Midwinter Sun

Midwinter Sun

Laughter is the sun that drives winter from the human face. - Victor Hugo

Mere fact will never stop an Englishman. - George Bernard Shaw

I stumbled into Grimmauld Place, quite literally. I had never thought that a trip through London would take so much out of me. It was all I could do to make it to the kitchen and collapse on a chair. I was relieved to escape the embarrassment of stumbling over my own two feet all over London.

The darkness and memories haunting Grimmauld Place were oppressive. From my vantage point on the kitchen chair, no matter where I looked there were memories of Sirius. Here was where he and Remus had sat when I fire called them from Umbridge's office. There was where he sat at Christmas dinner. Over by the sink was where he had talked to me about my appearance before the Wizengamot.

I closed my eyes and tried not to cry. I had mourned my godfather's death in the privacy of the second bedroom at Privet Drive. I had dealt with the deaths of my parents and of Cedric. I could deal with returning to Grimmauld Place. I would not bawl like a girl in the middle of the kitchen when anyone could walk in on me.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Remus murmured as he took his seat beside me.

I merely shook my head, not trusting my voice.

"Would you like some tea?" he offered, not unkindly.

I smiled, remembering our meetings in my third year, when he taught me the Patronus Charm, the one that had saved Sirius. Somehow, that memory still remained untainted by my grief at my godfather's death. "That might be nice."

"Mint or chamomile?"

"Normal tea?" I asked, slightly confused. Tea with Remus was always tea. He had never struck me as the sort of man who resorted to herbal teas.

Remus looked sorry, but shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Since we don't know exactly what's wrong, you probably shouldn't have any stimulants. I don't want to hurt you or have Poppy, Severus, and Emmeline on my back."

Slightly disappointed, I agreed with his points. "Mint, then."

I watched Remus tap the kettle to boil the water. I was still quite confused, but it was clear that Remus was doing what he could. It would not do to blow up at him. Whatever was happening was probably my fault, anyway.

"Remus!"

"What?"

Suddenly, I felt bad. From the look on the werewolf's face, he had assumed that something absolutely monstrous and terrible had happened to me. "It's a good thing, sir. Look at my legs! They look normal!"

Remus looked down and then smiled at me. "So they are."

"There's nothing to worry about then," I crowed. "This means it was just a- a coincidence or something, right?"

Remus just looked at me soberly.

"Right?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe? But I'm fine now! I don't need Snape's help!"

At that point, I heard the distinct noise of Tonks falling over herself in the hall and regretted raising my voice to Remus.

The portrait of Mrs. Black, a loathsome decoration in a must-encrusted home, began to shriek and howl. "Filthy traitors! Half-bloods! Mudbloods!" As the painted woman continued her wild rant, I could not help but flinch, for she, as with everything in that godforsaken house, reminded me terribly of my loss.

Probably sensing my innate discomfort at being in my late godfather's home and my equal discomfort at the thought of becoming Snape's patient (or, as I then thought, guinea pig), Remus wrapped his arm about my shoulders, not terribly unlike the paternal and avuncular gesture he had offered me the previous day when we were shopping. Once again, I leant into it, needing, on many levels, the support he offered to me.

I suppose that it was around this time, the summer I turned sixteen, that I began to look to Remus as I had previously looked to Sirius. Before that summer, Remus had been my former professor. Yes, I knew that he had been a close friend to my father and had watched out for me during my third year and was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, but that was all he had been. Then, he suddenly seemed to pick up where Sirius had left off. I do not pretend to think that some of it was not out of guilt: I later learned that Snape had told the Order of some of the results of our Occlumency lessons, most specifically of the abuse I suffered at the hands of the Dursleys during my childhood. He has since admitted to me that it had stung him deeply to learn this and that he still feels guilty that he, as the last Marauder standing, had abandoned me. I have tried many times to deter him from this spectacularly negative line of thought, but it remains. He also was trying to fill the gap left by Sirius in both of our lives. He had been uncommonly close to Sirius, and I was clearly grieving for the loss of my first and last truly parental figure. We were both quite vulnerable that summer and it was not terribly surprising that we learned to cling to one another like drowning rats. Perhaps rat is the wrong animals to be using. Drowning dogs? Drowning wolves? Nonetheless, the expression speaks for itself.

Tonks poked her head into the kitchen, currently sporting hazel eyes and blue curls, a slightly disturbing combination that she repeated often that summer. "Snape back?"

If anything, Remus tightened his hold on me at Tonks' comment. "No, not yet. He did say, though, that he'll be by later tonight."

"Tell him then that Kingsley won't be back tonight?"

Remus nodded.

"Why won't he come back?" I asked.

"Wotcher, Harry!" Tonks exclaimed when she saw me. "Didn't see you sitting there! Old Shacklebot's been tied down at the Ministry lately. I'm lucky I managed to escape their clutches today."

She and Remus laughed at this, the dry, rusty laugh of people who have little to laugh at, but know that if they do not laugh at something, they will break apart another way.

"Would you like to join us for some tea?" Remus offered.

Tonks shook her head, the blue curls cascading around her face and neck, somewhat like a strange, earthbound mermaid, though I doubt that Tonks would have taken kindly to a comparison to the Muggle Sirens. "Can't. Ministry thinks I'm off investigating something or other. I just wanted to pop by and see how everything was running here."

When she left, not rousing Mrs. Black for a second time, Remus turned and poured me my mint tea. I was pleased to note that he was joining me in the herbal brew, rather than taking what we both wanted, but I could not have.

"You seem nervous, Harry."

I remember staring at him in shock. Of course I was nervous. He and Snape had literally picked me up from the Dursley's (never home) in Surrey and brought me to the house of my late and beloved godfather due to a mysterious ailment they refused to out-and-out explain. Why would I not be nervous?

Remus laughed, this time a slightly mirthful chuckle, most probably at the look that undoubtedly decorated my face. "Don't be so worried."

"Don't be so worried?" I snapped, the old feelings of anger and frustration quickly rising to the surface. "Don't be so worried? What would I be worried about? Something is quite clearly wrong with me - and how would I ever be able to save the world and kill Voldemort if I'm defective?"

The look in Remus' eyes was almost enough to break my heart and I suddenly felt incredibly guilty, but the pain was gone from his face almost as quickly as it had come, and he became quite composed. "You know that's not why I'm here."

"No, of course not. I'm James' son, that's why you're here. Snape is here - or will be - because the Boy-Who-Lived can't have any problems."

It became clear that Remus was trying to restrain his anger, He became very concentrated on his teacup, his fingers bent tightly around the rim, though he did not sip, and the werewolf took several deep breaths. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he bit out between his teeth, "but I'm not looking after you just because you are James' son and certainly not because I think you need to save us all. I'm worried because you are Harry - the messy-haired boy who loved my class enough to seek me out and ask questions about Dementors, even though it exposed your vulnerable points. You're the boy who has had a rough childhood and a rocky adolescence. You are a student with a knack for Defense and a hatred for both Divinations and Potions. You're Harry. And, yes, you are the only son of my best friend. You are the Boy-Who-Lived. That is part of who you are. But you are more than that. Do not underestimate why people care about you, Harry."

Hearing Remus' emotions and realizing that I was acting like a complete and utter prick, I fell silent. I honestly had no idea what to say. No one had told me that they cared for me like that; certainly not the Dursleys! I was something of a surrogate child to the Weasleys, but they already had more than enough children and often felt that their care and love was implicit and needed no words. Sometimes Remus had more understanding of me than I really cared to know.

"I'm sorry," I admitted, breaking the cold silence. "It's just... So many people don't. They see my scar. Or my hair. Or my eyes. It's like... Sometimes I just want to be me. Harry."

Despite my utter lack of coherence, Remus seemed to know what I meant. Once again, that comforting arm wrapped around my shoulders. I had gone for so many years without contact like that - just simple gestures of affection from someone as close as family - that it felt wonderful to merely be held for a few moments, even if I were a sixteen year old boy.

"We do see you like that, some of us, anyway."

"Then why are you keeping me in the dark about all of this? If you really care, wouldn't you just tell me what's going on? I mean, it's my body!"

Remus sighed, but did not remove his arm.

"Professor?"

"Harry, there's a reason we're not telling you," Remus answered after a moment of silence.

I tensed, remembering that a great deal had been hidden from me and, most probably, a great deal more was still hidden from me, all by people who most definitely had their 'reasons.'

"We don't know."

"What?"

"We don't specifically know what is going on. That's why Severus and Emmeline are coming later."

"But Snape said he knew something!"

"No, he didn't," Remus sighed.

"He asked me about my visions," I protested.

Remus shook his head, but did not appear to be angry. "Harry, he had to ask. If this were an effect of your visions, drastic measures would have to be taken. It is hard on you, I know, to deal with Voldemort, but if could be physically hurting you - it would only become worse as time progressed."

"You can stop my visions? Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"We could. But it would be deeply involved. You wouldn't be able to sleep on your own and you would have to be in the constant presence of an experienced Legimens and Occlumens, mostly likely the Headmaster or Severus."

This quieted me. The thought of not needing to endure Voldemort's sick-minded games was nothing short of miraculous, but I did not like the idea of spending my life joined at the hip with Dumbledore or Snape. I had a terrible history with Snape and I was still furious with Albus for keeping the Prophecy from me for all of those years. Also, I admit, I partially blamed both men for the death of Sirius, though I still felt his death on my own hands as well.

I did not leave the kitchen of Grimmauld Place that afternoon. Remus tried to lure me into the rest of the house, asking me if I wanted to keep the room I had shared with Ron the previous summer, if I wanted to help clean the drawing room, if I wanted to see how Molly Weasley had fixed the stairs (and removed the House Elf heads). Each time, I resisted, not wanting to experience the memories the sights would undoubted force me to remember. Looking back, this was rather cruel to Remus, who had lived the year with Sirius in that house.

The two of us ate a strained and quiet supper in the kitchen. None of the Order members had been by since Tonks' surprise visit earlier in the afternoon. It was a simple meal - some stew, a bit of bread and butter, a little more mint tea. It was a lovely change from the food at Privet Drive, but the atmosphere was oppressive and hardly conducive to usual mealtime chatter. We barely finished it before Snape and Emmeline Vance tumbled out of the fireplace.

I remembered Emmeline Vance from the previous summer: she had been among the Order members who had rescued me from the Dursleys' and flown me to Grimmauld Place. She looked rather no-nonsense, with her hair tied away from her face and her robes without the frills and drapes that many witches enjoyed. She looked to be only a bit younger than Snape, but the soot that marked her face might have added some to her age. Her face, though relatively smooth, had the maternal look some women have and I admit I found that to be rather comforting. If she and Snape were to be looking me over tonight, at least one of them would not be cruel about it.

"Harry Potter," Vance said with a smile, as Remus handed both her and Snape some hand towels with which to wipe their faces. "It is a pleasure to meet you again, though I wish it were under better circumstances."

Snape just scowled at me, no doubt remembering my reckless history and deciding already that the only reason I was there was that I had somehow injured myself on one of my wild, pointless, Gryffindor adventures.

"Why don't we go somewhere more comfortable?" Vance suggested. "This might take some time and it won't be any fun to do it on these hard wooden chairs."

I looked at my feet, once again not wanting to venture out into Grimmauld Place. Thankfully, Remus took over and led us to the drawing room, where he joined me on the sofa and Snape and Vance took two wingback chairs. The room was only lit by a fire in the fireplace and the few candles, some in sconces on the walls and some on the side tables, that Remus saw fit to light. Still used to Muggle incandescent lighting, the flickering gold of fire seemed to play games with my eyes and make the shadows in the corners loom. Vance, who was, apparently, a Mediwitch from St. Mungo's, asked me a number of questions.

Some of the questions were rather uncomfortable. I had to answer personal queries about my childhood and home life. Once, when I described my cupboard, Remus left the room for a few minutes and I could hear him pacing up and down the hallway outside the drawing room, muttering to himself. Even Snape looked taken aback after some of my answers about my childhood. When the question and answer session was over, Vance, Snape, and Remus knew more about my life than I had ever dared tell Ron, Hermione, or Sirius. The adults looked exceptionally displeased, even Snape. Remus muttered something about strangling Uncle Vernon when I explained about the bars on my window before my second year. Vance's expression merely became darker and darker throughout the interview and when she had finished she murmured a few invectives against Dumbledore. Sometimes I wonder how my life would be different if I had told people about my home life before I did, rather than naïvely assuming that they knew because they looked after me.

Then Vance told me to lie down prone on the sofa. With the help of Snape, she cast a number of diagnostic tests on me, sometimes murmuring quietly under her breath. Periodically, she would ask me questions pertaining to my health, such as, "Why are all of the bones in your arm so new?" and, "You seem to be suffering mildly from malnutrition. I thought you said that your relatives had been treating you well?"

After about an hour or so, she and Snape spread some parchment on a side table and began an earnest discussion between the two of them. Remus rejoined me on the sofa, this time not touching me. "Do you have any questions?"

I shrugged. "When will they know what's wrong with me?"

"That's a rather negative way to look at things."

I did not particularly care if I was being negative or not. It was a fair question and I told Remus so.

"It depends. Depending on the information from the diagnostic scanning, we might know tonight or we might need to wait some time."

For a while, we sat in relative silence, Remus and I watching the hearth fire and my examiners consulting charts and spells and books. As I heard a clock chime eleven, I was slightly shocked that it was so late. The Mediwitch and Potions Master were still in conference and Remus and I were still politely sitting on the sofa, though Remus had retrieved a tome on blood magic from one of the book shelves. I had been nervously folding and refolding a piece of parchment into interesting shape and it was beginning to be worn along the folds despite its durability.

"One last test, Potter," Snape announced from his place by the table.

Resigned and a bit tired, I looked up. "Do I need to lie down again?"

Snape shook his head, his greasy hair shining in the firelight. "This potion should tell us the rest of the information we need." He handed me a vial of clear, but thick liquid.

I swallowed it as quickly as I could. The potion tasted terribly bitter, but as though the maker had tried to sweeten it. It was a nauseatingly taste, only made worse by the fact that it coated the mouth and throat. It lingered on my taste buds and filled my nose, making me want to sneeze. I struggled not to gag on it. A few minutes after swallowing it, my limbs began to shine with a soft, slightly golden glow.

As Vance sat down in her chair, hard and clearly shocked, Snape voiced their mutual reaction. "Oh, damn."

*