The Lion and the Unicorn

-Follow Me Up To Carlow, by Patrick Joseph McCall

Harry awoke from the third nightmare he'd had in as many hours completely exhausted and covered in sweat. In truth he had not had a decent night's sleep since early June, and it was beginning to show in his face. Dark circles had appeared under his tan and his eyes had lost some of their luster; he had lost weight and he hadn't had a good laugh in months.

Harry wasn't thinking about himself, though. The nightmare had not been of the sort where he was mocked, and he wasn't bothered by the fact that it appeared he'd never have a good night's sleep ever again. He had not even considered such things yet. Harry's dreams were far more horrible than both of those things combined.

This particular night, the dream had focused mainly on the events of one night a few months ago. During the Triwizard Tournament in which he had participated, Harry had witnessed the murder of a fellow student, Cedric Diggory. It had been a horrible death, and sudden; nearly dismissive. It was almost beyond his comprehension that someone could kill so freely. And he had spent weeks reliving it.

The dream started out as if he'd never experienced the whole thing before. He felt nervous, certainly, but not the degree of apprehension he would have felt had he known what was going to happen. He went through every action exactly as he had actually done it and changed nothing. He and Cedric took the Cup together just as they had in real life. Wormtail killed Cedric without ceremony. And then things started going awry.

Horrible things happened to Cedric's body. It seemed to decompose before Harry's disbelieving eyes. Then the spirits of Harry's dead parents appeared, scolding him for letting his friend die. Failing him, and thus failing them.

Then Voldemort turned the Cruciatus Curse on him and he could not think about Cedric or his parents any longer. His body was on fire; he was being stabbed, shot, and boiled in hot tar; his insides were trying to squeeze out through his pores-

And then it stopped, and Voldemort uttered, "Avada Kedavra."

And it was over.

Except for Harry it was never really over. He lie there in his bed, still breathing hard, eyes still squeezed shut tight against the horrible reality of life. It's not your fault, he tried to convince himself. Nobody thinks it's your fault.

But Harry couldn't think of a reason why it wouldn't be his fault. It was his fault that Wormtail had gotten away when they'd caught him, because he hadn't been paying attention. And so it was his fault that Voldemort had gained power again, because Wormtail had aided him. What else could be concluded than it was, in fact, his fault?

A loud thud and a soft hoot brought him momentarily out of his jumbled thoughts. Forgoing his glasses, Harry stood and made his way over to the window by rote. He could just barely see the outline of a bird in the moonlight (it was almost full, he knew from his Astronomy lessons- he couldn't make out more than a blur). The owl was quite large- he hoped it would fit through his window- and a breed he hadn't seen before, unless his eyes deceived him. He groped for the his glasses, but first encountered the flashlight on the bedside table - it was a necessity if he wanted to do his homework while staying with the Dursleys - and switched it on so that he could see the owl more clearly.

His eyes hadn't deceived him. The owl was bright green.

Harry shone the beam over to the bedside, spotted his glasses, and perched them on his nose. Now completely distracted from the self-pity that was common by night yet relatively rare by day (except when he was tending to Petunia's horrible begonias), Harry removed the package and letter from its leg and began to read.

Harry was astounded. More than half of the summer was left ahead of him, and he was already going to escape them! To live with Sirius, no less, which was something he'd rarely entertained notions of after Sirius had been forced into hiding. He went back to the letter only to find that there were only two signatures and a post-script.

Harry snickered in the semi-darkness. Leave it to Sirius to come up with something that ridiculous. He opened Hedwig's cage. It was empty- she was keeping company with Pigwidgeon at The Burrow- and Green waddled inside with a funny sort of two-step. He wondered if 'Green' had been that way before Sirius arrived at… wherever it was that he was staying, but somehow doubted it.

Still chuckling to himself, Harry set the flashlight down on the desk and took out a fresh sheet of parchment.

But there was no more. The Boy Who Lived had fallen asleep with his quill in the inkwell.

*

Remus awoke in a cheerfully decorated room, quite disoriented, and wondered why on earth he was on top of a piano. Sunlight was streaming in the open window, and he could hear voices outside. From the tone of things, Sirius was taunting someone about something or other; old habits died hard. Remus wasn't quite ready to hear that at eight o'clock in the morning the day after the full moon, and so rolled over, intending to pull his pillow over his head.

However, he forgot that he'd been lying on top of a piano, and just ended up smacking his head off of the keys. Cursing quietly to himself, Remus straightened, moved off of the dangerous instrument, and made his way over to the window, pulling on his clothes along the way.

As he had suspected, Sirius was out there cracking jokes about the bloody owl again.

"I could understand your obsession with Green better if I knew why you find it so incredibly hilarious," Anya commented, grabbing a handful of what Remus could see were petunias (evidently she thought they were weeds).

"To quote you- lighten up," Sirius replied, making faces at Leon, who was seated beside him on the blanket. "I just think it's a little funny that everything matches. I mean-" he gestured towards the garden, "face it, Anya, everything is green except the outside of the house."

"I happen to like green, okay?" After turning around just enough to give Sirius a Look (the kind that melted lesser men), Anya glanced down at the ground she was working (she gave it a Look, too, and it didn't melt, either), then up again. She muttered something that Remus didn't quite catch and, evidently satisfied, went back up the path, past the gnomes, and into the house again.

Sirius watched her go, laughing. Leon squealed and clapped as if he hadn't a care in the world. Remus, quite sure of what he would see, leaned his head out the window and looked up. Sure enough, the house was a bedazzling shade of emerald green. He shook his head. Sidhe. Who knew?

There was a knock at the door and Arabella came in, carrying a large steaming goblet full of what was undoubtedly some horrible-tasting potion to make him feel better. He downed it in as few sips as possible, not wanting to have to taste the stuff longer than was absolutely necessary.

"Feel better now?" Arabella asked, eyeing Remus' newest scar through his open robe with an apprehensive look on her face.

Remus nodded slightly. "I don't suppose it's my turn in the bathroom?"

Arabella laughed. "Remus, do you have any idea how many bathrooms there are in this house?"

"Good point. Are Mundungus and Charlie up yet?"

"Yes," she answered, taking the goblet back and heading towards the kitchen. "I guess you heard the other two making a scene in the garden. You missed their drinking songs last night- they can't seem to decide if they're friends or foes. At any rate, Charlie's gone to pick up Ron before Harry gets here and Mundungus is having a word with the gnomes- that man is the next Mad-Eye Moody." She gestured toward the kitchen. "Breakfast is on the table, you just need a Warming Charm."

Excellent, Remus thought, I don't have to cook.

"As for myself," Arabella continued with a sigh (Remus privately wondered how much more she could say in answer to a very specific question), "I've got to Floo to the Ministry to get the anti-Apparition wards approved."

Remus snickered. He could tell by her tone that she was not looking forward to dealing with the bureaucrats. "Have fun."

"Oh, thank you," she said sarcastically. "I'll be sure to do that while I'm sitting in the waiting room for three hours-" She was still grumbling about it even as she tossed Floo powder into the flames.

*

Harry had all of his things put together by early Sunday morning, but decided not to tell his uncle he was leaving until just before it was time to go. There was less risk of being kicked out onto the streets early that way. By the time four-thirty rolled around, he had dragged his trunk and Hedwig's cage down the stairs, bid his relatives goodbye, and shut the door to number four, Privet Drive, for the last time that summer.

Deciding that the Ministry wasn't likely to care at this point in the turmoil it was in if he used a Featherweight Charm or not, he swished his wand at his trunk and pulled it across the street, making sure to conceal his wand up his sleeve while he was using it.

Light-hearted for the first time in weeks, Harry let his trunk slide to a stop in the gravel beside the road. He shoved his wand in his pocket and waited patiently for five o'clock and the Knight Bus.

At two minutes past it appeared, and Harry jumped up.

"Hiya, Neville," Stan Shunpike grinned and winked at him from the door of the bus. "Lemme 'elp ya with that."

"'Lo, Stan," Harry said, suppressing his questions about the name. It was probably best that people didn't know who he was, anyway. Together, he and the older boy hoisted his trunk aboard. Harry flattened his bangs nervously.

"Busy day today, Neville," Stan informed him, dragging the trunk up to the bus' third deck, "but you've got a reservation, so we saved a room for you."

Harry looked around in amazement. The last time he'd been on the bus, he had stayed in a bed on the second level. He had assumed that the other two floors were identical, and perhaps at one time they had been. Now, however, the third floor was made up of four small cabins, one of which had a small 'reserved' sign on the door. The others were all occupied, from the Do Not Disturb signs on their door-handles. "Wow," Harry said appreciatively. "Thanks, Stan."

"Don' mention it." Stan grinned. "You'll prolly be here 'til morning- we got twelve full beds downstairs, and you got a long way to go."

"Really?" Harry asked curiously. "Where'm I going?"

"Can't tell," the other boy answered. "Promised I wouldn'. But you'll find out soon enough."

To keep his mind from getting too curious, Harry pulled his History of Magic textbook out of his trunk and began to read. His History of Magic professor, a ghost named Binns, had given homework assignments over the summer break, as most Hogwarts professors were prone to do, and Harry hadn't even started this one, a historical account of Stonehenge.

The stones were moved under Arthur's reign, presumably by the giants who roamed the isles at that time (although some sources say that it was in fact Merlin who did the lifting). As this disrupted the Gate, it also prevented the capture and subsequent destruction of suspected warlock Sheridon O'Devlin, who is supposed to have been invincible in our own realm… The text continued like this for some pages.

Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly and decided that he'd had enough. He felt too excited to sleep, but he knew he should at least try, or he'd never be able to keep up with Sirius' news the following day.

Despite his eagerness, Harry fell asleep within minutes.

*

Harry was roused the next morning by someone's enthusiastic shouts. "Time to wake up, Neville," Stan's voice called. "We're nearly there."

Harry splashed some water from the small sink on his face to wake himself up and tossed his books, ink and parchment back into his trunk, latching it tight. "Nearly where?" he yelled back.

"Look out the window," Stan answered from the doorway, "and see for yourself." He set down a tray with a simple breakfast on the table.

Grabbing a piece of toast, Harry moved towards the window, trying to identify any sort of landmark there might be. There were none, however, just hill after rolling green hill. That explains the owl, Harry thought to himself. "Somewhere in Ireland?" He hoped he wouldn't be staying in the middle of a war zone between Catholics and Protestants.

"You got it," Stan nodded. "You're a smart kid, Neville." He pointed to the two houses on the left side. "See them houses? That's where you're going."

Harry stared. 'Houses' was not the word he would have chosen. Both were huge, multi-story affairs, one white and modern and the other dark gray stone (although for a moment, Harry almost thought it was green) with four turrets. "Well," he said when the bus lurched to a stop, "How much do I owe you this time?"

"Wot's that? Nah, Neville, the bloke who booked your passage- Orion Longbottom, was it?" Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Insisted on payin' in advance."

Having unloaded all of his things, Harry waved goodbye.

"Bye, Harry- I mean, Neville," Stan yelled, and the Knight Bus popped and winked out of sight.

Harry looked with some degree of apprehension at the two gates before him. Which was the right one? The names on the gate-posts didn't give him much of a clue. Although he hadn't been expecting 'Black' or 'Lupin,' he had thought there would be some sort of hint-

As it turned out, Harry didn't have to wonder for long. Just as he'd decided to try the older house first, he felt his feet leaving the ground. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that his trunk was following in the same fashion. Both of them floated through the now-open gate.

No sooner had it shut behind him than something or someone decided that he needed to be crushed. "Harry! Good to see you!"

"Sirius? I'd say the same, except I can't see you… could you possibly put me down now?"

Sirius did so and took a step back to appraise his godson. "Harry- you're tall!"

Harry turned red. "Yeah- it, um, happens." He grinned. "You're in a good mood," he commented as Sirius grabbed his trunk.

Sirius shrugged (to the extent that one can shrug whilst carrying an extremely heavy trunk), looking slightly abashed. "I'm tired of people telling me to lighten up," he explained. "It gets annoying."

Harry followed him through a second gate and looked around in awe. All of the flowers, even the ones that were out of season, seemed to be in bloom. There were orange tiger-lilies and purple irises and mock-orange bushes in all of their white splendor, complimented nicely by random patches of unidentifiable blue flowers and some climbing rosebushes. To Harry's immense satisfaction, there wasn't a single petunia or a begonia in sight. Wow, he thought, someone got a little overzealous with an Ever-Bloom Charm.

"It didn't look that way earlier this morning," Sirius said, correctly interpreting Harry's awed expression. "Remus hit the grounds with some charm about an hour ago. Nothing was blooming before that- it was green, just like Mada Dymphna."

They came to the end of the mock-orange hedge and Harry was allowed his first clear view of the grounds. His old Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Remus Lupin, was stretched out on a blanket, sleeping. Curled up beside him was a child no older than ten months. Two other people Harry didn't recognize at first sight were also seated there. A laughing, dark-haired woman in an emerald dress was dancing an energetic jig with a man that could only be Charlie Weasley on the porch that ran a third of the way around the front of the house.

"Is everyone around here as crazy as you, Sirius?" he asked as the older man flopped down on the grass.

"Only Mundungus and Anya," Sirius answered gamely. "And Charlie, if you happen to have any Ogden's Old Firewhiskey with you."

"Anya's the one who's dancing, I take it," Harry said, following Sirius' gaze. "Doesn't sound Irish to me."

A troubled look crossed Sirius' face. "No, it doesn't." He seemed to dismiss that perplexing tidbit. "Anyway, why don't you go in and choose a room? The ones on the ground floor are taken, but the ones upstairs are still empty."

"Go in there and just… choose a room?" he asked, incredulous. He'd never had that kind of a choice before. "Er… won't I get lost?" His gaze was still fixed on the porch. "And how do I get past the gnomes?"

"Good point," Sirius admitted, standing, "although I don't know what the problem is about choosing a room- there's not much selection. The password for getting past the guard gnomes is Ard Aon Aine. That's what you get, letting Anya make it up. It is her house, though."

Once past the gnomes, Harry found himself amazed once more by the size and ancient elegance of the place. A sign above the arched doorway into the sitting room read Tá sé Dromore, and, beneath that, Cead Mille Failte. Gazing reverently at the vaulted ceiling, Harry didn't see the other boy until it was too late.

"Oof," the breath rushed out of them.

"Sorry," Harry said, reaching down to help him up. Then, upon seeing the bright red hair and freckled face, grinned widely and exclaimed, "Ron! What're you doing here?"

"What do you think?" he asked, grasping Harry's hand and pulling himself up. "I'm here to visit you, you prat!"

Harry grinned sheepishly and turned to ask Sirius if he had set everything up- but his godfather wasn't there. With an uneasy mental shrug, he allowed Ron to drag him up the stairs to see the rest of the house.

*

Charlie heard the thump of one or more bodies hitting the floor over the music and took a break from dancing. "Well, they've met," he said, a half-grin on his face. "Guess all that's left to do is wait for them to wreak havoc."

Sirius, closing the door behind him. "I give them an hour."

Charlie shook his head. "Give Ron more credit, Sirius. I'd be surprised if it's more than twenty minutes."

"Harry Potter is not going to wreak anything in this house until we've been formally introduced," Anya said, downing half her glass of water. "Besides how much havoc could possibly be wreaked on a-"

Charlie gave a start and caught her eye before she could go any further.

"-Fellow lover of chaos?" Anya finished. Sirius regarded her suspiciously, but said nothing.

"Actually," Charlie said, with a wary glance at the older man, "these two are well-behaved compared to their relations. Ron has Fred and George to measure up to in terms of mischief. And James Potter was a legend… but the only thing Harry's famous for is getting into trouble."

"I heard that," came a voice from upstairs. Harry himself was standing on the east turret balcony, looking down at them.

"Don't worry, Harry," Sirius yelled up. "You're not a total loss. I'll teach you the basics tomorrow."

"I'll help," Anya volunteered. "See if we can get those three stiffs to-" Here she winked at Sirius- "lighten up a bit."

"Heard that," called Remus, not moving an inch otherwise.

Charlie jumped. He had thought that the werewolf had been sleeping off the full moon.

"Hi, Professor Lupin," Harry called down.

"Hi, Professor Lupin," Ron echoed, appearing beside Harry on the balcony.

"All right, you two," Charlie said, craning his neck so that he could see them. "Come back down here and meet everyone properly like good, polite guests."

There was the sound of loud thudding made by teenage boys scampering down the wooden stairs, and the two friends came back out the front door again. Ron regarded the gnomes with curiosity, but withheld any questions he might have had.

"Harry," Charlie said, resigned to making the introductions, "this is Anya. Anya, you remember my brother Ron. This is his friend Harry." He figured that Harry wouldn't appreciate being introduced as the Harry Potter.

"Hi, Harry," Anya said gamely, shaking his hand and saying the name as if she'd never heard of him before. "Nice to meet you."

Harry was staring at her, almost slack-jawed, his hand loose in hers. Sirius snorted to himself and prompted quietly, "The word you're looking for is 'hello,' Harry."

Harry's ears turned pink, but he got his voice back. "Hello, Anya."

"And this is Mundungus Fletcher," Charlie said. "You've probably heard Dad talking about him, Ron- he's the one with all the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts violations."

"Hello," the boys chorused, and Mundungus gave a half-bow.

"The member you probably haven't met is Arabella Figg. She's been living the past few years as a Muggle-"

But Harry had given a startled exclamation and was staring at her in a way very different to the way he'd stared at Anya. "Mrs. Figg?" he asked. "I didn't know you were a witch! Why didn't you tell me?"

Arabella smiled somewhat sadly. "Would you have believed me, Harry, dear? Or would you have thought me a crazy old woman with too many cats?"

"Are they- Kneazles, then?" Harry asked curiously.

Arabella's smile turned mysterious. "I wonder," she said cryptically.

Charlie, satisfied with his introductions, made his excuses and retreated to the fireplace. He had promised Ginny that he would give her a few Quidditch tips before she went to Hermione's for a week of intense Muggle studies, and it would soon be too hot to even think about being on a broomstick.

*

She was curled up on the sofa, a large, decrepit book in her lap, when he Flooed in. Her bright red hair was as neatly styled as usual, which was to say not very. There was a half-full glass of lemonade on the table beside her.

"Hi, Ginny," Charlie said, shaking soot out of his hair. "What's up?"

"Hmm?" Ginny asked distractedly without looking up. "Oh. I'm just going over the book Anya lent me- it's fascinating… about all the legends of the Shee and old Ireland." She turned another page. "Makes for heavy reading, though." Ginny shut the book carefully and Charlie could see that it was a good six inches thick.

"And you're voluntarily wading through it," Charlie said in wonder. "But, why? It's a gorgeous day; let's go play some Quidditch."

Ginny stifled a yawn. "Mm? Oh- yes. Just let me get my broom."

She returned within a few moments, Charlie's old Comet 360 slung over her shoulder. There was a new spring in her step, but now that she wasn't bent over a book he could see the dark circles under her eyes. "Are you still having those nightmares?" Charlie asked, trying to sound unconcerned.

"Once in a while," Ginny answered slowly. Then, quicker, "Not often, though."

Right. "Good," he answered, not voicing his opinion but cataloguing her answer for later. "So what do you want to practice today? Aim? Speed?" He Summoned his broom from the stand by the door.

"Actually," she answered, "Can you- teach me how to be Chaser?" She looked up at him hopefully. "I mean, I know what I have to do- I just don't really know how to do it… and the Chasers look like they have the most fun anyway."

"And get hit with the most Bludgers," Charlie rejoined, suddenly protective. He sighed, knowing that he couldn't big brother her forever. "All right, Chaser it is. Lead the way."

It was probably the sunniest day so far that summer, at least at The Burrow and in the field behind it. Charlie and Ginny mounted their brooms and flew up into the air, side by side.

"If you want to be Chaser," Charlie said, hovering a few feet away, "the first thing you've got to know is how to fly well with no hands." He demonstrated by turning a few tight circles, a steep climb, and a sharp dive.

"Okay," Ginny said, looking a bit doubtful. Hands clasped together behind her back, she flew three tight, perfect circles. When she tried the climb, however, she got a funny look on her face and flailed her arms out a bit, grasping at her broom.

"Easy," Charlie said, flying quickly up behind her. "Don't try to do too much at once. Riding a broom is like learning a second language- you need practice, not just theory. Try again, slower this time."

Looking determined, Ginny laced her hands behind her once more and attempted the same steep climb. This time, although much slower, she got the height she desired with only a slight wobble. Ginny gave him a shaky smile. "I don't know if I can do this, Charlie-"

"Of course you can," he consoled, mentally preparing his I-Believe-In-You speech. "Like I said, you just need practice. Now," he grinned brightly, "fly! Because if I catch you, that's the end of today's lesson!"

Ginny shrieked and flew off with a lot more confidence than she'd had mere moments before, heading for the orchard. Charlie gave pursuit, Summoning a couple of apples and transfiguring them into pillows to whack her with. When he caught up to her, which wasn't long later as his broom was a much newer model, and raised one above his head, she reached out her hands and grabbed the other one, knocking him in the side.

"Oof," Charlie wheezed, exaggerating.

As he had known she would, Ginny flew forward, a look of worry on her face. "Charlie?" He swung the pillow and Ginny ducked out of the way just in time, laughing. "You cheater!"

"All's fair in Quidditch training, Gin," Charlie said, racing away from her.

Ginny flew after him, brandishing her pillow and laughing.

*

"Will it be ready in time?"

"Nearly, my Lord," he murmured in the darkness, bent low at his master's feet. "I estimate that it needs to brew for another five days."

"Estimate?" the Dark Lord hissed, tapping his wand on the arm of his chair.

The servant let his head drop further. "It will be ready in five days, Lord."

"Good. You well remember the punishment for imperfection, I presume?"

"Yes, my Lord," he answered, eyes closed. He knew what was coming.

"Even so, perhaps it would do to remind you, Severus. Fail me this time, and the last thing you hear from me will not be Crucio."

Severus' world erupted into fiery hell.