Child Of The Lion

Harry Potter had searched the vast halls of the building -- which from the outside appeared to be a small, deceptively simple cottage -- for what seemed to be hours. Inside the building, on the other hand, the corridors branched off to form a maze, which to Harry, who had never been here before in his life, was ridiculously difficult to negotiate. However, as Harry had discovered, there were some magical items scattered around the house that would help anyone lost find their way to the exit, or indeed, any room in the house. In fact - as he had found out moments before Remus' voice had shot through the corridor, announcing dinner in the dining room - the red embroidered arrows could rearrange themselves to guide you to individual people as well.

In response to Remus' distracted announcement, Harry tentatively asked the arrows if they could please point him in the right direction of the dining room and was greatly relieved when the arrow he'd addressed repositioned itself in front of his eyes.

"Thank you," he said gratefully, turning to follow the arrow's directions.

The stamp that was stuck on the manila envelope in his hands took this as a sign to begin his relentless narrative once more, complaining at great length about Muggles taking over the sport of bullfighting, the new rule - apparently released just before Pedro Mortissimo was immortalised on enchanted paper - stating that magic was strictly prohibited in the sport and, for some unknown reason, berating Harry in regards to the flyaway nature of his hair.

Ignoring the stamp's ineffective attempts to start up a conversation, which quickly deteriorated into senseless babbling, Harry focused his attention on following the arrows' directions as carefully as possible. He took care not to miss any of the hidden passages or disguised openings that he knew from last night's brief tour, were littered around the cottage.

Eventually however the arrows guided him into a cosy, well-lit dining room. The dining room stayed true to the traditional cottage theme, Harry noticed with interest, instead of the imposing hall he'd been expecting. Then again, this was Remus' home. Harry should have known better.

"Ah, Harry," Remus said by way of welcome, his eyes fluttering up distractedly from his pile of parchment for a mere second before he once more returned to his frantic shuffling of envelope and quill. "You found the dining room easily enough?"

Harry nodded, sparing a double-take for the frying pan that hovered over what seemed to be a form of magical stove, flipping it's own pancakes as a goblet of pumpkin juice filled itself until just below the brim. It was when the drawer shot open and cutlery began to whiz around the room that Harry finally turned back to Lupin.

"Oh," he said, Lupin's search reminding him. He produced the envelope from behind his back with a flourish. "This was under my Hogwarts letter ... it's for you."

Lupin's head snapped up and he practically ripped the envelope from Harry's grasp. He took one look at Pedro Mortissimo and relaxed visibly, slumping in his seat. He caught Harry's gaze and had the grace to look sheepish.

"It's - I ... "

Harry paused, seeing Lupin's distress. "You can't tell me?" Harry asked, feigning a sigh of long suffering. "It's okay. I get it."

Remus blinked as though trying to figure out the true meaning behind Harry's words. Finally the werewolf nodded slowly, "Thank you. I'm sorry I can't tell you anything about what Voldemort's plotting, but truthfully I know very little that you don't. You, Harry, believe it or not, are actually a vital part of the anti-Voldemort operation. But this," he indicated the letter with a weary gesture, "is completely personal, unfortunately."

Harry just nodded dumbly, his earlier sarcasm and display of teenage angst long forgotten. "Uh. You said I was 'vital' to the ... operation?" Harry said slowly, as though unsure. "What exactly did you mean?"

Lupin blinked. "W-well," he started, his mind racing to think of a suitable excuse. "See, Voldemort and you are -" he stopped suddenly and slumped in his seat with a frustrated sigh, hanging his head in his hands. "And I shouldn't have told you that. Look, Harry, I'm tired. I really have no idea what I'm saying right now, especially concerning Voldemort."

Harry sighed, slumping into the chair opposite Remus as he considered this new information. "It's okay. Really. I meant what I said before: I get it." He paused for a moment. "You said his name. You said Voldemort."

Remus raised his head, relief clear in his eyes. "Yes. Yes, I suppose I did." He flashed Harry an uncertain grin. "After all, it's just a name. The sky will not fall on everyone who speaks it."

Harry grinned. "I don't think they have enough skies," he said, raising his gaze to the ceiling and shouting out almost challengingly, "Voldemort!"

"And the sky still remains intact."

"Unbelievable, isn't it?"

"Revolutionary."

"If only everyone else would figure it out," Harry whispered bitterly. "He doesn't deserve this. All of the fear and the pain. He doesn't deserve to be the cause behind suffering, grief and torture, and he certainly doesn't deserve to have an entire community afraid of uttering one little three-syllable word. We shouldn't give him the satisfaction."

"You're right," Remus said simply, his eyes sad and weary. "But not everyone can be a Gryffindor."

Harry started, surprised and more than a little bit insulted. "That's not what I meant."

"I know," Remus said hastily before shaking his head slightly. "It's just ... I guess what I'm trying to tell you is that stereotyping isn't always accurate. Gryffindors aren't always good, and Slytherins aren't always bad. I'd say that Hufflepuffs weren't always loyal and Ravenclaws weren't always smart, but they are. It's their house characteristic."

Harry nodded, beginning to catch on. "It's like a cowardly Gryffindor or a self-sacrificial Slytherin. Abnormalities."

Remus paused for a moment before realising that Harry's comment was indeed valid. Almost, that was. "Nearly. I suppose, now that I actually think about it, my earlier comment wasn't completely valid, either." He snorted. "So much for wisdom. The point I'm trying to make, Harry, is that no one is the same, and no one should be judged purely on their house." He sighed once more. "Don't trust someone just because they act like your friend and don't harm someone merely because they claim to be your enemy. Well, that and it takes different kinds of people to keep the world turning."

Harry blinked, failing to see what this had to do with the entire wizarding world not being Gryffindors. He shrugged; deciding that Remus' words of wisdom must have had some deeper meaning. Something told him that he should try to remember these words, but for the mean time, he was hungry.

"Do you think the pancakes are done yet?"

Remus chuckled. "They should be. Just ask the frying pan to serve you."

Harry frowned but obediently turned to the frying pan and requested a pancake. There was a moment's pause and then a plate, glass and various cutlery began to swoop down on him, followed shortly by the frying pan, which deposited its golden treat on Harry's plate. It then zoomed back to the stove where a bowl poured some more batter into it.

After eating his pancake (complete with maple syrup) Harry tried to start up a conversation with Remus. His attempts fell flat; Harry and Lupin didn't really have all that much in common, apart from Sirius Black and Harry's dead parents. Seeing that a conversation was out of the question, Harry sighed and told Remus that he was going to his room to do his homework. Remus merely shrugged and said nonchalantly:

"Sure ... though I'd never have thought I'd see the day when a Potter volunteered to do homework when there's a Quidditch pitch behind the orchard."

Harry froze in the doorway. Slowly, he turned, and blinked owlishly. "Did you just say there's a Quidditch pitch?"

Remus nodded with forced bemusement, though he was unable to stop his lips twitching.

For a moment a look of pure delight flashed across Harry's face, but he restrained himself from racing from the room. He slowly turned to Remus, his eyes hesitant. He open his mouth tentatively. "Cou - "

"Yes," Remus said amiably. "Though you may not remember me beyond being your DADA Professor, Harry, I remember you in nappies." Harry flushed. "So, Harry, if I can provide it ... you only need to ask and I will do my hardest to give it to you. And as for the Quidditch pitch ... Gryffindor's seeker needs to train somehow, doesn't he? Besides, it was Prongs who insisted we install it in the first place."

Harry paused and he only left when Remus prodded him. "Go!" He grinned and dashed out of the room, heading in what he hoped was the direction of his Firebolt.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was raining two hours later, the kind of rain that churned the ground into soup and sent ducks scurrying for cover. However, the dark-haired boy shooting towards the ground at two hundred and ninety miles per hour (acceleration in nine seconds) on a thin piece of wood was undeterred.

Harry happened to like the rain, the heavier the better. It slashed into his skin with enough force to make him pleasantly numb, and it slackened his grip enough to make the steep dive all the more dangerous, the increasing risk keeping his mind off last year and the nightmares that followed.

He pulled up on the broom gently, letting out a whoop of satisfaction as it straightened out and flew across the ground; he could feel his knees skimming the grass. He rose into the open air above him slightly and then, without missing a beat, twisted around so that it was his hair now brushing the ground. Incensed by this daredevil stunt, he began to spin around the Quidditch pitch in tight spirals and loops, occasionally dropping into narrow dives. Anyone who glanced his way would have absently noticed the difficult, reckless manoeuvres. Anyone who watched his for more than a second would hastily change their assumption to difficult, suicidal manoeuvres.

The tall, lean man, who watched the display from just within the overhanging shadows of the orchard, was no exception. He blinked in disbelief in all the right places and frowned more than once.

By Merlin, the idiot child is going to get himself killed, the frail man thought exasperatedly, Who needs Salazar's bloody heir when all you need is to do is give him a broomstick and let his ego do the job?

Though it was a rhetorical question, he received a reply none-the-less. Yeah, well. Like Founder, like Heir. Who would have thought?

The man looked down at his companion who peered out at the young seeker, his golden tail swishing lazily as he rearranged his feathered wings and shook his tawny mane out of his eyes. He shook his head as he addressed the Griffin. I most certainly did not do that! he insisted, jerking his head pointedly in the teenager's general direction. The Griffin snorted as he turned back to see Harry Potter standing on his broom.

Only because there was no such thing as Quidditch at the time, he replied nonchalantly, and I seem to remember a certain Rowena Ravenclaw gushing over the infamous Gryffindor Grandslap.

It was Grandslam, Gryffindor Grandslam.

I rest my case, the Griffin replied succinctly, watching in amusement as his Master's face

shuddered before turning an interesting shade of fuchsia. There's nothing to worry about, anyway. Everything's going according to plan ... or prophecy.

The man mentally snorted, ignoring the Griffin's reproachful look. That was how they could speak to each other, even as ghosts of the past. This telepathy was shared by all wizards and their magical familiars if, of course, the wizard was powerful enough.

Please, Ryftt. The wolf is showing little or no motivation in protecting him beyond what Albus Dumbledore has ordered her to do, and as for the Viper ... don't even get me started on the Viper -

I've learnt not to, Ryftt replied in amusement, shaking his lion-like head as the boy purposefully threw himself off his broom, hurtling towards the ground like a flesh torpedo. Roughly ten feet before certain death, he swung his broom underneath him. The piece of wood responded valiantly and he stopped his descent inches from the ground, immediately zooming away again. Cautiously Ryftt turned to look at his Master. He didn't look happy.

The white-haired man opened began to splutter indelicately when whatever mental reply he was formulating was disrupted as they heard a slight rustle of fabric to their right. They whipped around to see a brunette girl with wide, expressive green eyes arrive at the edge of the orchard. She watched in worried indecisiveness, obviously torn between remaining where she was and rushing out to get the boy on firm ground as soon as possible. Finally she shook her head in frustration, apparently having decided to just watch and catch him if he should fall.

I don't know, Ryftt said finally, his eyes still on the girl - though, of course, she couldn't see him, I have a feeling it might all turn out as planned, after all.

Hmm. There's a long way to go before that... There are many obstacles to overcome and many enemies to defeat along the way, the man said, stroking his long, silver beard thoughtfully.

Speaking of obstacles to overcome and enemies to defeat ... The Griffin trailed off meaningfully.

Yes, Ryftt. The first test is about to begin. Let us just hope our young Heir has the strength to complete it in one piece.

If he completes it.

The man snorted. He better bloody well had. I've got 15 Galleons on him, and I refuse to lose money to that arrogant Slytherin.

Ryftt merely rolled his eyes, watching as the boy finally dismounted his broom and began to troop through the orchard, shaking the rain out of his hair. Good luck, Kid. Good luck.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When the rain finally ceased it left behind bucketfuls of sodden mud, drenched apple trees and one thoroughly soaked teenage boy who looked remarkably like a drowned rat.

Harry shook his head wildly as he made his way back into the cottage, wiping his muddy boots on the cheery welcome mat. He ran his fingers through his matted hair and moved further into the cottage's warmth. The seeker could hear the dull drone of voices coming from his right, one calm and the other resigned as they talked quietly.

"Remus?" he called, stepping closer. There was no reply.

Harry was close enough now to understand the voices, and he identified them immediately, gasping slightly before freezing in horror. But the voices hadn't heard his entrance and continued to converse. As he listened, he edged closer to the doorway that would lead him to them, intent on getting a visual on what was going on.

"I don't like it, Padfoot," the voice that belonged to Remus said tiredly. "Do we have any evidence that the prophecy is true?"

The voice that belonged to his Godfather exhaled slowly. "No. Not a lot. But whatever it is, it's got Voldemort pretty damn scared; Snape says that he's upped the defences around his lair, and he's reformed Operation 'Kill That Bloody Brat'."

"'Kill That Bloody Brat'?" Remus asked, obviously unsure as to whether or not he actually wanted to know.

"Harry," was Sirius' simple reply. There was a moment of silence before Sirius ploughed on. "He's still playing Quidditch?"

Harry chose then to peer around the doorframe. He managed to catch sight of Remus crouched low beside the fire, talking to his Godfather's head which was being eaten by flames before he jerked his head back and continued to listen.

"Of course. He flew all through the rain, don't see why the sunshine should stop him."

"He's Quidditch mad. Just like his Dad," Sirius said quietly.

"James would have been proud," Remus agreed softly and, for a moment, they shared a respectful silence for their friend.

Finally Sirius coughed, and a hand reached up through the fire to dab at his moist eyes. "So, what about you, Moony? Has ... she replied yet?"

"Yes," Remus replied after a short pause.

Sirius correctly interpreted his friend's silence. "Damn. I'm sorry, Moony."

"Don't be. If I was her, I'd hate myself."

"No." Sirius' voice sounded stronger, more sure of himself. "No. What you did was wrong, sure, I'll accept that, but you did what you thought was best. For her, for you, for ..." he trailed off uncomfortably, "Considering the circumstances, you didn't have an awful lot of choice."

"But I had some choice."

"Yeah," Sirius said after a while. "But then you had roughly the same amount of choice given to a werewolf during full moon." He snorted. "To change or not to change, that is the question."

"You've been reading Muggle plays again, haven't you?"

"There nothing else to do up here!" the voice whined. "It's either that or watch daytime soaps." The disgust in Sirius' voice was obvious, though nothing like the revulsion that could be found in Remus' next words.

"You actually know what daytime soaps are? Padfoot, I fear you."

Sirius' voice darkened suddenly. "There's a lot of things out there worse than me to fear. The dementors and giants are just the tip of the iceberg, Moony," he said, emphasizing his words with a growl. "There's been talks of trolls, darker werewolves, gargoyles ... and that's just the beginning of the list. They'll all join him, Moony, just because they can, and Fudge is still blind to the truth."

"He's panicking," Remus said quietly. "He wasn't a Minister chosen for war. He was elected during a time of peace ... you remember what Binns said happened to the British Prime minister when that Muggle Hitler started that war."

"I know. I know. But he's still a short-sighted fool, and if he wants to go to Hell then that's fine by me, but I'll be damned if he's going to drag the rest of us down with him." Sirius was silent for a moment; "He's going to make Harry clean up his mess, Remus."

"The prophecy."

"Exactly. And I know that we've only found one but - " He stopped suddenly, his head whipping around in the flames. There was a loud thump from the other end of the fireplace and with a resounding "Shit!" Sirius was gone.

"Padfoot?" Remus asked, sounding more than a little worried. "Sirius!"

Concerned for his Godfather, Harry slipped into the doorway, his eyes locked on the fireplace that had once housed Sirius' image. "What happened to him?"

Remus whipped around, relaxing only slightly when he saw it was Harry. He stood slowly and ran his hand through his sandy brown locks. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough."

His reply extracted a quiet snort from Remus and Harry blinked in surprise. Seeing his young guest's bemusement, the werewolf explained, a melancholy smile on his lips, "It seems to run the family; James always managed to hear just 'enough' of anything he wasn't meant to."

"I know the feeling."

He received a tight nod in return. "As for Sirius, I don't know. There must have been some disturbance on his end." Remus stared at the fireplace warily, the flickering light given off from the flames giving him an eerie, haunted look.

"I'm sure he'll be okay," Harry said, trying to assure the tired man in front of him.

"And I'm sure you're right: Padfoot always did have the uncanny ability to take care of himself ... unless he loses his temper, that is," Remus allowed, slumping into the nearest armchair, indicating that Harry should do the same.

Harry did as he was told, sitting in an overstuffed armchair. Though he was sitting as close to the edge as he could, he still sank into its fat padding and had to resist the urge to slump back and doze. "Could I ask you a question, Pr - Remus?"

Remus nodded once. "If I can answer it, I will."

Harry licked his suddenly dry lips and leaned forwards even further, balancing precariously. "Well, I was wondering if you could tell me what exactly you meant when you referred to a prophecy?"

"I thought you might ask that," Remus said, sighing. "Especially as it is one of the many things that I'm not permitted to tell you."

Harry grimaced slightly at this. "That bad, uh?"

"Harry?" Remus asked, frowning as he took in the teenager's resigned expression.

"Whenever people can't tell me anything it's usually either very disturbing, very painful or, more than likely, going to get me killed ... or someone else that I care about." This earned him a small sad, understanding smile from Remus who, after a moment, seemed to be struggling to change the subject. Finally, after a short pause, Harry decided to continue. "Do you think we even stand a chance?"

"Yes," Remus said firmly, ignoring Harry's doubtful expression. "I know it doesn't look good at the moment, with the dementors and the giants joining Voldemort, but we have a few surprises up our sleeve yet, Harry. And we haven't completely ran out of allies, despite popular belief."

"It doesn't look that way," Harry remarked bitterly, before blinking and starting off on a completely different tangent. "I used to read these books - when I was younger and Dudley left them on the living room floor - about demons and monsters, the kind of stuff you used to think was hiding in the shadows. Only these tales weren't about darkness and pain, no, they always had a hero - preferably on a white stallion - who would ride in and save the day. The good guys never died, always had a witty insult on the tip of their tongues, and evil always got its arse kicked." He paused, the wistful look on his face replaced by something close to fear. "They all expect me to be the hero, but what if I don't have a white stallion?"

Remus sighed sadly, well aware that if he had been here, it would have been Sirius on his end of this conversation, soothing the boy's worries. In a way he was glad that it was playing out the way it was. For one, he didn't even want to imagine just how Sirius' would have handled that little speech, and for another, he had always felt slightly disconnected from his late friend's son and was all too aware that this conversation could well shape their relationship for the rest of their lives.

"Life isn't a fairytale, Harry. Sometimes the good guys die and sometimes evil wins but it doesn't matter if you show up on a white stallion, as per tradition, or if you come in a Muggle taxi. As long as you do all that you can do, then no one will hold anything against you ... even if you don't manage to keep up the witty repartee."

"Some people would," Harry said, obviously not believing Remus' entire rejoinder. "People believe what they read. If I died duelling Voldemort, I wouldn't be called a martyr, I'd be branded the Boy-Who-Failed."

"You've thought a lot about this," Remus said, trying hard not to smile at the boy's clever play on words. Though Harry's next words soon wiped the smile off his face.

"Kind of hard not to," Harry said, his thoughts unwillingly travelling back to that night in the graveyard, and the cruel, absent way in which Voldemort had dismissed Cedric: 'Kill the spare'. He hadn't been in the wizarding world for long after that, but he was sure that there were quite a few rumours flying around by now. Perhaps even a few accusing him of murder. Of course, they were right.

He looked up to see the concerned face of his ex-Professor hovering above him. Harry blinked; he hadn't been aware that Remus had moved.

"You've been dealt a bad hand," Remus said as he crouched at Harry's side. "No one on Earth who has any idea just how bad your life was would dare contradict that, but despite it all, somehow you've managed to pull through, stay good, stay light. Voldemort had a past very much like yours: an orphan and mistreated. The only difference is your houses and, indeed, the path you've chosen to follow. You've chosen to stay loyal to light, to defend what you believe in and protect those that you care about. Harry, if that's not a hero, then I don't know what is."

"I'm not a hero," Harry said slowly. "I've never saved the day. Everything I've done I did to save myself!"

"Funny," Remus replied quietly. "I seem to remember hearing a few comments about your first two years, and then, of course, I was there for your third little adventure, and I think everyone knows what happened last year."

"It wasn't heroic," Harry protested. "It was stupidity, stupidity and an overly large ego."

"You've been listening to Snape again, haven't you?" Remus asked wearily, recognising all too well the stereotypical insults used by Slytherins when talking about Gryffindors. "Look. Whatever your motivations, you've managed to give the light side one big advantage, and you haven't become all that jaded in the process. And you're not stupid," he added after a short pause. "Nor do you have an 'overly large ego'."

The room was silent for a minute, Harry staring into the plush carpet as though willing it to tell him all the answers. Finally he spoke. "Thank you," he said, looking up at Remus, "I needed that."

Remus smiled and, for a split second, Harry could imagine him as the teenage Marauder that he once was. "You're welcome. Now, it's getting late, and I do believe that you mentioned something about homework?"

Harry groaned, rolling his eyes as he got to his feet. He walked to the door with exaggerated slowness, ignoring Moony's chuckles. He opened the door and hesitated for a second, turning back to Remus with an uncertain expression clouding his features. "I - I'm sure Sirius will be okay."

Remus' laughter ceased and he studied Harry through uncertain eyes. Finally he nodded, a small smile flitting across his lips. "Thank you."

Harry nodded once and then slipped out of the room, heading towards one of the many arrows that were littered around the cottage. Once it had rearranged itself to point in the right direction, Harry turned and began to meander in the general direction indicated.

He had barely gotten four feet when a loud explosion rocked the cottage. He whipped around; eyes wide and muscles painfully tense. He could hear voices, cries of anger and then Remus' infuriated baritone. Then the sounds of battle, voices yelling curses and crying out in pain. A stranger's voice cried 'stupefy!' and then burst into laughter as a heavy thud reached Harry's ears.

"Find the boy, but bring him alive. Our Master has claim to his death," the same voice said, and Harry could hear the others scurrying to do as asked.

Harry froze. "Shit," he said before instinct and training kicked in, and he turned to bolt down the corridor.

But it was too late, one of the men - Death Eater - entered the corridor from the room Harry had just left and yelled when he saw Harry's swiftly retreating figure. Harry cursed and dived to the ground to duck the jet of red light that was sent his way. He scrambled to his feet and practically ploughed into the man that was suddenly in front of him. Swallowing, Harry slowly looked up, taking in the aristocratic air and outfit, as well as the white blond locks of hair that fell past his opponent's shoulders.

"Harry Potter, we meet again," the man said, his regal voice sending shivers down Harry's spine.

Harry straightened, raising his chin in defiance."Lucius Malfoy," he said in recognition, his eyes blazing with unchecked fury. "The pleasure is all yours."