The Way Back to Daylight

Author's Notes: Thanks and much love to cursedinsanity for being thorough, reliable and an all-round incredible beta!

Thanks also to nk_aoede, who has drawn some beautiful pictures for this story! They can be found here and here, as well as at her lj. I'd link directly to the images, but I'm not sure how to do that. Just...trust me. Even if you don't like this story and/or have no intention of reading it, check out her art because it's pretty.

Night and day lie open the gates of death's dark kingdom:
But to retrace your steps, to find the way back to daylight-
That is the task, the hard thing.

- Virgil, Aeneid, VI. 128-130 (Oxford World Classics Ed.)

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Chapter Twelve
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McGonagall hadn't changed the Head's Office much in the years since Dumbledore's death. The décor was done in red-and-gold tartan, and there were less bewildering magical instruments scattered around, but otherwise it was the same, down to the musty-sweet smell of beeswax candles, dust and confectionary. Remus felt like he was still at school, summoned to Dumbledore's office for some misdemeanour. Although they'd worked together for years, he had trouble looking McGonagall in the eye as he told his story.

When he got to the part about Moody, however, he started feeling more comfortable. McGonagall became involved in his narrative; it was personal for her, as well. She didn't say anything about Moody's words - like Dumbledore, she only smiled - but she sat up straighter; and when Remus spoke of Dumbledore, she let out a quiet gasp.

"So he's -" she cleared her throat and adjusted her glasses, then tried to appear nonchalant. "He's well, then?"

"Very well," said Remus, with a reassuring smile. "Actually, I don't think he's ever been happier."

He gave her a moment to recover. She took a sip of tea and a bite of one of her ever-present shortbread biscuits, glanced over at Dumbledore's portrait, and then nodded for Remus to continue.

When he'd finished, she arched her eyebrows. "You wish to inflict Sirius on the world for a second time?" she asked.

He smiled. "You think I'm incapable of keeping him leashed and muzzled?"

"What goes on behind closed doors should be strictly between the two of you," she replied, in her schoolmarm voice. Then she turned to Parvati, her eyes sparkling. "Would you care for another shortbread biscuit, Miss. Patil?"

Parvati looked like she couldn't believe what she'd just heard. She glanced at Remus, then McGonagall, then down at her violin case. "Er ... no thanks, Headmistress."

"Remus?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Very well." McGonagall got to her feet, leaning heavily on the cane she'd needed since the war. She walked across her office to the fireplace. "I suppose you'd like me to summon Firenze?"

"Yes, please."

Parvati flushed. "Firenze?" she whispered.

Remus gave her a curious look. "What about Firenze?"

"Nothing," Parvati muttered, turning her head to hide a blush. "He taught me Divination, that's all. Why do we need his help?"

McGonagall glanced at her knowingly, while Remus suppressed a smile of understanding.

"Firenze knows his way around the Forbidden Forest," he explained. "He's an old friend of mine, and he owes me a favour."

"What kind of favour?" Parvati asked.

Remus glanced at McGonagall, who gave a firm shake of her head. The favour concerned Fenrir Greyback: the cause of the vivid scars that ran across Parvarti's neck and face, as well as the deaths of several of her classmates.

"It's not important," said Remus, hoping she wouldn't probe further.

He needn't have worried. In another moment, Firenze was clambering out of the fireplace, which stretched to accommodate his palomino body. When he'd finally squeezed into the room, he shook his platinum-blonde hair and pawed at the ground, his muscles rippling.

Parvati stared at him with glazed eyes, while Remus struggled to keep a straight face. Beautiful men usually drew him in, but he'd never seen Firenze as anything more than an ally and fellow half-breed; and a bit of a showy and pompous one, at that. Though Remus had referred to Firenze as an old friend, it was impossible to befriend the centaur. He was prone to speaking in riddles, preoccupied with the stars, and seemed to lack a sense of humour.

"Remus Lupin," said Firenze, with a short bow of respect.

"Firenze, it's good to see you."

Remus stood and they shook hands, and then Firenze nodded to Parvati.

"Parvati Patil."

Parvati stood, unsteadily clutching her violin case. She held out her hand for him to shake. "Hel - hello, Professor."

"As I am no longer your Professor, you may call me by name."

"All right. Firenze."

McGonagall, still standing by the fireplace, rolled her eyes heavenward. Remus turned his head to hide a grin.

"You wished to speak with me about the Forest?" Firenze enquired in his deep, detached tone. "I am afraid that my brethren and I have not been reunited. I have not visited there in many seasons."

"Actually, I'm interested in an event which occurred before your banishment," Remus explained. "Do you remember the three-headed dog that Hagrid released into the Forest, some years ago?"

"Of course. Professor Dumbledore warned us and we were cautious, keeping watch over the dog. We found it interesting that the dog's release coincided with the beginning of a celestial event: the time of year humans refer to as 'the dog days of summer', when the brightest star, Sirius, is most visible. It appeared to be a sign, though of what we could not foretell."

"Can you tell us how to find the dog?"

"It lives in a cave, in the remains of the largest stone wall, approximately four miles into the Forest from the west. There is a narrow path that Hagrid often walked; one that I think you may have taken before, too. Go past the lightning-struck trees, past the mirror pool, and past the carved pillar. Leave the path where it bends by the brook and walk past the two black pines: the wall will be plainly visible. Do not stray further from the path than you must. At night, the dog prowls and eats whatever it can find. It sleeps during the day, but awakens at the slightest sound."

"There are walls and pillars in the Forbidden Forest?" Parvati asked, fascinated.

"We do not speak of such matters," said Firenze coldly, as though she'd offended him.

Remus decided it was time to end their conversation. "Thank you very much for your help, Firenze. I consider your debt repaid."

Firenze nodded, expressionless. "Good day, Remus Lupin and Parvati Patil."

---

It was nearly afternoon, but the Hogwarts grounds were still cloaked in early morning mist. The air was crisp and smelt of pine, and the Forest loomed like a curtain as tall as the sky, concealing a thousand secrets. Remus had spent many full-moon nights with his friends beneath its formidable canopy, and he felt a strange affection towards it. Parvati, on the other hand, had grown grim since they'd left the castle, shivering despite her winter robes and drawing them tighter around her body.

"It's all right," Remus told her. "Really, the Forest isn't half as bad as it's made out to be. Its bark is much worse than its bite."

"I'm not worried," said Parvati, with a shaky grin. "Just cold." She rubbed her hands and blew on them, to emphasize the point.

"I know exactly where we're going, in any case," said Remus, as they approached the trees and the beginning of a thin, well-trodden path. "I've visited the Forest many times -"

"As a wolf," Parvati muttered.

"Yes, but also as a human. I've conducted research and spoken with various magical creatures, including the centaurs."

"Did you speak to the giant spiders, then?"

"I visited them with Hagrid, just once," said Remus, with a slight shudder. "It was not a pleasant experience." Parvati paled, huddling around her violin case, and he briefly laid a hand on her shoulder. "There's no need to worry. We're not going anywhere near the spiders' enclave; and for once, my status as a werewolf is a positive thing. When they smell me, very few creatures will try to attack us. Trust me, Parvati. I wouldn't have asked you if I thought this was a suicide mission."

She nodded. They stepped under the leafy canopy and onto the path. Remus could see the twisted branches of the four lightning-struck trees up ahead. He strode towards them, crunching the carpet of needles and leaves. Parvati hurried to catch up, taking sharp, unsteady breaths.

They walked in silence, cautious and watchful, their wands out at all times. Remus looked up and down, as well as from side to side, mindful that creatures could attack from any angle. The Forest was eerily quiet, however, and no attacks came. They soon reached the mirror pool: a large, round body of water that gleamed and reflected like silver despite the Forest's gloom. Parvati, captivated, started towards it.

Remus tugged her back by the sleeve. "It pulls you in," he said, keeping his voice low and soft. "I've seen it happen. No one knows how it works, or where it leads."

Parvati sighed. "Luna would love this. I wish she'd come."

"Well, I'm glad she'll be able to tell Harry and the others where we've gone, and what's been happening."

Remus had thought about keeping Harry in the dark, but he'd decided the boy had a right to know what was going on with his godfather, even if it ended in disaster. Harry would find out soon enough, whatever happened.

Don't get your hopes up, Remus told himself, over and over; but for once, this litany felt empty and trite. For the first time since Sirius's death, Remus's hopes for the future were soaring, and he couldn't drag them back down.

---

As they walked further in, the Forest grew increasingly dense and dark, until it was truly the darkest region under daylight from the prophecy. They both needed Lumos to see the path, and Remus had trouble spotting the carved pillar, though he'd visited it several times before. Over the millennia it had tilted sideways like the leaning tower of Pisa, eventually coming to rest against the wide trunk of a moss-covered oak tree. The carvings were indecipherable, inscribed in a language from the time before the Celts.

"So, an ancient civilisation," Parvati whispered, walking around the pillar and tracing its curly hieroglyphs. "Why didn't Firenze want to talk about it?"

"He and the other centaurs have a near-religious reverence for these ancient ruins. I'm not sure why - like you, I asked about it and was rebuffed."

"Is the wall close by, then?"

"Probably."

Parvati took a deep breath. She drew out her violin and miniaturised the case, sliding it into her pocket. "I'm ready," she said. "What piece would you like me to play?"

"Anything soothing and hypnotic. What about something by Bach? His first sonata for violin?"

"All right."

They walked for a few more minutes, until they reached the brook and a sharp bend in the path. It took them a long time to locate the two black pines: massive trees that stood several yards from the path, jet-black down to their needles and cones.

Without a word, Remus left the path and Parvati followed him. They crunched ankle-deep through leaves and needles, and picked their way through blackberry brambles. Remus pulled out a compass he'd borrowed from McGonagall, taking note of their passage. Past the pines was a small clearing, with the crumbling remnants of a stone wall rising out of a thicket of brambles and thistles. A shaft of winter-grey sunlight poured through the canopy, illuminating the wall, and Remus felt like a Muggle archaeologist in the presence of a great find.

Then, suddenly, there was an earth-shaking clamour of snuffling, pounding and scraping, followed by a deep growl. Firenze hadn't lied when he'd said that Cerberus was awakened by the slightest sound.

Remus pointed to the violin and Parvati nodded. She raised it to her shoulder, put the bow to the strings, and began to play. Remus smiled, impressed: her notes rang out in a clear, sharp swell, without a hint of pretension. The music disturbed a flock of ravens, which rose cawing from the trees surrounding the clearing. Parvati, with a determined set to her jaw, kept playing without a hitch.

They walked closer, Parvati's forehead beading with sweat as her anxiety grew. If her bow slipped and jarred a note, Cerberus would wake.

Remus reached into his pocket, drawing out the vial of Sleeping Draught he'd borrowed from McGonagall's new Potions Master; then, he took out a tiny metal-barred cage. When they reached Cerberus - a mountain of fur and flesh - his three mouths were snoring, tongues lolling over his razor-sharp teeth. Parvati kept playing as Remus poured the Sleeping Draught into each giant throat, and then enlarged the miniature cage.

"Are you sure you can do this?" Parvati whispered, as her bow slid slowly and surely over the final bars of the piece.

Remus shrugged and levitated Cerberus with the flick of his wand. He wasn't sure how much energy it would take to float the three-headed dog out of the Forest, but the initial levitation was simple and painless. In a few moments, Cerberus was securely sleeping in the fastened cage, a foot from the ground.

Parvati put away her violin and wiped her forehead. "It was easy," she muttered, taking deep, shaky breaths.

"Now comes the difficult part," said Remus, eyeing the box speculatively. "I think we can carry this out easily enough. The cage has been enchanted to fly, and designed like the Knight Bus to squeeze through the gaps between trees. With both of us keeping it afloat, we shouldn't tire too quickly. However, I doubt we'll make it out undisturbed."

"What do you mean?"

"Haven't you noticed how quiet the Forest is?"

"I thought all the creatures were avoiding you because you're a werewolf. You know, like you said before."

Remus glanced around. He'd been expecting something, anything, to happen while they were noisily capturing Cerberus, but he hadn't seen or smelled another living creature, aside from the birds and the Forest itself.

"The Forest is one large organism," he explained. "It breathes in, and then it breathes out. I don't want to alarm you, but I think the Forest has been holding its breath and we're about to take a blast. I suppose it doesn't want to lose Cerberus."

"Why not?"

"Every creature adds energy to the Forest, some more than most." Remus turned to stare at the sleeping dog. "Come on; let's get him out of here, as quickly as possible."

---

They were walking past the mirror pool when it happened. Remus felt a tug on his left heel, and then he was on the ground, face-first with a grunt of surprise and pain, being dragged through the leaves, scrabbling with his hands, elbows, wand and knees.

"Remus!" Parvati screamed, dropping her concentration and letting Cerberus's cage crash to the ground. The three-headed dog woke with a roar and started throwing itself against the bars.

Remus twisted onto his back and realised he was about two seconds from being pulled into the mirror pool. A leafy tendril had wrapped around his left shoe, tugging him forward. Without a thought, he blasted the shoe from his foot, rolled away from the pool, leapt to his feet and ran back towards Parvati, his cloak billowing around him.

"Come on," he hissed, "quickly!"

Around them the Forest was stirring, the trees shifting and groaning. Tendrils from vines and creepers were curling towards them from every direction. Remus fired stunning spells as Parvati re-levitated the cage.

Then, they ran, stumbling along the path. The cumbersome cage bounced on a cushion of air in front of them, shaking with Cerberus's fury. They ran, their bodies aching as they tried to fight the Forest, keep Cerberus afloat, and move forward at the same time. Remus blasted the trees, wood splintering and cracking with the force of his adrenalin. This was for Sirius, he kept telling himself, but he was tiring, and when they reached the four lightning-struck trees he realised they might not make it out alive.

"Almost there," said Parvati, between clenched teeth, as they squeezed through increasingly narrow gaps between the trees.

Remus tripped and she grabbed his elbow, hauling him to his feet. They reached the edge of the Forest and broke out into the daylight, Cerberus's cage crashing onto the grass in front of them.

"Oh shit," Parvati gasped, falling to her knees.

Remus bent double, taking shuddering breaths. He glanced over his shoulder at the Forest, which looked the same as ever, silent and menacing.

"Thank Merlin," he muttered, collapsing onto the winter-damp grass. Cerberus was still rampaging in his cage, threatening to break out at any moment. "Parvati, we need to quiet him," Remus murmured, his cheek pressed to the grass until he shifted onto his back, panting, with sweat rolling into his hair and down his neck.

She fumbled for her violin and began playing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Cerberus immediately calmed, with three doggy sighs of contentment. Asleep, he was almost a beautiful beast, with his thick golden fur and Labrador-like faces. Remus met Parvati's eyes, and they both smiled.

We've done it, Remus thought. Sirius will be free.

A hard rain began to fall and a wind picked up, drawing a haunted sound through the trees and rippling the lake in the distance. Parvati's hair swirled around her smiling face, illuminated by a flash of lightning; the last thing Remus saw before he blacked out.

---

"He's waking up," Hermione whispered. "His eyelids are fluttering."

"Yes, Hermione, we can see that," said Ron, probably rolling his eyes; then, in a softer tone, he asked, "Want us to Floo the Healer, Harry?"

"No, it's all right," Harry replied. "Let's see how Remus feels."

"He should have brought us into the Forest with him," said Hermione severely, but Remus could hear the worry in her voice. "I thought he had more sense than that."

"He did all right without us," said Harry. "Besides, it's better to take a smaller group into the Forest; it's quieter, and there's less chance of someone getting lost. He did the right thing. Remus, can you hear me?"

"Yes," Remus whispered, then coughed. "I can hear you, Harry."

He opened his eyes and found himself in an unfamiliar room. It looked like a cheap bed-and-breakfast: wooden beams criss-crossed the white ceiling, Tudor-style windows faced a rain-soaked garden, and a vase of dried marigolds stood on an otherwise bare dresser. Everything smelt, faintly, of an elderly lady's perfume: a mix of lavender, vanilla and rose petals.

"Where are we?"

"Glastonbury, near the Tor," Harry replied, his eyes full of concern. "It's where Luna and Parvati told us to go. We're staying with Mrs. Figg's cousin, Maude. You've been out for more than a day."

"We were really worried," Hermione added.

Remus struggled to sit, but he was too weak to hold himself steady. Hermione moved behind him, fussing with his pillows until he was propped up.

"Where's Ginny?" he asked, glancing around, worried that she and Harry had broken their engagement.

"Downstairs, making tea and scones with Luna and Parvati," said Ron, from where he was standing behind Harry. He grinned at Remus. "It's good to have you back."

Hermione walked over to stand beside Ron, taking his hand in a smooth, natural gesture, their fingers twining together.

"You shouldn't have gone into the Forest without us," Hermione scolded.

"He heard you the first time," Ron retorted, even as he squeezed her hand and smiled at her.

"We've got Fluffy concealed in the garden, dosed up on Sleeping Draught," said Harry, ignoring them. "Are you really going to exchange him with Sirius?"

Remus wanted to make a promise, but he couldn't. "I'm going to try."

Harry's eyes were alight with hope and longing, but there was also sorrow. Remus could hardly remember Harry without that sorrow.

"Luna told me you met my parents, over there," Harry whispered, leaning closer. "Is that true?"

Remus reached out, covering Harry's hand with his. He thought of Lily's bright hair in the candlelight, and James's mischievous grin. "They're happy, Harry. You'll see them again."

"Thank you," Harry replied, barely audible over the rain outside. He ducked his head, blinking back tears. "Thank you."

---

That night, Remus waited until everyone was asleep, before pulling on his clothes and creeping out the front door. After a pot of tea from the Healer and a plate of Ginny's pumpkin scones, he was ready. He knew Harry and the others would insist he wait until morning, but he couldn't bring himself to do that. Sirius was out there, probably worried out of his mind, wondering what was taking Remus so long.

With two flicks of his wand, Remus levitated the cage and removed its Disillusionment charm, hoping the three-headed dog wouldn't wake. Cerberus just grunted in his sleep and shifted, the cage groaning under his weight.

Arabella's cousin lived only a couple of miles from the Tor, down a winding country lane. Remus's breath fogged the air in front of him. He didn't pass any other houses, just fields surrounded by low stone walls, inhabited by huddled flocks of sheep. The rain had stopped, leaving the sky bright with stars and a quarter-moon to the south. In the pale light, the world was colourless, but the fallen rain made everything gleam like silver and diamonds. Up ahead, the Tor looked like a hole in the horizon: a crack in the Earth's shell. Remus stared at it, and the thought of touching Sirius again made him tingle from head to toe.

As he approached the base of the Tor, he tried to remember how he'd felt when Sybill had led him into it. What had she told him? "The Tor is both a hill and a valley ... both inward and outward." He began to climb, already tiring but knowing he could make it, if he just kept his mind on walking into the hill, rather than over it. The Tor seemed steeper than he remembered, but maybe that was the added effort of keeping Cerberus afloat.

"Into the valley," he muttered, sweat breaking out across his back.

---

At the top of the Tor, Remus sat on the grass and put his head in his hands, defeated. A few minutes of despair passed by, before he looked up, straightened, and decided to rest a while before trying again.

From this height, he could see all the lights of Glastonbury: mostly orange streetlamps, though there were a few cars and houses still lit up by their insomniac owners. Remus wondered what the Muggles would think if they knew he was sitting there, watching over them; a werewolf wizard, who'd carted a three-headed dog to the top of their main tourist attraction.

"I don't know if I can get inside the Tor," Remus confessed to the sleeping Cerberus, whose cage rested just behind him. "And if I can't, what then? Can I ask Sybill to help me? Can I wait for Proserpine to come out during the warmer months?"

Cerberus, of course, said nothing.

"It's frustrating," said Remus, picking at the grass beside him. "After all this, to be locked out."

Cerberus was completely silent. I can't even hear him breathing, Remus thought, concerned, and he swivelled around.

The cage was empty; the three-headed dog was gone. Remus staggered to his feet.

"Sirius?" he called, into the night.

There was no response.

"Sirius?"

Remus walked up to the cage, peering between the bars. Nothing.

He leant against the cage, breathing hard, wondering if Pluto hadn't kept his side of the bargain. It wouldn't be the first time a god played tricks with a mortal. How could he have been so foolish?

"Sirius!" he shouted, starting to feel like an idiot. "Sirius!"

"You don't have to yell, Moony," said a smiling voice beside him. "I'm here."

Remus froze, the breath knocked out of him, and then he was in Sirius's arms, with Sirius's face pressed into his hair, hot breath on his cheek.

It took him a few seconds to react; then they were grappling with each other, awkwardly exploring with hands and mouths. Remus thought if he let go for a moment, Sirius would disappear, and Sirius seemed to be thinking the same thing. Neither of them spoke, their kisses breaking only long enough for them to breathe. Sirius tasted like he had at Grimmauld Place - of Ogden's Finest, cigarettes and unwashed bed-linens - but underneath there was sweat and Sirius's unique scent, which more than made up for it.

Gradually, their kisses grew more deliberate, more focused. Remus kissed down Sirius's neck, the stubble making his tongue itch and his lips burn, and then up to Sirius's ears, where the skin was smooth and fine, and hair tickled his nose. Sirius groaned and pressed their mouths together, until the adolescent eagerness of their kisses faded into adult passion, and Remus moaned low in his throat.

Finally, Remus slid his hand into Sirius's robes, feeling the steady thump of his heart and the expansion of his lungs as he breathed. They pressed their foreheads together and stood still for a moment.

"Think we can get it right this time, Moony?" Sirius murmured. "I don't know if I can handle anymore of these narrow escapes."

Remus chuckled, softly. "Does anyone ever get it right?"

"Well, how about we settle for growing old together and dying peacefully in our sleep?"

"Sounds like a plan," said Remus, and kissed him again.

Sirius undid Remus's cloak and pushed it off his shoulders, before starting on his robes, fumbling with the clasps.

"It's cold," Remus protested, kissing under Sirius's chin. "We should ... we should go somewhere, inside ..."

"Actually, I've never felt this warm before," Sirius murmured, pulling Remus up to kiss him again. "Must be a side-effect of being resurrected."

"Being resurrected turns you on, does it?" Remus gasped between kisses, untying Sirius's robes.

Sirius grinned. "Must do."

They sank to their knees in the grass, their fingers tracing bare skin. Sirius was all sleek black and silver lines in the night, and Remus wondered what he looked like to Sirius; probably faded and washed out, just a paler version of his already-pale self. Even so, he'd never been touched with such reverence before. Sirius traced every scar and kissed every freckle, and they were naked before Remus realised it, pressed together on the cold grass, shivering but warm where it counted.

---

"I used to imagine you returning on a night like this," said Remus, when they were sprawled out on the grass, Sirius's hand pressed over his heart.

"Afraid you're dreaming now?"

Remus smiled up at the stars. Then he shifted, grass tickling between his shoulder blades, and turned to smile at Sirius. "No. If I were dreaming, do you think we'd be so bloody cold?"

---

"wild(at our first)beasts uttered human words
- our second coming made stones sing like birds -
but o the starhushed silence which our third's"

- e.e. cummings, #72 in 73 poems