certain is a threat.

The seeking tendrils of magic crawl out of her body slowly, grudgingly, and then recoil from the edge of the wards. Aradia can feel something snapping at the tendrils, trying to bite them off. She reels them hastily back into her body.

The wards give a twang, the kind of sound that Aradia wouldn't hear at all if she weren't already exquisitely tuned to the danger they represent.

Aradia at once dives into a crouch behind a bush near the edge of the grounds, and strengthens her Disillusionment Charm until it feels as if she's looking at the world from behind a wavering ward of her own. She watches, quiet and still, as a hooded figure Apparates in near the far edge of the house.

The figure doesn't move at first, seeming to stand and look around. Then it uses an unexpectedly hobbled stride to reach the wards that are opposite from the place where Aradia stands, and bends over to prod at the earth with a wand.

No, wait. Not a wand. A cane.

The wards apparently don't tell the seeker enough. The figure straightens up and sweeps her gaze back and forth.

Her hood is back enough to reveal some of her wrinkled face, and Aradia can see that it's a woman perhaps a decade older than she is. She doesn't know, for the moment, why the witch should look so familiar, or why Aradia feels an instinctive wariness of her. But she waits, and after a moment when it seems as though the witch might cast a spell that would be harder to defeat, she grunts and turns back to walk around a large tree and towards the back of the house.

Aradia backs away, casting Silencing Charms to keep from making the slightest sound. When she's sure that she's clear of any protections that might pick up the magic, she Apparates.

She arrives back in her own home laughing a little breathlessly. She knows the face of the witch, now. She probably knew it unconsciously the moment she saw it, but it took her memories a bit to catch up.

How interesting that it's Augusta Longbottom monitoring active wards on the house where the Potter parents supposedly died.

Aradia will enjoy pursuing this puzzle.

"I thought of something."

Blaise tenses instinctively as Black appears in front of them. Harry reaches out and puts his hand on Blaise's arm, and Blaise relaxes with a little huff. He doesn't like the way that Black ambushes them in the darkest corners of the school, but apparently, Black and Lupin and Harry's father and the traitor were all part of the "Marauders," and it makes sense that they would know the secret passages.

"Thought of what?"

"Thought of something I can do to make it up to you!"

Blaise snorts. Black glares at him. They don't like each other, they will never like each other, and that honestly doesn't bother Blaise, as long as Black doesn't presume on anything. "It took you this long?"

"I had to have Remus help me."

"I thought I said that you were supposed to think of something on your own, Mr. Black."

"You did?"

Blaise has to fight so hard not to roll his eyes that it's actually physically painful. Black is already leaping past the moment, though, shaking his head. "Well, that doesn't matter. What matters is that I thought of something."

He obviously wants Harry to ask. Blaise doesn't know where Harry gets the patience, especially since they were on their way to spend time by themselves after a long day of classes, but he asks in a polite voice, "What is it, Mr. Black?"

"We'll tell you stories of your mum as well as your dad!"

There's silence. Blaise doesn't dare look at Harry. He just stares over Black's shoulder at a rough pattern in the stones and concentrates on not letting his shoulders shake.

"How does that make up for you abandoning me to my abusive relatives, Mr. Black?"

All right, maybe Blaise can look at Harry's godfather after all. Black is drooping a little, probably because he didn't get the over-the-top enthusiastic response he expected. But he rallies. "It means that we can show you we don't just value your Potter heritage or your dad. We can show you that we think about everything that went into you, and that includes your mum's personality."

I doubt that that's the way you've thought about it.

But Harry only sighs and says, "I'd like to hear stories of my mum, Mr. Black. But I don't know that I want you to use the stories to persuade me that you love me."

"Of course we love you, Harry!"

"You don't know me, Mr. Black. You might have known the baby I used to be, but that's not the same thing."

Black pauses again. Then he asks, "Is this like your counting our first meeting as on the train platform and not when you were a baby?"

Blaise stares desperately at the ceiling.

"Yes, Mr. Black. I want you to show that you understand why I'm angry at you, and to show that you won't try to take me away from Aradia and Blaise."

Blaise knows that won't happen, knows that Mother would never allow it, but he still feels a surge of anger that makes Ignis wake up in his robe pocket to defend him. Blaise presses gently on the cloth and wills the little dragon to go back to sleep. It would be far worse for Black and Lupin to discover that Harry can create life than it would be for them to learn that he's a Parselmouth.

Black pauses. Then he says, "I won't try to take you away."

"I don't believe you."

"What? Why not?"

"Because you abandoned me, and pretty lightly. You never came back to check on me for more than ten years. You made a promise to look after me when my parents made you my godfather, and you broke that. Why wouldn't you break another promise that you made, just because I'm less important to you than anything else?"

Black makes a sound of pain. He's staring at Harry as if he's the only thing that exists. If they could depend on him, Blaise thinks, at least Harry would have another protector.

But they can't, that's the problem. Black might get told tomorrow that he has to go on another mission to defeat the Dark Lord and run away again. From the weary, half-impatient expression on Harry's face, he knows it, too.

"Don't you want to live in a safe world, Harry?"

"I don't know. I didn't grow up that way. I wouldn't have wanted to give up my magic so that the Dursleys would feel safe."

"I mean—if You-Know-Who comes back, then Britain won't be safe for anybody, no matter how much magic they have. Even Hogwarts won't be safe. If we have to leave again, then you could let us go knowing that we're helping to make the world safe, right? For everyone, including you?"

Harry just shakes his head slightly. "My own life matters more to me than vague people I don't even know being safe. Why can't you just stay here and be my godfather, Mr. Black? Why is the war always more important?"

Blaise has to work on not showing his emotion again, but this time, it's not because of laughter. Harry's plea is more sincere than Black will ever understand. He really does want to have a godfather he could depend on.

He really does want to know why missions and the war are more important to Black than he is.

For that matter, so does Blaise.

"Harry—Harry, I—"

"You can't even confirm that you'll stay for me."

"It's just that—if You-Know-Who comes back, no one is going to be safe!"

"You could at least pretend to care about me specifically, Sirius."

Black starts, maybe because Harry used his first name, and leans forwards. "Of course I do. I care about you more than anyone, Harry!"

"But you ran away and left me for a decade."

"I thought you were safe. I made a mistake. Please, can you forgive me? I don't ever want to make that mistake again. That's why I would have to leave. So that I would know I was making you safe, not just leaving you someplace and trusting that you'll be safe based on a vague feeling."

It's a good argument, in a way. Blaise doesn't agree with it, he never will, but he can at least see why Black might believe it.

Harry just watches Black with a neutral face. Then he shakes his head a little and says, "Maybe I will someday, but I want you to come up with a better way of atoning than just to tell me stories of my parents."

Black whines like a kicked cur, but he nods. He moves aside and doesn't get in the way of Blaise and Harry leaving, although Blaise can feel the man's eyes on their backs.

When they're far enough away that there should be no question of Animagus ears overhearing them, Blaise murmurs, "I don't like the way that he just pops out of the shadows all the time and pleads with you to forgive him."

Harry rolls his shoulders and his neck, and then shakes his head. "I know. But there's no way that I just want to send him off, either."

Blaise smiles. Someone else might interpret that differently, but Blaise knows exactly why Harry wants to keep Black close, and frankly, he approves. "Fine. Then we'll see if he comes up with some other method of atoning."

"Frankly, it might be interesting to see what he does next."

Interesting is one way to put it.

"Mr. Nott, if you will wait a moment."

Nott turns around with a look in his eye that makes him resemble a cornered fox. Remus holds back a sigh. He knows that the children, other than Zabini and Harry, don't know he's a werewolf, and that Albus's geas will stop them from spreading the news around. But sometimes he thinks that a few of his students sense the monster in him.

It does not matter. He will not let it matter. He would never attack them.

"Yes, sir?"

"I couldn't help but notice that you spend time with Mr. Zabini in class."

Obviously, whatever Nott thought Remus wanted to speak with him about, it's not this. He half-tilts his head, while his face settles into colder lines. "Well, yes, sir. We're friends."

"And are you friends with Harry Potter, as well?"

Nott's shoulders twitch. "I am. If someone told you that I wasn't, sir, they were lying."

So the boy is sensitive about their friendship for some reason. I may be able to use this.

"No one told me that. It only made me wonder, because I had been under the impression that Mr. Zabini and Harry's friendship was a more exclusive thing."

"You call him Harry, sir?"

"I do. I knew his parents rather well before the war. But I'm afraid that I lost touch with Harry during the years afterwards."

Nott is studying Remus in a way that gives Remus encouragement. The boy might be the son of a Death Eater, but he isn't rejecting Remus's plea out of hand. Perhaps that's because he's a Slytherin and sees some advantage in it for himself, but even so, Remus will take what he can get.

Sirius is driving himself mad trying to think of a way to "atone" for what they did to Harry. Remus would just be happy with figuring out whether they'll ever have true forgiveness from Harry or not.

Because, if not, they need to move on and cut their losses.

"And you want me to spy on Harry and tell you about him."

Remus blinks. He can see how the boy got to that conclusion, but it's not the right one. "No. Of course not! I just want to know whether there's a chance Harry could ever feel kindly towards us, or if we should give up and leave him alone."

"Yes, you want me to spy on him."

"It's not—" Remus shakes his head, annoyed. "If you want to call it that, then you can, but that's not what it is."

Nott watches him with flat, unconvinced eyes. Then he says, "Tell me what this would gain me. I know you're not the kind of professor who would give me good marks for doing what you want, so don't try to convince me that you are."

Remus closes his mouth from where it was open. "You're probably the most cynical young man I've met," he says, a little impressed. Before this, he would have said that that title belonged to Harry.

"Or the most realistic one."

Remus sighs explosively. "There's little that I can offer you, you're right. I hoped that you would do it out of the goodness of your heart, and because we would like to reunite with Harry, but he doesn't quite understand why we never made contact with him before now, and—"

"Why didn't you?"

"With all due respect, Mr. Nott, that's something we'll explain to Harry himself before we explain it to one of his friends."

Nott looks amused, his head tilting for a second and his nostrils fluttering as if he's going to say something cutting. But then he shrugs. "I'll speak with Harry and tell him that you should give him a chance if you let me copy spells from some of the books you have in your office."

"That would be a bribe, Mr. Nott. Of course I'm not going to do that."

"Then I suppose you'll never know if there's an easy solution to your problems, or some simple words you could have spoken to Harry, because you're stubborn about using practical methods to solve your problems."

Remus closes his eyes. He supposes he deserves that. Why did he approach Nott in the first place, if he didn't intend to use him as a kind of spy? It's a bit late to start playing the honorable Gryffindor now.

"Which books did you have in mind?" he asks, accepting defeat.

Theo is smiling to himself as he leaves Professor Lupin's office. His satchel is full of books that contain more spells he can study and adapt to either countering or imitating with his Defender magic.

It's more than he expected when the professor asked him to stay after class, really.

And of course Theo isn't going to betray his friends, the first friends he's ever had, for books. He'll tell them exactly what Lupin said and the kind of bargain that he made in return, and pass on what Blaise and Harry tell him to say.

Theo smiles a little more widely as he breaks into a trot and turns towards the Slytherin common room, where Blaise will be waiting. He can picture his friend's laughter when Theo tells him why Lupin wanted to speak to him.

He'll know secrets. He'll be taught some of the smaller plots that Blaise and Harry have spinning. Theo isn't fool enough to think he'll be included in all of them.

But he can know some, and maybe he can figure out the secret that he can feel spinning around Lupin like motes of dust in sunlight, the way that Blaise sometimes chokes as if he's about to say something about their professor and then doesn't say it.

Theo doesn't like the thought of secrets beyond his reach. The only thing that makes him patient is knowing that, someday, he will grasp all of them.

Someday, Blaise and Harry will trust him as much as they trust each other.

He must only wait.