The Darker End of Night

The Darker End of Night

Prologue

Harry pushed the door open a crack, hearing thumping mingled with spurts of mild curses from inside; he hadn't known Lupin was back. For a second, paranoia leapt keenly, if irrationally, into his mind - Deatheaters? Had they somehow got inside? He almost jumped out of his skin at a sudden loud crash from the other side of the door. The exclamation that followed, however, put his racing mind at ease.

"Blast!" No Deatheater. Harry held back a soft laugh, trying to ignore his amusement at the man's inability to swear. Shoving the door open further, the boy stuck his head into the room, grinning at Lupin, sitting amid a swarm of cardboard boxes, looking particularly disgruntled.

"Alright, Lupin?" Harry managed, still just keeping back laughter. The man did not appear amused.

"Oh, hello. It's you." Despite his best efforts, Lupin did not miss the almost-smirk dancing at the corners of Harry's mouth. "Well, if you've nothing more helpful to do than gloat at my unhappy accident, Harry-" Harry saw that one of the boxes seemed to have fallen, spilling its neatly packed contents, landing on Lupin's foot which he was clutching bitterly. "- then I must ask you to leave. I am extremely busy." He winced as the injured foot gave way to another twinge of pain. The offending smile was squashed apologetically as the boy eased himself into the room.

"Sorry. Need a hand?" That was greeted coldly. "Here." Leaning down, Harry offered an arm and pulled the man to his... foot. With considerable hobbling, the pair made their way to an armchair and Lupin was deposited carefully into it, rubbing his wounded appendage.

Harry knelt by the broken box and started to assemble its escaped contents; around him were all sorts of strange items he had never seen before, but after seven years in the wizarding world little surprised him the way it had done once upon a time. What did puzzle him was, what was all this stuff doing strewn haphazardly around Lupin's impeccably tidy room? He voiced as much as he was picking up a book on which faded letters read "A Practical Study of Vampyres by Drake Valemos"

"What's all this stuff doing here, Lupin?" A book entitled "Spirits of the Ice: Secrets of Siberia" was eyeing him malevolently. Lupin sighed.

"Moving. Since I've been spending so much time here recently - pass me my wand, Harry, there's a good boy - I thought it seemed only sensible that my things come with me." Something occurred to him. "I... I do hope you don't object, Harry. I know this house is really still-"

Harry cut him short without so much as looking up. "It's not mine. I don't want it." There was a sullen pause. "I didn't want any of Sirius' things." At just the appropriate moment, Kreacher barked something incomprehensible on the floor below.

"No. I can see why you wouldn't want him to deal with, in particular." Lupin commented, to fill the silence that swept in after the shout.

"There, that's better." He set his wand down on the arm of the chair at his side and gave the foot a tentative prod. "Never underestimate the use of a common or garden healing charm, Harry." Once he had levered himself up out of the char, he started to shunt a few of the boxes into slightly better order. From somewhere he produced a bar of chocolate and threw a chunk of it to Harry, gnawing casually on his own as he sorted through his massed possessions, tsking every so often - at some especially pointless item or just at the sheer quantity of it all. "Another thing worth remembering, Harry, is that it never occurs to you how much you own until you try to move the blessed stuff. It's the sort of life lesson I am considerably prone to forgetting." Harry made no reply, for a moment, keeping his attention peculiarly fixed on the collection of potion ingredients he was unpacking into rows that were as neat as he could manage amid the chaos.

"You don't have to do that, you know."

"Do what, Harry?" The boy still didn't try to meet the man's eyes.

"Talk like Dumbledore, I mean. Try to teach me life lessons by talking about slightly excessive book collections. It's the sort of thing he would have done and, well, don't."

Lupin's expression morphed into one of honest surprise. "Why, Harry, I assure you I never meant to do anything of the kind. It hadn't even come to my notice that I was-"

"Bullshit."

Lupin didn't try to correct him again. He finished the box he was emptying and then stood back surveying their progress. "Well, I call this a success so far. How about a break? I might have some butterbeer around here somewhere, or would you prefer tea?"

"Either's fine." Lupin, feeling the interaction slipping out of his grasp, picked his way through the mayhem to where a tea set stood on a shelf. He took two cups and saucers down from their places, set them down on the table and, with a flick of his wand, filled them both with steaming tea. A bowl of sugar stood there already and Lupin dropped a lump into each before carrying the tea back to where Harry was kneeling, still, on the floor. The boy accepted his cup wordlessly, leaving it next to him while he continued to go through the box to which he was then attending. The last book to be withdrawn appeared to be a photograph album, he realized, curiosity sparked into interest. Not bothering to glance over his shoulder to see whether Lupin was watching, he flipped open the cover, greeted instantly by a picture of four teenage boys. All of them grinning and waving. A small smile ghosted over Harry's lips as he identified each of them - the first was a skinny boy with a thick wave of blonde hair hanging mostly in his face. The pair of arms wrapped tightly around his waist belonged to a boy of similar build but with a shaggy mane of glossy black hair and dark, stormy blue eyes. Next to them, a boy with a pointed, mouse-like face and light brown hair - no prizes for recognising the soon-to-be-traitorous Peter Pettigrew. And the other boy... well, it could have been Harry, but for the eyes; James' eyes were a pale, speckled grey, where his son's were to be vibrant green. Resisting the morbid attraction of losing himself in that picture - father, guardian, friend and murderer - he turned the page.

The next picture... he had to stop. His godfather and Lupin were quite alone in this picture and, as far as Harry could see, neither was in the least distressed by this state of things... He was still staring at the picture, confusion and shock marked on his face, when a hand reached past his shoulder and knocked the book shut with a snap.

"You need a break, Harry. Drink your tea." Not wanting to see Lupin's expression, he pushed the book away and picked up the cup with his eyes lowered - though his gaze was drawn continuously back to the worn leather cover. The silence, except for the hesitant clink of cup against saucer, swallowed the room, forcing voices back into constricted throats. Only when even the pretence of being absorbed in tea-based activity had been utterly expended did Lupin rise, somewhat wearily, from his chair and put the cup away. Harry quickly followed suit and resumed his determined helpfulness.

"Well, 'd say we're about halfway there. What do you say to-"

"You and Sirius." The flatly accusing comment caught Lupin off his stride and he stumbled on it.

"I, uh, don't believe I know what-"

"Stop that!" Harry spun around, fixing Lupin with a glare born of hurt and... betrayal. "Stop acting like you don't know what I'm talking about! You and Sirius were... together, and neither of you bothered to tell me! And I sick of it! Everyone acts like I don't need to know anything, like I'm fragile or unstable or something! Dumbledore was never like that. With anyone. He trusted people." It seemed then that Harry realized where his outburst and was trying to pull the conversation back to safer, more solid ground. "What do you want moving next?" But Lupin's face had gone pale.

"Harry, neither Sirius nor I intended to keep that from you. But our relationship - that relationship ended a long time ago. Before you were born. We didn't think there was any point in telling you." His voice hardened - from apology to reproof. "In any case, something you obviously have yet to learn is that adults, even teachers, have secrets they'd rather remained secret. I have them, Sirius had them, so did your parents and so, quite definitely, did your saintly Dumbledore. He didn't tell you everything, Harry, and not because he trusted you or because he didn't. Some secrets have to be kept. If they weren't..." Here he trailed off, his expression vacant and unreadable, finding himself on quicksand again and wondering if it might be simpler just to sink and have done with it.

"What?"

The man shook himself and turned away, busying himself with a fresh box. "People would get hurt. That's what. Don't argue with me, Harry." The boy said no more. They were quietly until everything was unpacked and sorted except for something standing by the fire place, a dust sheet slung over it and a shoe box at its foot. Lupin - his mood quite altered - positively skipped towards it. A look of almost childish glee lit his face as he pulled away the sheet with a flourish. "This is one of my treasures Harry. You're parents gave it to me many years ago. It's a pensieve!"

"I know." Harry recognized it, but the stand in which it rested was exceptionally beautiful - far more splendid than the one in Dumbledore's office. He had never seen one like it. Silver bars wound softly around a column of marble, holding a fine china basin. Harry's dull acknowledgement seemed to have sucked some of the wind from Lupin's enthusiasm - he appeared deflated.

"Yes, of course you do. I should have guessed." He seemed to recover his excitement soon enough and once again fell to fussing carefully over the device. "Harry, pass me that box, will you?" The shoe box had been pushed to one side but Harry located it easily enough, half obscured by the discarded dust sheet. He held it out, absently inspecting its tattered corners and faded label; it was peeling, he noted without interest.

"Thank you. I only hope none of them are broken. The floo trip wasn't as gentle as it might have been. I think a few people may need to sweep their chimneys, but never mind that now." He leant over to grab his wand from the arm of the chair and moved the pensieve, complete with its stand, over to the wall. Next to it, on top of a low bookcase, Lupin set the bow down and began to remove its contents; its contents was a selection of small corked bottles, filled with silver liquid - Lupin's memories.

Curiosity drew Harry to Lupin's shoulder, peering closely at the labels - all marked by the man's enviably neat hand. Around every third of them bore a tiny black star in the corner. Of course, it was on these that the boy's eyes caught. "What does the star mean?" The words had crept out of his mouth before he had the discretion to swallow them down. Lupin visibly tensed, though his hand continued its motion between box and bookcase.

"Memories aren't always stored to be revisited, Harry. Sometimes... you just don't want them in your head anymore." No more was said on the matter. Lupin did not seem to be inviting comment and Harry was in no hurry to provide one.

After a while, Harry left; he had finished his study of the meticulous titles, some with their little black stars, while Lupin had fiddled about with old books, ink pots and bits of parchment that didn't seem to fit anywhere, and then he went. There seemed no point in doing otherwise.

Lupin and Tonks had gone to visit Bill in St. Mungo's, leaving Harry alone in the house - after much persuasion - with Ron at home with his family and Hermione with him. Kreacher was his only company. The house elf had screamed bloody murder when Harry had caught him trying to burn a portrait of Dumbledore - some well-wishing Auror in the business of building shrines had put it up and no one had had the heart to take it down. This activity had, of course, started all the hall portraits off in a clamor. Harry had retreated to the upper floors and paced a corridor for an hour trying to invent a silencing charm. The pursuit coming up unsuccessful, he resolved upon distraction somehow; at this point even studying sounded preferable to listening to this racket - well, come to that an audio version of Guilderoy Lockhart's autobiography read by the author would make a passable alternative to this hellish chorus.

Vampires. Or vampyres. They were a subject he could do with some knowledge of, his mind rationalising any way to get him away from the noise and the nearest book on vampires he knew of was the one in Lupin's room. On the top floor.

As Harry made his way up the dim stairs, an old image from the Daily Prophet swam into his head. The one with a gaunt face and deep shadowed eyes and matted hair. It looked like a vampire, though it was no such thing. It did not look like Sirius.

Lupin's was the only room up here, turned into a livable space especially for his use, when Sirius had still been...

Anyway. Lupin's room was spotless again, the boxes all cleared. In this compulsive order, the book wasn't hard to find - Lupin's books were all alphabetically shelved (it was disgusting) - but as Harry reached out for it, another volume snatched his gaze. The leather-bound album was on the shelf above - just in Harry's eyeline. It was too much to resist, with that image of Sirius still haunting his head. With a guilty glance over his shoulder - though Lupin would be gone for a good few hours yet - he slipped it furtively from its place and took it to the nearest chair, held close against his chest, concealed from eyes that weren't there to see it. There were no portraits in this room and no one else to report his invasion. Even Kreacher would stay away, his absolute loathing for anything connected with "that foul werewolf" he considered a defilement of his Mistress' house with it's presence. He objected to Lupin more than anyone, except for Harry and Hermione the mudblood. No, Kreacher wouldn't be interrupting this.

The book fell open gently on his knees. There it was again, crumpled and with some of the edges clumsily taped together. It seemed strange to Harry that they had not been magically repaired. In fact, magic used carelessly on photographs made them blur, but Harry was in no position to have known this, and it wasn't difficult to see why this picture was wanted intact.

It had been taken in the Gryffindor common room, gloomy but for the glowing fire. The main armchair in front of the hearth was taken by two boys; a blonde sitting curled up in the lap of a dark-haired boy. Photo-Lupin looked up from a kiss, which looked like it could have appeared in the same sentence as the word "earth-shattering" without much inaccuracy, to glare darkly at, presumably, whoever was taking the picture. The pause was not a long one, though, before his attentions turned back to more compelling things, his fingers buried deep in Sirius' hair. Harry turned away from that page, resentment at the pair's deceit rising threateningly. He wondered bitterly if Tonks was aware of this... this whatever-it-was lurking in her boyfriend's past.

The next page did a little to dispel Harry's black mood, but not much. There were five figures in this one. James was closest to the camera, a red-headed girl perched on his lap. Both of them were grinning happily. Next to them, the insatiable couple were still kissing. Peter sat behind them all, smiling more in embarrassment than anything else, it seemed. He kept shooting sideways looks at Lupin and Sirius.

When the next four pages showed up nothing more compelling, most of the photos following rather a pattern, Harry clapped the book shut in frustration and annoyance and returned it to its place, making sure that even Lupin wouldn't realize that it had been moved. Then he looked around aimlessly. The flare for some independent research had died in that short time, as useful urges always do, and new amusement was required.

His eye fell upon the coveted pensieve and its neatly arranged collection of memories. The bottles were finer than those Harry remembered from Dumbledore's office, fluted, the glass clearer, tinted pale green. They clinked gently against each other as he trailed his fingertips down the line. One caught his interest as he peered at each in turn. Resolutely, taunting his irritation in a way that someone callously tests a thundercloud-bruise, "Christmas with Sirius" was plucked from its place.

The place Harry had found himself in was a small park, taking up the centre of a town square. There was a blanket of thick, soft snow on every surface and a few flakes still falling; Harry's feet made no imprints on the white ground.

He had only been standing there a minute when Lupin appeared, huddled up in a coat and a huge, green scarf. The hair was long, like in the pictures, lying over his shoulders, partly falling in his eyes. He stopped in the middle of the park and looked longingly at the snow-covered bench as he waited. But he didn't have to wait long. With a crack, Sirius appeared a step or so behind him and slipped his arms around his waist before Lupin could turn. Scarf barring him from his lover's neck, he leant over the boy's shoulder to brush his lips lightly over the pale cheek.

"Merry Christmas, love." Lupin's face melted into a goofy smile as he leant back into the other's embrace, allowing Sirius' arms to pull tighter around him.

"Merry Christmas." He twisted in his boyfriend's arms to smile at him, a good-humored look of puzzlement appearing as Sirius withdrew his arms to rummage urgently through his pockets for a few seconds.

"Damn."

"What's up, love?"

"Forgot my mistletoe." Lupin giggled. It wasn't a sound Harry had ever expected (or wanted) to hear his friend and former-teacher make but.... There it was. Maybe if he just pretended he'd never heard it...

"Don't worry. I'm sure it won't be such a terrible hardship kissing you with the mistletoe. Anyway, just means you've got another free hand, right?" Harry looked away in revulsion. That last comment had been considerably more than he had ever ever ever wanted to hear from Lupin. Gah!

It was not, of course, that he was disgusted by the idea, or even the sight of two males kissing. But it was Lupin and Sirius! And they hadn't even thought to mention it to him.

The festive romance scene continued through the giving of presents and more kissing before, finally and after a last lingering kiss that made Harry feel remarkably ill, the couple broke apart and Sirius vanished. As Lupin turned to go, Harry caught the glow of happiness on his face. Then he was back in Lupin's room, staggering a little from his return. He replaced the bottle carefully, label straight on, just as it had been.

Almost instantly, another grabbed his attention.

No, some voice of better judgment muttered at him. They're his memories. You can't just snoop through them! It's bad enough that you're in here without permission in the first place.

But it was countered hissingly. Don't you want to know what else he's been keeping from you?

Before his conscience could make any return, "Betrayal" - complete with its dark-inked star - had found itself unaccountably in his hand.

The surroundings were familiar this time. The common room didn't seem to have changed much between James' era and Harry's. It was dark, even the fire almost dead. A quick look at the clock told Harry that it was nearly midnight. Still, there were voices from above, further up the tower. Moments later two figures came down the boys' stairs. They were almost running but clearly making a conscious effort to keep their steps muffled; it looked some task. In fact, Harry knew from experience how difficult it was. He had yet to master the skill, but these two looked like experts.

"Sirius, go back to bed. I've got nothing to say to you!"

"But I've got something to say to you! It was joke, Remus! A joke!"

Lupin looked older now, his hair tugged back into a neat ponytail; he stopped and stared at the boy blocking his path. "Sirius, I could have killed him." Sirius tried to interrupt but he was knocked back. "If it hadn't been for James, I'd be a murderer. Is that what you wanted?" He didn't let Sirius reply but pushed straight past him and out of the portrait hole, leaving the boy to stare after him. It was just light enough to see a tear roll down his cheek.

"I'm sorry, Remus..."