I Know the Truth Now

Lastly On Wolves

The howl, as many researchers have found, is key in the wolf language--a language quite similar to that of humans. The howl signifies caste and binds the pack together, bringing up startling adrenaline and signaling the start of the hunt, victory, grief, and heralds the pack should nay member require help when in danger. It is the crucial key to the wolf heart--rendering the pack members naked to one another, revealing the truth so that they may be truly one.

Part Seven

If one had looked through a foyer or drapried living room window of the house atop the hill, named by most who knew it "Godric's Hollow," they'd have most likely thought themselves looking into the perfect family, perhaps one seen on the front of a Christmas card. A little boy, one or two years of age, tap dancing a stuffed lion across the carpet; a young mother, sitting on the floor, engaged in play with him; a father, a look of aged wisdom in his eyes, perhaps tired from his day at work, content in an armchair by the fire, surveying all with a gentle smile alighting his features.

However, very few, and none in the village nearby, could look in that window, because no one could see the house at all. The gentle garden path that once lead to a low front gate now ended in nothing--the trick-or-treaters, who had always gone to the house for its fabulous treats and kind residents (a woman dressed as a rather convincing witch beside a bubbling cauldron, a man dressed as a vampire ready to pop up and scare the unwary) all suddenly forgot to go there on their rounds. And though the family was certainly a loving one, the atmosphere at the moment was much less than card-worthy. Lily's playing with Harry was, in truth, an effort to let the boy think everything normal, and to mask her own anxiousness. And James, fighting the writhing dread in his own heart, married to guilt and betrayal, sorrow, disillusionment, and even a touch of failure, failure to whom he did not yet entirely know. He watched the scene before him feeling as though he would never see it again--unaware that he was completely right.

When Harry had become consumed with muttering incoherent talk to his stuffed toy, Lily looked up at her husband, uneasiness in her eyes. "I wish one of them was here, James. I'd feel a lot safer. Maybe Sirius..."

James smiled heavily; something about him had aged entirely, making him seem older than he was. He pushed his emotions away to the farthest corner of his mind to be dealt with later--Harry was too keen a pup not to pick up on them, and Lily knew him too well. "Don't worry, love. Sirius is checking up on Peter tonight, to make sure he's safe--he's coming by tomorrow. I told him to park that bike somewhere away so no one sees him come down, and to Disillusion it. Remus knows that motorbike, he's no fool."

Lily frowned at him, eyes clear and possessed of the same look she gave both her son and each one of the Marauders in their turn--mothering, stern, and commanding, while comforting at the same time in its clarity. "I know you don't really believe it's Remus. He knows about the prophecy, Dumbledore told all five of us... Remus, knows what would happen, he adores Harry--and you--too much to endanger us. I think it's someone else in the Order. Just woman's intuition, I suppose. It's been getting better lately, you even said so yourself."

James swallowed hard, his face tight and agonized, fighting the emotions that fought for dominance at the back of his mind. "I know, don't you think I know? But I have to trust what Sirius says--he's more objective than I am right now." His eyes fell on Harry playing, now quietly, on the rug in his blue pajamas, making his lion chase invisible prey--or perhaps letting the restless creature run across the wild living room terrain. James felt his spirits lighten slightly, as though he were that terry-cloth lion with sewed-on button black eyes and wide smile, chasing shadows in the interwoven colors of the rug. Lily followed his eyes sadly.

"I don't agree," she said softly and thoughtfully, her voice stronger than his had been. "I think he's just as biased as you are, just as responsible-feeling as a father. It's not just you and me in this family; when I married you, I knew I was marrying all the Marauders, in a way. You can't expect any of them to be more objective than you when it comes to our lives, or to Harry. We're--" she was suddenly cut off by James's hand in the air, his eyes watchful and alert. Lily froze, and listened. The slight crunching of small rocks and dry leaves, as of someone walking up the garden path, reached their ears.

"Sirius," said Lily with relief, closing her eyes. "He must have come early."

James, however, got up quickly and walked steadily towards the window. Some part of himself knew by instinct Padfoot's step, knew Moony's step, and Wormtail's. The footfalls outside, now nearing the gate, were none of them. Before he reached the window, he felt a tugging on his robes, and looked down into Harry's bright green eyes. The little boy pointed to the front door and announced, "Buh!"

A wave of understanding hit James in a frightening rush; his back went rigid; he picked Harry up, hugged him tightly for one swift moment, and handed the small boy to his wife.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!" He fought to keep the panic from his voice as he drew the mahogany wand from his robe pocket and faced the door resolutely.

Lily's eyes widened--she gripped Harry and, with a lingering look on her husband that seemed to drink him in, memorizing for the last time, stumbled from the room just as the sound of the door bursting open reached her ears, along with that terrible cackle of high-pitched laughter... Her feet took her into the kitchen, she reached a hand out towards the knob--the back door opened a foot--and, as though attracted by magnet, snapped shut again.

"No..." Lily whispered. The sounds of clicks and shuts moved all around her, from every door and window out of the house, intermixed with James's screams and a wave of pain and determination that was both his and her own flowing through her veins like a drug. "NO!" The young mother pulled at the knob both obstinately and frantically--still, it refused to budge; in a flurry of terrible rage and panic, she hurled a Reductor Curse at a window above the sink, where it was absorbed flawlessly as though hitting a pond of water. Harry whimpered and hugged her about the neck, just as James was hurled through the swinging kitchen door, shattering a chair. Voldemort's white, glaring, snake-like face glowered in at him and raised his wand again, laughing cruelly. James struggled to his feet, aided by Lily's well-aimed Impediment Jinx at the Dark Lord to protect her husband as he recovered.

"Lily, up the stairs! Try to contact Sirius and Remus, tell them to get Dumbledore and the rest of the order, go!" He raised his wand and fired at a still-recovering Voldemort, while Lily plummeted up the back stairs, holding tightly onto a silent and quivering Harry. She slammed her bedroom door shut and said a Colloportus Charm before plopping Harry safely down on the bed--hers and James's bed, where the many smells of their magic and their dreams and their power still lingered strongly, too many to count but all immensely familiar to the little boy, sitting, seeking to immerse himself in them and make everything alright again.

The sounds of shouted spells and curses, the occasional breaking and crashes of a struggle, still reached Lily, and she rushed to the fire, dashing powder hastily at it. "Sirius Black!" she shouted into the flames. "Sirius, please be there!" The unkempt kitchen of Sirius's small bachelor's flat greeted her, utterly abandoned. "Sirius, damn you, where are you?!" Several moments passed in silence, and she shouted still more, hearing nothing of him. At last Lily pulled her head out to see Harry on the bed, shaking and holding his chest as though he was cold. Lily rushed forward and hugged him close, shushing his whimpering; the battle had now reached the back stairs, and the bright light of magic could be seen under the door, dancing eerily on the carpet.

"Oh God," Lily whispered. Still holding the little boy, she returned to the flames and got ready to call Remus, before being stopped by Harry's wailing cry and a sudden bright green light, which flooded the room from under the door jam, filtering over the patchwork quilt on the bed, sending an icy claw over Lily's heart as though preparing to rip, tear, wrench something away. Her breath froze in her chest cavity, her arms began shaking violently, as the words "Avada kedavra" filled the air and echoed forever into the night.

"JAMES!" Lily screamed, as much in physical pain as mental, as the claws, true to their intentions, twisted through the tissues of her heart and pulled the very core from it, ripping the cardiovascular valves, making shreds of the walls and veins, leaving her blood to trickle out and invade the rest of her body like cold poison, leaving her empty, with only the warm spark in her arms to keep her lungs contracting and expanding in life. The green light faded, and a dull, heavy thump sounded from the hallway in a sickening anticlimax. Harry's arms wound around his mother's neck, his mother who stood, like her son, frozen and near-broken, beyond tears and on the edge of uncertainty, waiting for those footsteps to reach the door...

"Shhhh... It's okay, Harry, you'll be okay..." Lily whispered, her voice like a breeze on mountaintops, fragile yet backed by a heavy gale, hugging Harry to her, where he drank in her scent--mother's milk, chamomile, lavender teas, sharp chives from the garden, gentle autumn sun and pumpkin spice... and always, always the lilies, death flowers growing from the earth, fresh with morning dew that laced tiny, magical cobwebs like jewels and swayed, played by October mistrals. He felt himself being placed gently down on the bed, saw Lily pulling out her wand again and standing before him, shaking with loss and only half-whole, drawing ragged, valiant breath.

And there were the footsteps. "Alohomora..." The door swung inward. A towering shape swathed in black, a ghost-white face disrupted by slits of red eyes, spidery fingers gripping a wand--Lord Voldemort all but floated in on the wings of his victory, sneering horribly. Lily's hands around her wand shook with grief and rage; both fired their spells at the same moment--the stunning spells met in mid-air and rocketed away in an explosion of fiery red. Fury glanced across the Dark Lord's features.

"Get out of the way, you foolish girl, or end up like your dear husband!"

Lily's bright green eyes at once burned with hatred and power--she raised her wand and fired another charm--Voldemort conjured a silver shield--it bounced away harmlessly--then, with a horrifying sneer, struck her with a vengeance. Lily screamed, doubling over and half-covering the little boy, shaking in incredible pain, dropping her wand to the floor, where the Dark Lord picked it up silkily and snapped it; the snap reached her mind, like the breaking of a fragile stem, the tinkle of glass--she realized it was the singular sound of the last shreds of her heart breaking in half.

Eyes narrowed, he lifted the curse; Lily remained, half-crouching over her child on the bed; both mother and son shook as though convulsing. Lily straightened in front of Harry, facing the wand, weaponless save for her own body. She blocked Voldemort as he moved forward, arm outstretched for the boy, fiercely and desperately.

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" she heard herself plead, finally out of options and allowing the panic to slip into her voice.

"Stand aside, you silly girl... stand aside, now..."

Harry whimpered from the bed, trying to call for Daddy, Uncle Padfoot, or Uncle Moony, but found he had no voice.

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead--"

He made as though to push her to one side. "Stand aside..."

She grabbed his arm, a fire she felt had been beaten out her coming into her eyes. "Not Harry! Not Harry! Please--I'll do anything--"

Voldemort looked into the fire, thought he could feel the heat tingle on the surface of his skin, making him grow impatient. "Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"

Tears began to well in Lily's eyes. "Please! I'll do anything, kill me instead, please--don't kill my son..."

The Dark Lord tightened his grip around his wand and raised it. "I warned you. Now enjoy the same fate as your idiot husband--Avada kedavra!"

Once again, green light flooded the room, joined by the pained screaming of Lily Potter and the high-pitched laughter of the Dark Lord. Harry whimpered again, eyes tight shut... a strange sound had filled his ears now...

Thump thump, thump--

And stopped in suspended motion, so suddenly as to be a clean break, the paralysis of time. A muffled thump as something heavy hit the floor--another high cackle of pleasure--

"There will be none to defeat the Dark Lord... say good night, little Harry... Avada kedavra."

Though there were none to see it, those same Christmas card windows, once alight with dancing fire and the warmth of a family, the riotous and gentle glow of a pack, now filled and shone coldly with green light, before the entire house collapsed into ruins.

Part Eight

I wandered the cold stone halls in a daze, led onwards by the lingering ghost of that single howl... Simple sensations greeted me in my reverie--a caress on my cheek, a whisper of breath on my ear, the tickle of pine and wood smoke, the beating of a heart--perhaps my own--filling the world. Blue flames flickered in black sconces, their light danced ceaselessly on every surface, on my very skin, casting a deathly, deep sea pallor upon me. My feet tugged me into the circular room full of doors--the walls spun--I automatically turned towards an entryway and opened it. The Brain Room. I had walked this path twice before, once in, once out; first chasing the vision of Sirius... and then chsing his murderer.

I knew I'd never have to look to find that door at the end of the Brain Room, what I would find behind it. The longing deep in my ribcage guided me, resonating within that sweet, chilling howl. I neared the door, gathered my breath, and opened it.

A feeling rather sickly like déjà vu hit me in a foul-smelling wave--Death Eaters moved in battle along those stone tiers, engaged with Kingsley (dealing with three of them), Tonks (being backed steadily into a corner by another two), and, fearsomely, Lupin, whom I had never seen looking so ferocious, fighting a single Death Eater, his wand flashing like a rapier. And on the dais, as though they stood waiting for me, were Lord Voldemort and a small, plumped servant who cringed at his feet--Wormtail. My eyes met the Dark Lord's for a heart-stopping moment, before the voice of my most recent nightmares cut through the air like a bell...

"Awww... look there, werewolf, it's your little pup come to save you, just as he came to save my dear cousin..." undulated Bellatrix Lestrange's horrid baby voice, whom I realized with a jolt was Lupin's bony dueling partner; he'd gone on to continue the duel neither Sirius or I could finish. Intense agony filled my being, originating in the very chambers of my heart, more pain than I could ever possess on my own--Lupin raised his wand most mechanically, croaking the low word "Crucio!" Bellatrix fell hard to the ground, screaming, and I felt myself run forward to Lupin's side. I grabbed his arm.

"Professor, stop--" It only then seemed to occur to him that I was in the room; he froze, tense, testing the air; he looked down at me in a stunned paralysis, but my blood had already chilled when I realized I recognized the scream--the same woman's scream that had reached me and Tonks in the closet. But his, joining my own, had been the pain I felt, and not that of the Cruciatus--not that time, at least.

"Harry..." he whispered, terrified, while lowering his wand. The screaming stopped--Lupin touched my face in a haze, oblivious to the movement around us--we were back, again suspended in time and motion, again preventing each other from the inevitable fall. Neither of us noticed when the movements stopped, and our companions struggled against their bindings, our enemies laughed silvery laughter from behind their masks, the Dark Lord chuckled and Wormtail whimpered shrilly...

The veil sighed as though seduced by a wan breeze... Whispers, as those of troublemaking children hiding out of sight, drifted from behind it...

Wormtail, at Voldemort's feet, began to grow incredibly pale, chancing quick, nervous glances at the ancient archway, wringing his wasted hand and the silver one, trembling violently...

James watched from the corner of his eye as Lily's robes whipped out of sight up the back stair. The Dark Lord approached, almost nonchalantly, through the kitchen door, a mirthless smile playing about his thin lips.

"Infuriating whelp--did you think I'd let that little Mudblood escape with your brat? I came here with a purpose, you know... if you want to save yours and your wife's lives, you'll join me, now--your little friend Peter has already seen reason... as soon as I have you, the other three members of your miserable little gang will follow. The power you could have, and all I ask in return is that child, a small token for all your lives, really. All the trouble your lot has caused me, Potter..."

James, keeping his wand trained on the white-faced man before him, grabbed a vase full of lilies from the table, and urled it at the doorframe before his opponent could come nearer. "I'll never join you! You think I'd sell out my family, my best friends, my son, just to save my own skin? You're not getting Harry, not while a single one of us draws breath!"

Flash--James fell backwards into the sink with an incredible breaking sound, before doubling forward, coughing squelchily. Another spell came his way--he ducked to the right, towards the back stair--Voldemort laughed cruelly.

"I should have known it would be the son of your little pack that would be the one who might destroy me--too bad he won't live so long enough to perform such... great deeds." He shook his head pensively at James, who attempted to hide the fear growing inside with difficulty. "Such a shame, such a waste... you all would have made such excellent Death Eaters..."

James narrowed his eyes and backed a few steps up the stairs, eyes, now become cold, never leaving the Dark Lord's. His hand trembled. "You're not getting him!" The stairwell filled with light as both fired their spells at once; when the magic had at last died down and both had moved halfway up the stairs, James being backed steadily towards the second floor hallway, Voldemort cackled once again.

"Dumbledore had ruined you, boy... filled your mind with damn-fool ideas--you could have been great--could have helped me conquer the Wizarding world. And, instead, you are going to die in a hallway in an invisible house, needlessly, idiotically, like the fool that he's made you..."

My senses at last re-awoke to the sound of Wormtail's ragged breathing nearby. I still stood, ominously near to that horrible archway; Lupin stood behind me, hunched protectively over my shoulders, but the look in his eyes had grown somewhat lost, even feral--he had to still have been in the mesmerized state I'd been seized by, that had brought me here. My scar continued on in the dull ache I have grown accustomed to; Lord Voldemort looked before us, smiling sinisterly.

"I knew you'd come back here, Potter--just as I knew he would," he indicated Lupin, whose throat hummed in a low growl against the back of my skull. "The lot of you were always so very predictable--dangerous, yes, I'll give you that... but still predictable. It's always been that tiny element to lead to your undoing--at last, I will be rid of you..."

Wormtail whimpered all the louder. "But--but my Lord, Master--" came his squeaky, abominable little voice; I felt Lupin tense--if he hadn't been crouching over me, guarding me, I think he would have torn Wormtail asunder with his bare hands. "All my years of loyal service--please, please don't--"

Lord Voldemort smiled with mercilessness so cold it might have frozen the Christian Hell. He picked the ratty man up by what remained of his graying hair. "Wormtail, dearest Wormtail, you don't really think I'd keep a servant who owes a life to my enemies, do you? Your usefulness to me has reached its end--without these two wretches wandering about and helping to confound my plans, your connection to them is rather worthless, isn't it?" The Dark Lord raised his wand and muttered "Crucio!"

Pain and Cold filled me as Wormtail's screams tore the air of the entire chamber. Lupin's arms had again wound around my chest, as though afraid I would leap towards that veil--they shook miserably and I leaned back against him, trying my hardest to assure I wouldn't leave him. The silvery laughter of the Death Eaters all around us echoed on into darkness, but none so terrible as that terrified screaming...

James fell against the wall in a shower of glass... he could hear the Dark Lord turning the corner of the stair, could sense him preparing another Cruciatus, and he intended to be ready for him this time. Closing his eyes for a brief moment, calling up a store of something deep, something latent within, James gripped his wand and trotted up a few more steps, inches away from the second floor hallway. He flattened himself against the wall, eyes on the corner, sharp, brilliant, alert. He could hear Lily in their bedroom, still yelling for Sirius through the fire... God, Remus would never forgive him--he'd failed them, failed the Marauders, failed the Order, failed his best friends and family...

"Potter..." taunted the voice of Lord Voldemort, as though reading his mind. "Last chance to save them--good old Remus, your best friend Sirius, sweet Lily--just one tiny little word and the nightmare ends..."

Only one word, one thought, came to James's mind, however, one not about his dearest friends or the betrayer who'd destroyed them; he was suddenly there again, galloping heedlessly through the woods at the lead without fear, a confidence so whole and complete, if as fragile and fleeting as life itself, filled him. He knew Just one word. One tiny, insignificant little word. And as the face of Hell rounded the corner, he raised his wand with a great, fearless shout.

"NO!"

Without the mask,

Where will you hide?

Can't find yourself,

Lost in your lie...

I know the truth now,

I know who you are,

And I don't love you anymore--

It never was and never will be,

You don't know how you betrayed me,

And somehow you've got everybody fooled.

The Dark Lord wrenched his robes cruelly from Wormtail's clutching, imploring fingers, and swept around to circle us pensively. His face held a serene, almost loving glance, savoring the sight of Lupin guarding me desperately. I almost caught the trickle of nostalgia in those pitiless red eyes, cat's slits, as they looked into the eerily mesmerized orbs of Remus Lupin.

"I knew the brat would make you all go round the twist someday, Lupin, and so I was right. Wormtail told me all about your sweet little group years go--I had the feeling the so-called 'pup' would be bred to rise against me, just as the prophecy warned. In trying to protect him you have all fallen and failed dismally. How comforting it must be to you, Lupin, knowing you shall go in the same manner as your beloved packmates."

Something in this seemed to snap Lupin out of his fog, as I sensed him straighten behind me--though his arms did not loosen. I couldn't see his eyes, but felt, as the skin on the back of my neck prickled and gooseflesh erupted over me, running tantalizingly over my spine, the sheer, raw power in his every cell and fiber of being, radiating out from him in a savage maelstrom. He held me, not simply to restrain us both, but to prevent the Dark Lord from taking me. Some nuance in the gesture gleaned a vague familiarity, for reasons I couldn't fathom nor put into words.

Voldemort laughed at him. "How feeble your pack has become indeed, if that's the best you can offer me, Lupin. Come now, be reasonable. You have wanted to die for years--why not seize the opportunity--I am being merciful, after all. The truly wise punishment for you would be to let you rot on this earth alone, without the boy to keep you company in your misery, and without Wormtail to direct your hate."

It was my turn to tense; the coldness of Lupin's scarred flash of attempted suicide burned me through his robe sleeves.

"You're not taking him--" Lupin hissed, before being cut off.

"From you? How very touching. I should punish you for defying me all these years--a werewolf, after all, and with so many powerful friends--you should have all been my Death Eaters. Imagine, a group like you, the power you could have had, the passion and the life, what you could have done, how great you could have been. And your little brat here--" he indicated me with a light sneer that chilled my veins--"would have been saved a lifetime of hardship. I would have overlooked his unusualness... he is a half-breed, isn't he, and a cursed-blood. It's a pity none of you were wise enough to foresee what your idiotic actions would have led to--this. Too young and heedless, too drunk on yourselves to weigh what I offered you. Now you are leaderless and powerless, grown weak and few and destroyed by betrayal. The beauty of your magic and youth is gone, and I grow all the more powerful for it. Ironic, don't you think?"

Lupin relaxed; I could feel his smile. "We frightened you, Voldemort. And we still do, because you can see each one of us in Harry. We had something between us you have never felt and could never achieve, for all your years and your power. For that we will never be gone, even after death. Because you will always remember five stupid kids who weren't afraid of you, who really meant nothing, who weren't the best at absolutely everything or knew every spell and potion you could ever know, or could run the fastest in the world or got twelve O.W.L.s--five kids who were just a little clever, with a bit of magic, with perhaps too much cheek--because you will always remember, and wonder at the power you could never have."

I thought, for a fleeting moment, that I saw anger in the Dark Lord's eyes, before it was lost in an embankment of ice. "Fool! I am the greatest sorcerer in the world, there is no power you have that I could not!" He kicked out at a whimpering Pettigrew, and I felt a swell of anger. I hated the cowering man, but I couldn't help the loyalty that had begun to grow within me. Voldemort flicked his wand and, choking, Pettigrew rose into the air, his feet leaving the ground to dangle inches above it, twitching. His face turned a steadily darkening shade of blue. An involuntary sound of protest made it's way from my throat, and Lupin gripped me a bit tighter. I found myself slipping into the grasp of the haze I had only so recently escaped, the red-blue fog of a spirit embedded in my heartstrings which acts beyond by consent, a world of instinct awakening in me somewhere between reality, longing, and dreams, between birth and death where the forever young roam beneath the moon.

Before I knew it, Pettigrew had been hurled headlong through the veil followed by the high-pitched laughter of my nightmare, and I was fighting viciously to be free of Lupin's grasp while the Dark Lord taunted us. We were there again, suspended, out of the wheel of life, rocks by the stream, helplessly holding on to one another. That part if myself knew, and still knows, that if I couldn't save or be the one to release Pettigrew, I wouldn't be able to save or ever let go of Remus Lupin, or Ron, or Hermione, or any living thing in the world that I love; at the same time, could I leave Lupin on this side of the veil, unsure of my return?

Shouting came from the direction of the Brain Room, flashes of light, Death Eaters running towards the stone tiers, a panicked shout of "Crucio!" at Lupin and his arms suddenly leaving me, my heart both frozen and afire, kindled and dying in one instant, and the instinct, the passion, the death, possessing my feet to carry me forward into the veil, the rush of dark wind around me, a mother's kiss and a lover's caress, screams, whispers, my own heartbeat--slowing, slowing, slowing--and Lupin's voice growing far away, as though speaking from the other side of a wall.

Lord Voldemort stumbled down several steps with the sheer force of the spell, his composure, a mask of cold and calculation, dropping before being hurriedly retrieved like a ragged strip of fabric. He gazed u into James Potter's face, at once young and old, spirited and wise, and, above all else, full of nameless power, standing on the threshold to the upstairs hall, wand still defiantly in hand, a mosaic of anger and righteousness and that interminable Something, a power which caused the air to crackle with memories and passions, Something just out of the Dark Lord's reach. He raised his wand and fired, How dare you possess what I have not!, sending his opponent flying backwards, and ascended, feeling a fury he had never graced before.

"I offered you power, I offered you the world, you miserable whelp, and how do you repay me? A son whom you will raise to destroy me!"

James's wand flew from his grasp, disappearing down the back stair. He swallowed, squared his shoulders, and stood up tall, just feet from his and Lily's bedroom, where he could hear Harry suddenly let out a cry. James closed his eyes. I failed you. Harry, Lily, Remus, Sirius, even you, Peter. I wasn't strong enough. The stench of failure rent his senses, bitter, the smell of death and decay, of deep earth where slimy things crawl.

"I have looked forward to this for years, Potter. Good bye, and with all my fondest to you--no one aside from your dear Headmaster has fought me so well in a good many years. You've become a man, and quite a clever one--such a tragic waste. Avada kedavra."

I stopped on the threshold, and found myself at the beginning of a long, dark corridor, the veil falling back into place with a sigh behind me. Voices, once whispers, echoed in to me from a light-filled door at the end, and Pettigrew, as though being dragged towards, was some feet in front of me. My eyes widened.

Hands.

Hands on Pettigrew's robes, around his mouth, pulling him, coming from walls and ceiling, still more emerging--rotting, horrible hands, the hands of dementors, caressing hands soft as petals and smelling sickly-sweet, their aroma drowning the senses. I tried, with all my might, to grab onto Pettigrew, feeling tears sting my eyes as I thought of Lupin or Mrs. Weasley being dragged into this place; suddenly the hands held me too, so sweet, so gentle, like mother's hands, inviting me to the other side with long fingers, arms growing from the walls like perverse flowers. I almost fell into their spell, found myself wanting to fall into them--I shook my head to clear it, made a grab for the veil, to pull myselfback out--to my horror it had been replaced by a solid wall, as though it had never existed. I cried out, holding onto Pettigrew, the hands bearing me towards the light...

And then he was there. The embrace emerged from my dreams, the veil reappearing innocently, and I felt Lupin's arms encircle my chest, tugging me from the hands, who seemed rather reluctant to let go. Only his upper body came through the opening--I saw his face, grown ghostly in the light of the corridor. The hands released their grip on me, but I did not abandon mine on Pettigrew. The skin of his hand had begun to shrivel in death, his eyes to bulge as his face tightened around a protruding skeletal structure. I pulled him towards me desperately, and felt a resounding tug from his other side.

"Let him go, Harry. We'll let you leave, but not him--his time has come." Not Lupin's voice, for he had yelled with surprise just as I had--the gruff, low voice belonged to Sirius. I could see his pale, ethereal form, a hand on Pettigrew's wasted wrist, making him squirm and whimper all the louder. My Godfather, grinning sadly at me, shaggy black hair in his light eyes. Lupin's arms shook, and one extended to coax me into releasing my death grip.

"Padfoot..." he whispered, then visually shook himself. "Harry, listen to him, let go, or you'll die too..." were his words in my ear, half-choked, though I knew his eyes had fixed on Sirius--and his two companions, who took the place of those terrible hands, luring Pettigrew away from me.

My mother's beautiful, regal face came into view, eyes sad as they looked into mine, sparkling with tears; and my father next to her with Sirius on his other side, strong, proud, with gentile shoulders and head high, and it was his eyes that told me, without a word, to let go. I'd have sold my soul not to. I'd have given anything, everything, the world, to run to him and drink him in, lean against him and my mother and Godfather, drown in their essence, hear their breathing, and the rhythm of their hearts, and never feel or think or weep again. Only my father's eyes told me I could not, that the breathing would not be there, that the heartbeats had stopped to all living ears, and only continued so long as mine beat in rhythm, their Immortality. I let my hand slip from Pettigrew, felt the breath of life leave him in one shuddering gasp, leaving him to the hands of justice, more coming from the walls, those sickly flowers, which bore him, screaming and pleading without words or sentience, away.

It never was and never will be,

You're not real and you can't save me

And somehow now you're everybody's fool--

Owooooooohooohooo...

My heart still slowed, and the sound of it filled the corridor. I fell against Lupin's chest, whose eyes were on the three fading figures before us.

"James," I felt him croak, both guilty and forgiving. My father's eyes reflected the same.

"Take care of him, Moony. He needs you," he said, before fading into the shadows, taking my mother, eyes still sparkling with tears, wrapped in his arms into eternity. Sirius lingered on for a moment and our gazes met. Anger, sadness, memory, truth, and soul-saving forgiveness found each other there and tears coursed down my cheeks unbidden. Sirius gave us a last rakish smile before fading into the same eternity as my parents, leaving behind a long dark corridor filled with comforting whispers and undefined shadows. Lupin's grip suddenly tightened, and I felt the veil around me, light and air and sky and warmth and crackling electricity as we fell backwards together onto the dais, leaving the ragged fabric sighing once more as it fell back into place. I looked into Lupin's face, unsure what to say. He was crying--and so was I.

Dumbledore stood across the room, directing a few Aurors up the tiers with some of the Death Eaters, all gagged and bound, in tow. Voldemort and many others had fled, including, to my chagrin, Bellatrix Lestrange; the room was now filled with Aurors, officials, and, sprinkled throughout, quite a few Order members, one being Mrs. Weasley. She pounced on us not two seconds after our return to the land of the living, like an over-protective tigress, and practically crushed me with relief.

"There you two are, oh, we were so scared for you, no one was sure if Remus could bring you back through--you look terrible, so pale, we'll get you some soup in a skip, poor boy--how could you let him be here, even on a small mission, Remus, you knew the Dark Lord would be interested in that file, you should have let someone take him back to Headquarters--oh here, dear, there, there..." She softened and handed Lupin a handkerchief, only then noticing his tears, which he was trying very hard to keep under control. I realized then that he had not yet let me go, through all of Mrs. Weasley's fussing. I actually appreciated the woman's simplicity--as though the tears he shed could be cured by a hanky, as though the cold I felt could be remedied with soup, as though all things have a simple resolution and explanation. I used to think such things; now I know they cannot be true. I was dead for a brief moment; I still cried. And yet I still long to be a werewolf--why, you may ask?

I'm selfish. I want to run wild and savage, where I and I alone can know Lupin the way my father and Sirius did, know why they seemed so beyond death, so invincible. We young are always invincible.

Excitement over, fussing done, we were left in our incubator, our sanctuary of ghosts and memories, which will soon be replaced by another, as I've heard. But my hands have gotten a bit tired--I think Lupin would be honored to tell you that bit of our tale. So I'll leave you here, dear friend, in the light of the fire for another night, and finish with the moment the door of twelve Grimmauld Place closed behind us.

Lupin turned to me, eyes speaking of tears that could not be shed, years that could not be lived or reclaimed, desire to move forward and desire to stay in the past, where both angels and demons lurked--just around the corner. He was, unspeakable, undoubtedly, unearthly beautiful--Remus Lupin, the wolf. I know I wasn't dreaming, this time, as he kissed me.

And somehow now you're everybody's fool--

Owooohooohooo,

hoohoohoooooooo...

Fin