The Man Who Knew Almost Nothing

Morning came with the sound of an owl twittering in the other room, which was quite odd since Hedwig didn’t twitter. The noises she made were far more dignified. Harry sat up in bed and recognized the sound of Ron and Hermione’s little Pig, the owl Ron had gotten from Sirius at the end of their third year. Harry put on his glasses and grabbed his house coat as he slipped out bed.

“What on earth?” Gilderoy yawned.

“Just an owl. Go back to sleep,” Harry told him. Seconds later Gilderoy was snoring and Harry was making his way into the parlor, yawning, but feeling quite refreshed, the tiredness of the night before forgotten.

Hedwig had obviously let Pig inside and was glaring at the smaller owl for daring to make so much noise. Pig darted toward Harry, showing off the note attached to his leg. He was like a feathered Snitch as Harry grabbed for the note.

A soft whistle from the guest room caused the bird to settle down enough for Harry to snag the note. The owl appeared to remember his former owner.

“I thought he would grow out of it,” Sirius chuckled from the doorway where he stood in his nightclothes.

“I think Ron still gives him sweets or something. Sugar and delivery owls don’t appear to mix,” answered Harry, unfolding the note.

“Anything of interest?”

“I asked Hermione about his memory. Smartest person I know. I figured she could ...”

“Yeah,” said Sirius softly.

“Am I wrong to even ask?”

“That’s between you and him. I know he’s anxious about it, about his memory. He spent a long time alone, thinking about things as best as he could. It can’t hurt though, I suppose, to have the answer on hand when he decides,” said Sirius.

Harry nodded in agreement and began reading:

“Dear Harry, I looked into memory charm cures for you. I made the assumption that all the textbook, standard cures were tried and failed, so I began looking into obscure ones and into the latest research. It doesn’t look good. If you push too hard, you harm the person, no matter what method you use, and I know the last thing you would want is to hurt Gilderoy. But the matter isn’t entirely hopeless. Memory loss by non-magical means, through head injury for example, occurs among muggles quite often, although certainly not to the same degree as what happened to Gilderoy. I am researching muggle methods of dealing with amnesia and will let you know what I find. The only thing I can say for certain is that familiar people and things may help to trigger memories. I won’t stop looking, but don’t hold your breath, Harry. Give my regards to Gilderoy. Love, Hermione Weasley.”

“Well?” questioned Sirius.

“She doesn’t have an answer,” said Harry, shaking his head and offering the note to Sirius.

“Familiar people and things?” Sirius questioned after quickly skimming the letter.

“He has been asking to see Hogwarts.”

“Gryffindor plays Hufflepuff in a couple of days. Think that would help?” asked Sirius with a smile.

“You want to go too, don’t you?” asked Harry.

“First game of the school Quidditch season. I could make room in my busy schedule.”

“It might do him some good to see his old house play and take a tour of the castle and grounds, if the headmaster allows it.”

“Gilderoy was a ...”

“Hufflepuff.”

“Of course. Funny though. He handled himself quite bravely yesterday. Although perhaps that’s a credit you,” mused Sirius. “And I know Dumbledore will permit it. He will be very pleased to see you out and about. Word has it that you are a recluse, you know.”

“I go out all the time!”

“Name ten places you went this summer and fall before your blond friend moved in,” asked Sirius, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The grocer’s ... St. Mungo’s ... Ron and Hermione’s place ... that Ministry thing back in the summer ... Quidditch practice in Kent,” Harry listed.

“Can’t do it, can you?” said Sirius.

“I go out on the broom all the time.”

“Alone,” snorted Sirius.

“I get your point. And I would love to see Hogwarts again. Show it to Gilderoy.”

“And see if that seeker you trained is up to snuff?”

“Don’t remind me.” Harry sighed, thinking of young Jill Allbright, who had had something of a crush on him and was very difficult to train because of it.

“I have it on very good information that Gryffindor will trounce Hufflepuff. They haven’t had a decent seeker since ...” Sirius began to say, stopping short.

“Cedric Diggory,” Harry finished for him.

“Sorry about that.”

“So am I.”

“Kick that lout out of bed and get dressed. I’m making breakfast this morning,” said Sirius, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks,” Harry said.

“Nonsense. Just be sure to get us good seats for the game,” he said with a grin that didn’t quite reach his sad eyes.

And when Gilderoy found out about the possibility of going to see a Quidditch game, not to mention that school of witchcraft and wizardry that he had heard so much about, it seemed as though he could talk about nothing else for three days. Sirius thrilled him with tales of both James and Harry’s days on the Gryffindor house team, which made Harry blush just a little bit. Harry, after securing seats for the match through Remus Lupin, who was rather pleased that Harry had taken Sirius in, had finally sat down in front of the typewriter with that glass of wine and started work on his memoirs.

Harry laughed softly before he began. He wasn’t yet twenty years old and his friends believed that his life could fill a book, and he didn’t disagree with them. And he finally knew how to begin.

“My life began on the day I found out that was a wizard ...”

Harry could feel Sirius, who had stopped mid-story in the kitchen, and Gilderoy listening to him as he spoke aloud to Ron’s enchanted typewriter.

“I was eleven years old. It was my eleventh birthday and during the time of the year that every child with the gift of magic usually receives their Hogwarts letter, though it took more than the usual amount of effort for me to receive mine ...”

Harry talked to the typewriter and watched it print out his words for the better part of an afternoon and evening, the day before the Quidditch match, sorting through the notes that Hermione and Ron had helped him make during their visit as he needed them. Gilderoy and Sirius watched him in wonder and listened with rapt attention to a young man who was easily a master storyteller in addition to being a powerful wizard and star Quidditch player. Soon a stack of carefully typed pages lay next to the typewriter.

“That was brilliant, Harry,” said Gilderoy as Harry leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes, obviously done for the day.

“Thanks. I never thought I would be able to start. I just tried to imagine talking to a group of younger wizards and to the two of you,” answered Harry.

“It sounds really good so far. I like the conversational tone. It makes you sound modest and older too,” said Sirius.

“I just hope that Ron and Hermione approve,” Harry chuckled, suddenly imagining himself as an old, retired soldier or captain or something, sitting on the front stoop of a tavern and telling stories to any and all who would buy him a drink.

The next morning they were all out of bed before the sun rose over the hills outside. Harry had dragged out a couple of his older Gryffindor scarves and transfigured one into Hufflepuff colors for Gilderoy the night before, insisting that he support his own house. The weather had turned colder over the last few days, but it was going to be a sunny day with just a slight breeze. The perfect weather for Quidditch.

Harry grinned as he helped Gilderoy into a fur-lined cloak as they waited for Sirius, who was grousing about not being able to find a wool cap with the Gryffindor lion on it. Despite the early hour, both Harry and Gilderoy were tingling with excitement. Harry had never seen the house team play as a spectator and could hardly wait for the game. Gilderoy was eager to see his first game too.

“Got it!” yelled Sirius as he emerged from his room.

“Great. Are you apparating and walking or traveling with us?” asked Harry, stepping toward the hearth with Gilderoy in tow.

“Whose chimney are you borrowing?”

“Remus’s, of course,” said Harry.

“I don’t know ...”

“It’s been weeks, and he would love to see you.”

“Did he say that?”

“Naturally.”

Sirius hesitated before nodding silently.

Harry was the first to go through the floo, mainly to warn Remus that Sirius was indeed coming along. He climbed out of the professor’s hearth and began brushing off his clothes as he looked around for Lupin only to find him dozing in a nearby chair.

“Remus?” Harry asked, walking over and shaking his shoulder.

“Seem to have nodded off,” said Remus with his kindly, almost boyish smile. “Will I be seeing your godfather today?” he questioned, stretching and glancing toward the hearth.

“You will indeed,” said Harry.

“I can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing for him,” said Remus.

“He’s family,” Harry shrugged. “I don’t have a lot of that, you know.”

“I know,” Remus nodded. “What about your other new addition?” asked Remus, pursing his lips slightly.

“Well, you know ...” Harry began before the whoosh of the floo interrupted. “Meet him for yourself,” he laughed, watching Gilderoy clamber none to gracefully out of the fireplace.

Gilderoy grinned at them and said, “Harry, I don’t think I shall ever tire of traveling by floo. If only it weren’t so messy.” “You must be Professor Remus Lupin. I’ve heard so much about you from Harry and Sirius,” he said.

“Just Remus to you,” he chuckled, shaking hands with him. “Gilderoy, isn’t it?” he questioned.

“My reputation must precede me,” said Gilderoy, still smiling. Only Harry noticed the momentarily worried or pained look that flashed through his eyes.

“Indeed it does. I don’t know when I’ve seen Harry happier,” said Remus, possibly intuiting the man’s mixed emotions.

A second sound from the hearth heralded the arrival of Sirius Black. Harry gently pulled Gilderoy out of the way as Remus walked over to the man that he would forever and always love. Sirius just stood there, looking uncomfortable and sooty.

“Sirius, you look thin. Have you been eating all right?” Remus asked him.

“I’m getting three square now for a change. You look ... like always,” Sirius replied. “Good, I mean,” he added.

“Thank you,” said Remus, reaching to dust some of the ash from Sirius’s clothing. Sirius stepped back. “Sorry,” he murmured, withdrawing his hand.

“No, I am. I just ... can’t yet. I ... want to get it right,” Sirius whispered.

“So do I,” said Remus almost inaudibly.

Sirius dusted off his own clothes as Remus walked away.

Harry gave Sirius a questioning look, but Sirius could only shrug. The years had been hard on both Remus and him. One had been unable to find decent work for long periods of time, shunned by all the wizarding world as a heinous monster. The other had been imprisoned for terrible, unforgivable crimes, and no one had believed him when he tried to proclaim his innocence, not for years upon end, not even his lover. Then the war with Voldemort came and brought them together in the worst of circumstances, ending only a year before in a terrible duel in which they could not even assist Harry. That had harmed them too, but in different ways, though they both bore great burdens of responsibility. Remus had grown stronger and pushed onward with his life. Sirius had been consumed by guilt and pain that threatened even now to devour him whole.

“Ready to go claim our seats?” Harry asked, knowing that the protracted and uncomfortable silence would not help either of them.

“Of course,” said Remus, struggling to smile again.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------