A Sea Change

A Sea Change

      

“There’s many a change in the ocean, love, and many a change in the sea,
But never a change in my true love’s heart, nor never a change in me.

The storms may roll the ocean, the heavens may cease to be,
This world may lose its motion, love, if I prove false to thee.”

                                                                                   —Traditional

Chapter 1

The Hut, July, 1995:

Andie applauded and cheered as Remus pulled off his clothes and leaped into the water. Harry watched, appalled.

Scars: Harry had never seen so many scars. Some were hardly visible, some horrifically deep; there were hundreds of them. They covered Remus’s lean body, crisscrossing his arms, legs, shoulders, chest, belly. Anywhere he could reach…. Harry closed his eyes, to force himself to stop staring. A bit of conversation came into his mind, a memory just over a year old: “I was separated from humans to bite, so I bit and scratched myself instead.…” The words alone hadn’t prepared him for this.

A steadying hand on his shoulder, a quiet voice: Sirius. “I know; it’s pretty much of a mess—but they’re just scars; they’ve healed. It’s OK. That’s all over for him; he has us now.”

Harry swallowed. “That’s the reason…that’s why you all wanted… you became Animagi.”

The hand moved to his head, tousled his hair. “Got it in one.” Sirius smiled. “Believe me, you’d have done the same thing. Come on, I’m ready for a swim. Who’d have believed it could get this hot?”

It had indeed been very hot during the past few days, unusual for the area. They’d spent the morning deepening and widening a stretch of the little stream behind the Hut until they finally had a place large enough to swim in.

 Andie was calling them from the centre of the pool, her eyes wide with pretended innocence: “Come on; the water’s perfect!”

“That’s a barefaced lie. I’ve been working in this all morning; I KNOW it’s freezing. But I don’t care!” Sirius threw his clothes into the pile already on the grass, and then, chortling foolishly, cannonballed into the water with a huge splash. He swam a furious circle around the perimeter of the pool, grabbed his sister by the shoulders, and ducked her before she could escape. Remus, treading water nearby, grinned approvingly.

Aha—Andie couldn’t be watching now—Harry quickly removed the rest of his clothes and jumped in, gasping at the shock of the icy water. COLD! Only the thought of being seen naked, by a woman, kept him from jumping right back out of the pool. Following Sirius’s example, he swam in a wide circle, hoping this would allow him to get used to the cold water. It did; after a moment, he no longer felt frozen stiff. The trick, he decided, was to keep moving.

She wasn’t exactly a woman, he told himself, at least not just any random woman. She was a Packmate. Family. It was OK. Harry worked very hard at making himself believe it was OK.

Family. A normal home life, Hermione had said, in her letter yesterday. Glad you’ve finally got a normal home life. Thinking about it, the total absurdity if it, made Harry grin. He watched his Pack pretending to drown each other, listened to the shouts and good-humoured insults, and  backed out of the way as Prof—Remus—rushed at him through the water. He dove underwater and grabbed Remus by one leg, pulling him under.

They all chased each other around the pool for a good while, laughing, yelling, ducking and splashing each other. Finally, however, Andie called a truce, reminding them that they should make an early tea, since it was the full moon.

Apparently, his "normal home life" from now on would include running through the countryside under the full moon with his Pack, wherever Moony led them across the hills.

They paddled to the bank and climbed out, grabbing towels. Harry carefully avoided looking at anyone, hoped they were not looking at him. Trying to act as though he always went swimming in his bare skin, with equally naked adults.... Harry grinned to himself; if only Hermione and Ron could see him now. Then, almost immediately, he blushed and began to laugh aloud: maybe not RIGHT now.

 The Pack spent lots of time just—PLAYING. In a way, he thought, it was as though they were naked all the time: they didn't seem to have any secrets from each other. They read each other's letters, wore each other's clothes, took food off each other’s plates. Harry had never seen grownups treat each other like that. He supposed it was OK; it just took some getting used to. The question was, whether he could fit in. How much would they expect him to fit in?

                           ****************************

The Hut was small, cosy, crowded. The tiny sitting room held a sofa, a huge, half-filled wall-length bookcase, a rocking chair, Andie and Remus’s bed, and the fireplace. In the corner of the room, there was a ladder to a trapdoor in the ceiling: his own room, newly built on, was up there. It was not much bigger than his old cupboard under the stairs at Privet Drive, but the Pack had made it comfortable and friendly; he felt at home up there. Harry stretched out on the sitting-room sofa, eyes half-closed, lethargic after his swim, just listening.

Andie and Sirius were enjoying some sort of joke in the kitchen as they prepared the meal; Professor Lupin—Remus—was outside on the front step, writing a letter. Harry liked knowing where they all were, while not actually being with any of them.

                                     ********************

Morning: Harry got up and dressed as quietly as he could, then hesitated. After running all over the hills last night, Andie and Remus would probably want to sleep in, and he was hungry. He wasn’t supposed to Apparate yet without an adult present, but he had never felt comfortable just climbing down his ladder into someone else’s bedroom. He’d done it every morning until now, of course; carefully keeping his eyes away from the bed, but he was glad that now he wouldn’t have to.

He’d been Apparating, mostly successfully, for a couple of days now, just around the Hut and immediate surroundings. He fixed an image of the kitchen firmly in his mind: he’d be standing, facing the bathroom door.

 Now--!

He grinned with satisfaction. He hadn’t even stumbled. He hummed his tune under his breath, the little song Sirius had made for him, as he assembled the tea things.

As he was filling the kettle, Sirius’s door opened. “If you’re making tea, put in enough for a pot, will you? I’ll cut some bread: what if we just have cheese on toast till the others wake up?”

Harry glanced up, giving Sirius a shy smile, only half anticipating the message so evident in his godfather’s eyes: (Apparating like he was born to it! Knew he’d catch on quickly. Ah, Harry, I love you so much…) the words entered his mind like a shout.

Harry mumbled something about warming the teapot, and ducked his head. He’d be happier, on the whole, not knowing so clearly what people thought, but he hadn’t found a way to stop hearing them. Other people’s thoughts had been coming into his head with greater clarity, and frequency, ever since his encounter with Voldemort in the cemetery. He supposed it was a result of listening to Voldemort himself, and the spectres of Cedric, and his parents, and the others, talking to him during the duel.

His Pack seemed to live, and think, at a higher level of intensity than most people he'd known. Their constant, loving, protective thoughts—for him and each other—had been nearly overwhelming at first. He hadn’t even been sure, during the first few days at the Hut, when people were actually speaking to him, and when they were only thinking. Gradually, the confusion had abated, but thoughts from the minds of the others still came to him unbidden.

He and Sirius carried cups and food outside into the cool morning, and sat together on the back step. It was a beautiful, golden morning. Harry stared contentedly out through the trees, glancing at his godfather out of the corner of his eye, at Sirius’s long legs stretched out in front of him. If Sirius were his real father, he thought irrelevantly, he might look forward to being that tall someday.

He heard uncertainty in Sirius’s mind and wondered what the reason was. 

After a few silent moments, Sirius spoke, a slight hesitation in his voice.

“Sorry I intruded on your morning. There’s really no place in the Hut to have any privacy. Are you usually the first one up? You get used to that time alone, don’t you. We’ll have more space in a few days, when we move to Folberg for a while.”

Harry shook his head, protesting. “It’s not like that at all; I like sitting with you. And I love it here. This is the best place I’ve ever been. I’m just not used to…I don’t know… all the playing around, and… and listening to people thinking about me all the time. The way you lot do.”

Sirius laughed. “Thinking about you? I suppose we do. Having you with us is a major event in our lives—especially mine.” He paused, gave Harry a speculative glance. “Wait a bit. Do you mean that you actually hear what we think? You’re a Legilimens?”  He grinned as Harry nodded slowly. “Cool—you don’t see that very often. Have you always been able to do that?”

“Sort of. I mean, there was the Basilisk, at school; and I had those nightmares about Voldemort; I could hear him that way. But it seemed to get stronger right before I came here; I think duelling with Voldemort caused it. I can see that it might come in useful, but mostly it’s just embarrassing. Usually it's just sort of whispers and feelings, but if I look in people’s eyes it can be pretty loud. I can’t turn it off, you see….”

Sirius frowned in thought, swirling the dregs of his tea around in his cup. “So you’re saying that if I think to myself how lucky I am to have you, and how much I love you, you can hear all that…. Yeah, I suppose that could be a bit thick. I’m not sure what to do about it, though. You’re always in my mind. 

“We—the Pack—we’ve all seen some pretty terrible times, haven’t we?  All four of us—and it’s likely we’ll see more. Any day, you know, Voldemort could come back, or I could be caught again, and… and put back into prison—anything could happen. And memories of the bad times come back whether we want them to or not, sometimes, don’t they.”

Harry sensed deadly fear, guilt, despair. He looked up sharply, but instead of hearing his godfather’s thoughts, the image of a blank, solid brick wall entered Harry’s mind. Blocked—Sirius was keeping him out!  “Put back into prison” wasn’t what he’d been going to say. Harry gazed doubtfully at his godfather. Sirius steadily returned the look, his eyes sombre.

“You don't want to know all that; nobody should have to know it. We’re lucky, just at the moment. We’re together, we’re not hurting, we’re safe.

“Remember Remus’s scars? You could pretend they’re not there, just ignore the whole situation. Polite people would advise that…. Or you could cry for him, if you let yourself think of the pain and misery he’s been through. I did that: when we were kids, the first time I saw…. They were worse back then; lots of them were recent. Cried myself to sleep, that night.

“Or, there’s a third choice:  you could fight it. I mean, try to balance the pain and bad times with something good. That’s what I decided, eventually. I made it my job at school to make sure my pal Moony had as much fun as possible. I wanted to see to it that he had some good times, d’you see? To think about, when he needed them. I was pretty good at acting the fool anyway, and it made me feel useful. It was like getting top marks, every time I made him laugh.”

Sirius turned away from Harry’s gaze and looked down towards the burn, where a heron stood motionless in the water. A slow grin transformed his face, softening the gaunt features and dispelling the sad, remote look in his eyes. “After all this time, I’m still inclined to fancy Option Three: it’s more fun, and there’s really no point in wasting time on the other two. He’s survived, he’s happy—we all are—and I see that as a cause for celebration, don’t you?

“And now that you’re here it's even better!  We've won, haven’t we? For now."

Sirius reached out a long arm and hugged Harry to him. After a split second of hesitation, Harry relaxed against his godfather’s side and put his own arms around Sirius. He was learning to be hugged: to be pulled close to someone without having his elbows or other bony bits sticking out awkwardly. It was getting easier, when they didn’t catch him off-guard. He laid his head on Sirius’s shoulder, squashing his glasses into the side of his nose.

“Lots of the foolishness the Pack gets up to is just a part of the celebration. I know it looks silly, but it’s such a joy to be together—I’m afraid you’ll just have to get used to my thinking at you, and occasionally behaving like an idiot.”

 “Behaving like an idiot?" Andie had opened the door and stuck her head out, laughing. "Sirius is the world champion at that. He’s won cups and medals for it. Why don’t you two have breakfast ready? We’re starving, and there’s nothing on the table but CHEESE.”

                          ********************************

The letter arrived during breakfast. Sirius read it through, his expression slowly changing from mild surprise to outright glee. He sat staring at the parchment, grinning like a madman, until Remus twitched it from his hands. Remus glanced at the letter, laughed softly, and passed it to Harry, who allowed Andie to look over his shoulder as he read it:

 

Dear Sirius,

Hope this finds you well. Dumbledore told me the good news, about you being innocent. Very glad to hear it. Wish I could say I knew it all along, but at least I am glad to know it now. Best of luck to you and Harry.

I have cleared out the tool shed and you are welcome to come for your motorbike any time you like. Professor Dumbledore says you will be needing it.

Thanks for looking after Beaky; he is doing very well. He and Esme have a nest of young now: three healthy babies.

Yrs Sincerely,

Rubeus Hagrid

Sirius's eyes were sparkling, his mind a jumble of mechanic’s thoughts that Harry could hear but not understand. He spoke softly, excitedly, more to himself than to the Pack: "The old Shadow.... It'll have to have a thorough cleaning and lord knows what else; I hope Hagrid drained the tank before he stored it. I need.... Moony, old friend, would you mind making a trip to a Muggle garage for me?  I'll make you a list.... Oh, and helmets. Two. Fourteen years, nearly; it'll be a miracle if I can get it to run.... Well, at least it's been out of the weather.... Harry, how would you like to help with some motorbike restoration? "

Harry heard amusement, love for Sirius, and—oddly, he thought—hope, from Andie and Remus. He listened, watching one face after another, wondering.

Remus said nothing, but sat beaming affectionately at his old friend. Harry turned to look at him: (Oh, Pads…almost there, aren’t we. Another missing piece taken care of; that’s excellent. Good old Hagrid.)

Andie was smiling with delight. "Just what you two need for a spot of father-son bonding: mechanical repairs...and bad language, if my memory holds true.”

She turned to Harry, her eyes dancing. “Sirius spent the whole summer that he turned sixteen enchanting that motorbike to fly. Hagrid borrowed it, he told me, to rescue you, and then kept it safe when—when everything fell apart, and Sirius went to prison."

Sirius blinked, smiled gently, and shook his head. "It wasn't quite like that: as I recall, I gave him the bike. Hagrid had to get you away from your house; it was a wreck. I thought I knew where Peter would run; I just Apparated. I figured I could finish him before some of his nasty friends got me.... As it was, it took me longer to find him than I thought, and I wasn't expecting him to...." He shook his head, chasing away demons. "At any rate, yes, Hagrid took you to Dumbledore on that bike, and it seems he wants to give it back now."

Harry froze, frowning into space, his mouth open. He suddenly remembered... remembered... a motorcycle; a dream he'd had, several times. Maybe, then, not a dream after all. "Right,” he said slowly. “I was there. It was... really loud. It was great! But I think I fell asleep...." He looked at Sirius eagerly: "That was your motorbike? And we're going to get it back? Brilliant!"

                                                   *******************

    

Hermione’s mother had made her leave all her books at home. “Why don’t you try having a real holiday for once, darling? You know your friends will want to do other things; you should be looking forward to a bit of fun before school begins.”  She’d been a little bit annoyed with her mother at the time, even though she knew it was just her way of showing concern.

Her parents were kind, but a bit shy about prying, or asking too closely about their daughter’s activities. They knew the last school year had been traumatic; they knew a classmate had been killed and one of Hermione’s close friends had been in a terribly dangerous tournament of some kind. They had not talked to her very much about these things; they didn’t quite know how. But they hoped she was recovering; they hoped she would be all right.

Magic in general confused and worried them a bit, but they had never even remotely suggested that they would stand in the way of their daughter’s developing her talents.

Hermione’s parents understood working toward goals.

She packed her bag (leaving out the books) and put Crookshanks into his basket. Hermione thought he would be happier at the Burrow than at the Granger house during her absence, and Mrs Weasley had agreed to keep him, saying kindly that he would be useful in keeping the gnomes down. Hermione kissed her parents goodbye at the station and caught the train to Ottery St. Catchpole. Ron would meet her at the outskirts of the village and walk with her to the Burrow.

It would have been nice to have a book for the train, she thought grumpily.

          

                                             ******************

There he was, with Ginny beside him, both of them waving frantically; could Ron have grown a bit taller in just two weeks? He was going to be even taller than Bill, if he kept growing like this. She grinned and waved back, and hurried a bit.

“Hermione! You’ll never guess in a million years who’s taking us to Harry! And who he’s with! And where we’re going! Just you wait—they’re at the Burrow now—NO, I’m not telling!”

                                             ********************

She could almost have guessed it would be Professor Lupin; she knew he and Sirius were best friends. But he looked so different, in a way she found hard to define: he was just as thin; there was just as much grey in his hair. But he was healthier, perhaps. There was a difference in the way he carried himself; she couldn’t quite say exactly—but he was laughing, in an easy, carefree way she’d never have thought he was capable of, when he’d been her teacher. He was... happy, she decided.

And he had a woman with him! Andie, what a good name for her; it fit. A girlfriend? Hermione stared, when she thought nobody was looking: Andie looked familiar to her, somehow, with her curly black hair and her pale eyes. She seemed kind, and friendly, and very funny. She was chatting, mostly with Mrs Weasley, teasing Professor Lupin, as they sat drinking tea in the kitchen.

“We do all look to Remus as the coolest head amongst us, but don’t be fooled; he needs us as well. He needs Harry, to give him the chance to show off his professorly talents; me to...DRESS him…” she gave his collar a tug, straightening it, “…and my brother to teach him patience!”

Her brother. Sirius? Hermione looked across the table at Ron, who nodded gleefully. It was obvious, now that she knew: the colouring, the irrepressible smile, the energy. So this was Harry’s new family—the Pack, as he’d called them in his letter. Hermione had never considered Harry to be lucky before, but… what a family! She thought of her own non-magical, ordinary, shy but anxious parents waving to her as she got on the train, and felt a twinge of guilt for comparing them.

                          *********************************

Hermione was the only one of the four of them who had ever flown in a plane before. Ron was impressed with the airport, the vending machines, the plane itself, and, not least, with Hermione’s savoir-faire. She had chosen seats, purchased the tickets, checked the luggage, and shepherded everyone aboard with an air of competence that held him in awe of her in a way that Hermione found quite satisfying.

Professor Lupin was grateful to her, and said so, very kindly. “You’ve saved us a good deal of fumbling here, Hermione, thank you.”

"It's just everyday stuff; we've gone to France often enough on holiday that I'm used to it." Nevertheless, she was pleased that they all noticed.

The ship in Bergen harbour was another thing entirely: bright green, scarlet and gold, sparkling in the sun, with cheerful, blond giants Andreas and Erik as a Viking crew. Nothing in Hermione's experience could match it. They glided majestically out into open water, with no sound but the sighing of the wind and the creaking of lines.  Andie and Remus lent a hand with mysterious adjustments, and the huge golden sails stretched gloriously above them.

Ron was enthralled. He stood transfixed, staring up at the sails, finally moving only when Andreas laughingly called out and grabbed him as the boom shifted, nearly sweeping him along with it. "You like the ship, do you?"

"It's brilliant; it's the best thing I've ever seen."

Andreas laughed at him and led him to the stern of the ship. "Here, stand beside Erik; he can tell you what makes it all work, and you'll be in less danger of being swept overboard." Erik obligingly began a comprehensive description of lines, masts, engine, fittings, handling, navigation and maintenance, which would have boggled a casual listener's mind, but suited Ron exactly. His heart was lost.

The breeze—no, the WIND—was brisk and cool; Hermione's hair blew in her face, whipping at her cheeks. She shivered. Andie noticed, and found her a jacket from one of the many storage compartments tucked away in odd places about the ship. "Here; I know it's too big, but it'll keep you a bit more comfortable." She also produced a bit of string to tie Hermione's hair back in a ponytail. Andie's own short hair was held down with a cap that gave her a carefree, tomboyish look; Hermione decided she was going to like Andie very much.

Andie sat beside Hermione and chatted about the school—Folberg—up the coast where she and Remus worked; it was a bit like Hogwarts, she said, only smaller.

Hermione had hundreds of questions in her mind: how was Harry? How did they live? Was Andie Remus’s girlfriend? What exactly was their family life like? Was Sirius really a proper guardian for Harry?—but she didn’t ask any of them. Andie may have guessed at her curiosity; she began telling Hermione about the little shepherd’s hut they had turned into a home, and about the motorbike Hagrid had given back to Sirius. "Sirius and Harry should arrive at about the same time as we do; they're coming on the motorbike."