There'll Be Bluebirds

Teddy grabbed the jug of orange juice and poured himself a goblet. 'Going to Hogsmeade today?' Victoire asked around a mouthful of cereal.

He shook his head. 'No...'

'Doing extra potions lessons with Williams this afternoon?'

'Shhhh!' Teddy shushed Victoire and glanced around the table. For the last several weeks, he'd crept from the Gryffindor common room to the Potions classroom on Saturday afternoon and spent an extra couple of hours with Professor Williams. 'Don't tell everyone!'

'Why not?' she asked.

Teddy grabbed an apple from the bowl in the middle of the table. He took a large bite and wiped the juice from his chin with the back of his hand. 'How would you like it if I shouted out at dinner that you were getting extra help with Transfiguration?'

'It's nothing to be ashamed of,' Victoire muttered. 'And I don't need help with Transfiguration,' she added archly.

'I know you don't need the extra help. But I don't want everyone to know I do. It's embarrassing...'

Victoire rolled her eyes, and let her spoon fall into her empty bowl with a clatter. 'You're worse than Dad,' she scoffed. 'He'd rather die than let Mum know he needs help with something. So why aren't you going to Hogsmeade?'

Teddy shrugged. 'It's not extra lessons.'

'I thought you'd be jumping at the chance to get away for a day.'

'Vic, stop it. Please? Just stop it,' Teddy sighed. 'I just don't feel like going into Hogsmeade today.' He swung his legs over the bench and left the Great Hall. Something trickled down his wrist, and he looked down, surprised to see the half-eaten apple clutched in his hand. He tossed it into the air and Vanished it before it could hit the floor, then wiped his sticky hand down the side of his jeans. Castle ought to be nearly empty today,' he thought. I can find a nice quiet corner, and not be disturbed. I'll have to go now, so Victoire won't be able find me easily. Not up to trying to keep her and her nose out of my business. There were drawbacks to having known someone since they were both young enough to be put into the same bath together. As much as Teddy liked her, Victoire's innate inquisitiveness could get irritating. Especially when Teddy wanted to be left alone. Victoire always had a million questions and didn't seem to understand the meaning of the word, "no".

He trudged into his dormitory and picked up his bag from the floor next to his bed and slung it over his shoulder. His hand automatically slid into a pocket, fingers closing reassuringly around the smooth leather of his father's journal. He hadn't tried to read it since school had started nearly two months ago, but carried it around with him like a talisman. But today - today would be the perfect day to read. With most of the other students heading to Hogsmeade, he would be able to read in relative peace and quiet.

'What's that?'

Teddy whirled around, the journal in his hands. 'What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?' he roared. 'This is the boys' dormitory, in case you hadn't noticed, Victoire.'

Victoire's round eyes swam and her chin trembled. 'I just...'

'You can just leave me alone, damn it,' Teddy growled. 'I can't even study without you making comments about it! All right? Go away and leave me alone!' He crammed the journal back into his bag and stormed from the dormitory.

*****

Remus lightly ran up the stairs to Dora's flat. He hadn't heard from her in over a week, but yesterday, a brown owl had brought him a note bearing nothing except a time, written in Dora's round hand. As he strode down the corridor, he could hear two voices coming from Dora's flat. Remus stilled and closed his eyes, angling his head toward the low, urgent voices.

'Did you come all this way to lecture me, Mum?'

'I'm merely saying you ought to be more careful, Nymphadora. My sister would love nothing more than you torture you into insanity, just like she did Frank and Alice Longbottom.'

'Because of Remus?'

Andromeda snorted. 'No, foolish girl, because of your father and me. But speaking of him, what on earth are you thinking?'

'We're not really dating, Mum,' Dora protested.

'He's a werewolf!' Andromeda's voice rose.

'Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Mum,' Dora retorted dryly. 'I'd have never figured that one out on my own, even if I wasn't already painfully aware of the fact.'

'Nymphadora, please...' Andromeda's voice took on an anguished tone. 'You don't know what it's like to be ostracized because of... of who you married,' she said in a strained whisper.

'So, you regret marrying Dad, is that it?'

'Of course not!' Andromeda snapped. 'I don't regret a thing about marrying your father! But when I did, I lost everything. Not that I wanted to remain on friendly terms with most of my family, but still... I don't want to see something like that happen to you.'

There was a long moment of silence. 'Does that mean you and Dad would cut me off if I became more involved with Remus?' Dora asked coolly. There was another extended pause. 'I think you ought to go, Mum, before you say something you'll regret later.'

The door to Dora's flat opened and Remus flattened himself against the wall, a few steps above the landing. Andromeda charged out of the flat, muttering angrily to herself, the door slamming behind her. He waited for several minutes, then clattered down the steps and knocked softly on the door. Dora yanked it open, her face set in mutinous lines. She glared at him for a moment, then stepped to the side, mutely inviting him inside. Remus fancied he could see steam pouring from her ears. 'Something the matter?' he asked, knowing perfectly well what the answer would be.

'Does your mother treat you like a ten-year old child?' Dora huffed.

'Erm... no...'

'Really? How do you manage that?'

Remus coughed and flushed. 'Well... It's... My mother... She died when I was in school.'

Dora's face immediately sobered. 'Oh... I'm sorry,' she stammered. 'I didn't know...'

Remus shrugged. 'It's all right. And in case you were wondering, my father died about a year after I finished school.' He pulled his traveling cloak off and hung it on a hook next to the door. He leaned against the door, unable to lie to her. 'I overheard you and your mother arguing,' he blurted.

Dora paled. 'How much did you hear?' she asked faintly.

'Enough,' Remus said succinctly. 'What started it?'

Dora dropped heavily onto her sofa. 'She said she had to go to Diagon Alley for something or other - I wasn't paying attention - and thought she'd stop by for a mo.' She reached down for a crumpled magazine and held it out to Remus. 'She saw this on my table and it went downhill from there.'

Remus took the proffered magazine and felt the bottom drop from his stomach. Harry's face blinked up at him from the cover of The Quibbler. 'Oh my God...' he breathed. 'Has he lost his mind?'

'I don't think so,' Dora murmured. She shifted to one side and motioned for Remus to sit down. 'Sit. You're starting to look peaky,' she told him.

'Why would he do something like this?' Remus said in a bewildered tone. 'He's never sought this sort of attention...'

'Desperation. We're all getting desperate,' Dora said quietly.

'People do stupid, thoughtless things when they're desperate,' Remus countered. He stared at the magazine in his hand. 'Your mother's right, you know.'

'Don't do this,' Dora breathed, covering her face with her hands. 'Don't start that again.'

Remus set the magazine down on the arm of the sofa. 'I think I ought to go before I say something I'll regret later,' he said in a low voice, parroting Dora's advice to her mother, then left the flat, certain he could hear a nearly inaudible sniffle drift from the sofa.

*****

23 February 1996

Dumbledore is always fond of saying love is the greatest weapon against fear. On the other hand, Mad-Eye thinks love is a weakness to be exploited. I'm inclined to side with Mad-Eye. There are just too many variables one cannot control.

What is desperation? Is it the act of one driven to do something ultimately foolish, because they've been stymied by authority? Is it the last gasp of a hopeless, helpless situation? Or is it when you keep going, because you can't see anything else, save what's in front of you?

What was Harry thinking to give an interview like that? Of course, since it's in the Quibbler, I highly doubt most people will take it seriously, but if any of the students buy it, a good portion of them will remember the end of the Triwizard, and start to think he's telling the truth after all. I suppose he found himself with no other option, than to use a magazine that's customarily labeled as a tabloid. It reminds me of some of the more outré Muggle tabloids. Either way, it must have cost Harry a great deal to talk about the events of the last year. He normally doesn't talk about things like this. Aside from the chosen few, that is, and it certainly doesn't include adults most of the time. I'd be surprised if anyone other than Ron and Hermione had an inkling about what goes on inside Harry's head. I'd be very surprised if he does tell them everything. Somehow, I doubt he would. Not that he's secretive or doesn't trust them, but I think he's constantly calculating what other people might say or how they might react. At least when his emotions don't get the best of him. That does happen every so often to even the most tightly self-controlled of us. Certain people bring out that sort of reaction.

I do hope Sirius manages to keep himself together. The worse things get, the more Harry's going to need him. The drinking's gotten worse since they left in January. I'll say this for Padfoot - he can hold his drink for the most part. He might reek of it during Order meetings, and look the worse for wear, but he's never been visibly inebriated during a meeting, and we've never found him lying unconscious or in a stupor. If he does drink himself into oblivion every night, he's been considerate enough to wait until we're gone. Lets all of us maintain the illusion that he's not reached the point of desperation.

At least not yet...

*****

'Have you told Fred and George about our plan yet?' Remus asked Minerva, simply to avoid making eye contact or conversation with Dora before the meeting began.

'You ought to have seen their expressions. I might as well have told them Christmas had come early.'

'How'd you do it?'

'I gave them detention,' Minerva said off-handedly. 'Not an uncommon occurrence, I assure you. Then while they were in my office, I made them plan what they were going to do and had them make a list of anything they might need. Fortunately, most of the ingredients are fairly innocuous. I made them promise nothing too destructive, however. I'll continue to give them detentions every so often, just to keep an eye on their plans and progress.'

'That's nice,' Remus murmured distractedly, only half-hearing what Minerva had said.

'Are the Occlumency lessons going well?' Sirius asked anxiously from his customary shadowy corner of the dark kitchen. Remus had to give him credit. Sirius was ashen, eyes bloodshot and puffy, and the scent of stale firewhisky almost visibly radiated off him. But he was present at the meeting, seemingly clear-headed.

'I don't know,' Minerva admitted. 'Severus and I don't discuss the lessons.'

'Does Snape discuss them with Dumbledore, then?' Sirius asked tightly.

'If he does, Albus hasn't said,' she replied tartly. She looked as if she was about to say more, but the arrival of Elphias cut her off.

'I never thought I'd live to see the day!' he wheezed to Hestia, who was following him into the kitchen. 'Rita Skeeter wrote an article that isn't full of half-truths and innuendo.'

'Is she ill?' Hestia wondered. 'Or perhaps she's fallen and hit her head.'

'And learned journalistic integrity?' Kingsley snorted. 'Not very likely. Must be something else... Hasn't written a thing in nearly a year. Maybe someone has something on her that they're holding over her head.'

'But who does Harry know that would resort to blackmail?' Elphias rasped.

'You make it sound like a filthy word,' Sirius said, with a hint of genuine dismay.

'Are you talking about that article?' Minerva interjected with a mild look of distaste. 'It's all over the school and Umbridge has threatened to expel any student with a copy of it.'

'Can she do that?' Sirius asked in bewilderment.

'Educational Decree number twenty-seven,' Kingsley supplied. 'Issued mere hours after the magazine came out.'

'If Fudge moved as quickly to do something about You-Know-Who as he has Harry's interview, most of the escaped Death Eaters would have been recaptured by now,' Dora muttered. 'He's got us "looking" for them,' she added, drawing air quotes with her index fingers, 'but he's got our hands tied. Can't even follow our usual procedures with something like this.'

'Is this true?' Remus demanded, turning to Kingsley for corroboration.

Kingsley nodded soberly. 'Normally, we would track a known Death Eater to wherever they're hiding and apprehend them with a squad of Hit Wizards. But we're not being allowed to do that. He's got us observing and arresting what seem like random people, just so we look like we're doing something productive. He still hopes if he ignores the situation, it'll disappear.' He ran a hand over his bald head. 'I've never seen morale so low.'

'Foolish, careless...' Remus murmured. He stopped and rubbed his fingers over his lips, feeling as if he were about to be sick. He gazed at Sirius and knew he was thinking the same thing: had they done to Peter what they'd wanted to do nearly two years ago, none of this would be happening. It had been Harry - Harry with his sense of justice and morality - that begged them to keep Sirius from actually committing the crime of which he'd been accused. Not that Remus blamed Harry in the slightest. He had been proud of the boy for the amount of maturity he'd shown in recognizing the line between punishment and justice. They should have known, the both of them, to put every jinx they knew on Peter to keep him from transforming. But they had forgotten to do it, in the elation of the moment.

Remus didn't view himself as a philosopher by any means, but he wondered what butterfly had flapped its wings somewhere in China to set off this chain of events.

*****

1 March 1996

I remember two Muggle novels I read one summer when I was moping about the house in a fit of ennui as a teenager. One of them dealt with a somewhat dystopian society where the government knew your every move, and very nearly your every thought. When information is disseminated to the people, it's carefully manipulated so it looks as if the government is right about everything. And when the poor protagonist decides to rebel, he's imprisoned, tortured, and "re-educated" about what's proper. If Fudge has his way, that's what will happen to anyone who dares dissent against the official Ministry line.

The other novel was also of a somewhat dystopian society where books were verboten. Forbidden. The funny thing was, it started out in such a benign way - these books might make this particular group feel threatened, so they must be removed. Soon enough, everything written was banned. Not that I think Fudge is going to start banning books... Oh... Right. He has. He's banned the teaching of proper Defense Against the Dark Arts and its textbooks.

What worries me the most is that by the time the societies in those two books realized anything was out of sorts, it was too late to do anything. At least not without major risk to life and limb. Perhaps it is a good thing Harry did that interview. If nothing else, it'll help keep too many of his peers from falling into complacency that the Ministry will take care of everything.

Be careful, cousins, Big Brother is watching...

*****

Teddy shivered and wrapped his cloak around his body a little more. He let his hot forehead rest against the cold glass of the window in his dormitory and looked up into the night. The moon rode low in the sky, its rounded fullness just skimming the tops of the trees in the Forbidden Forest.

It was full - or would be in a day or two.

He carefully worked a wad of cotton wool into his ears, his shoulders tensed against what felt like a cacophony of sound coming from his year mates. Every snort, grunt, or deep sigh seemed to echo painfully in his ears. Even the dimly glowing coals of the fire in the middle of the room made his eyes water as if he'd stared into the sun too long. He could normally hear and see quite well, perhaps better than the others. He always knew when Filch was around the corner or when Mrs. Norris was lurking about. Joel had once teased him that he'd been gifted with the Sight.

Teddy swallowed the bitter taste of bile that rose in the back of this throat. Something burned in his stomach, but he wasn't quite sure what it was. He'd hardly eaten anything at dinner and wasn't hungry just now. Victoire hadn't waited to hear his half-formed apologies, but turned those large, sky-blue eyes on him, full of mute reproach, then flounced up the stairs on the girls' side. He sighed heavily and let his eyes close against the moon. His grandmother had always told him he had his mother's temper: quick to burn and quick to die out. But the savageness of his behavior earlier that morning had surprised him, if not frightened him a little. Was it a shadow of the werewolf prowling through his veins? He held up a hand, moving it slightly so it sliced through a silvery beam of light that spilled through the window.

He shook himself when nothing happened and slid from the windowsill, stumbling toward his bed, suddenly very tired.

*****

A/N: Remus quotes both Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 and George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four. Those are the two books he alluded to in the entry for 1 March.