One Last Moonrise

One Last Moonrise

"Master, pity Thy servant! He is deaf and three parts blind

He cannot catch The Commandments. He cannot read Thy Mind.

Oh, leave him not to his loneliness nor make him that kitten's scorn.

He hath no other God than Thee since the year that he was born.

Lord, look down on Thy Servant! Bad things have come to pass.

There is no heat in the midday sun, nor health in the wayside grass.

His Bones are full of an old disease-his torments run and increase.

Lord, make haste with Thy Lightning's and grand him a quick release!"

-Rudyard Kipling

The fire gave a sudden loud crack and a charred log split, each half falling to the side with a shower of sparks.

"It is time," came a soft voice from the empty portrait that hung above the fireplace. "He wants you there."

"Would you like us to bring anything? Perhaps some messages you need to be relayed? He oughtn't to over work himself right now, you know."

The voice responded with a grim, but by no means hollow, chuckle. "No, thank you all the same. We've got everything under control... but come."

"We're on our way."

And so it was that I came to be standing outside the great doors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, during the middle of the summer holiday, though at the time I had no real idea what any of that strange interaction had meant. In fact, I mainly was irritated that my work on recording the memories of the late Alastor Moody had been disrupted. The massive doors opened, allowing the somewhat musty scents of the great hall to flow forth, suddenly free from their seasonal imprisonment, loosed into the dusk. I turned to Mistress Lovegood, and looked up at her. A purposeful gleam had come into her usually far-off eyes as we stood on those steps...something hard, something sharp, was holding her in place. Connecting her to the world of humanity.

"I once tripped down these stairs and rolled into the lake, you know," she said suddenly. This had the effect of making me slightly less nervous. Leave it to Mistress Lovegood to tell me some story about a childhood incident and neglect mentioning why we had rushed to the school in midsummer, apparently on the urgent summons of a glum portrait. "I almost broke my spine." She finished, with the tone any normal witch or wizard would use to remark on a mildly unusual cloud formation.

I had long since learned that not only was a response not necessary to such an anecdote, but one was simply not desired. Mistress Lovegood simply spoke her mind, no matter what was on it, or who was present to hear its latest wandering. Perhaps, I realize now, this was what made her such a memorable teacher.

A cloaked figure suddenly entered the hallway, which we still stood outside of, and greeted us with a wave. Mistress Lovegood strode forward, as though with a firm goal in mind, and I did my best to keep up, as her stride was long and quick.

"He's upstairs, in the office," the cloaked man said somberly, clasping my mentor's hand in his own. He was fairly short, on her eye-level anyway. "Telling stories, of course." This last was said in tones of a semi-mocking affection, despite the slight crack in the deep voice. An inside-joke between my mentor and this new man, I supposed.

"Of course," Mistress Lovegood replied earnestly "I should like to hear one."

The man finally pushed his hood back, revealing spikes of dark, graying hair with bangs that nearly reached his eyebrows. He wore small, oval, rimless glasses, and a mist was visible on and behind them. I suspected he had been crying recently. He turned to me for the first time, and smiled.

"Who's this, then, Luna?"

Mistress Lovegood turned as well, and gave me an almost apologetic grin. "Of course, I really should have introduced you. This is my apprentice, Allan Volkman,"

I tried to look scholarly. I believe, in retrospect, that I succeeded only in appearing even more nervous. Still, the man offered his hand in a friendly manner, and I took it firmly in my own.

"Allan, this is an old friend of mine-Harry Potter," she said, and my stomach did something of a flip.

Of course, I had heard of him. Everyone has. Even after the Second Dark War, he had been very much in the public eye. It was he who was credited with the small but important restructuring that had occurred in the Ministry of Magic, the defeat of the Dark Wizard Manus, and the creation of the Apprentice system. Well, perhaps that last bit had been more Professor Granger than anyone else, but he had been heavily involved, and anyway, the papers tended to only name him.

"Its an honor, sir," I said, rather stupidly, but then, what on earth was I supposed to say? "I've heard all about your accomplishments."

There was a slight twinkle in green eyes as he replied. "Likewise, Apprentice Volkman. Luna speaks very highly of you."

It was Mistress Lovegood herself who, giving a sort of sniff and walking toward the staircase, saved me the trouble of coming up with an appropriate response. "Well, he's quite brilliant, you know," she said, not turning back.

I'm pretty sure I blushed at that, but my mind was a little too flustered at the time to accurately remember.

Potter (I had no idea what honorific was appropriate; Hero? He-Who-Makes-History?) Gave me an encouraging nod and we followed Mistress Lovegood. The staircases had the accumulated dust of a summer of disuse, and most of the torches were unlit. Still, there was the comforting feel to the air that Hogwarts always had, even when it was so thick with sadness, as I presumed, now was the case.

We arrived at the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office. I was slightly out of breath, and even Potter looked as though he could have done with less brisk a pace. Mistress Lovegood, of course, ignored this entirely.

"What's the password?" she asked, scrutinizing the gargoyle as though for clues. The creature's stone eyes followed her movements in a bemused sort of way.

"Volkodlak," Potter said between deep breaths. At this, the gargoyle leapt aside, and, after a few more stairs, we found ourselves at the Headmaster's door. It was then I realized I still had no idea what was going on.

"What's going on?" I asked, brilliantly I'm sure. I wasn't certain how Potter would take my bluntness, but I had been apprenticed to Master Lovegood long enough to know she preferred it.

She turned to me, and gave me an appraising look, as I had expected, and took relief in her approval.

"Headmaster Lupin is dying, Allan."

My heart sank into my stomach, which struck me as odd. I didn't know him personally, of course, but one could hardly be frequent in Mistress Lovegood's circles without hearing of him. I supposed I had become so attached to those quite often-repeated stories that I had come to feel affection for the man, despite my having never really met him. At any rate, it explained a lot. I found myself wondering about the effect this would have on the magical community. Although he was no longer the acting Headmaster at Hogwarts, and had been retired for quite some time, since before I had begun school, anyway, Lupin had been direct successor to Albus Dumbledore, greatest wizard of the last century. Both had been like mentors to Potter, and a great deal of the literature on him -which I of course had read- incorporated the two of them as well. Lupin was, I knew, the first lycanthropic headmaster in history and, while werewolves were far from trusted or totally equal in their rights, this had done a great deal for the cause.

Potter opened the door, dragging me from my reflections, and Master Lovegood put her hand on his shoulder reassuringly.

The room itself was dark. A bed had replaced the desk and chair that had been present during my days at Hogwarts, but there were a wide variety of magical instruments on the large tables pushed against walls. Two cabinets full of other interesting objects I did not recognize, and I did not care to tempt fate by tampering with them, sat below wide bay windows, that at the moment, were curtained. The portraits around the room sat in a sort of respectful silence, something that was almost surprising,. They had all, every one of them, been from eras in which werewolves were considered far below human. A quintet of figures sat on poufs around the bed, where Lupin sat upright, drinking something from a steaming goblet. His pure white hair and short beard were slightly rumpled, as though he had been lying down and not bothered to comb them, which I expected, was exactly the case. He lowered the drained golden goblet with a look of disgust and ran his tongue over his withered lips.

"Just like Severus, to die without finding a way to make that stuff taste better," he said in a voice that seemed almost inappropriately strong from such an old body. "Luna, Harry, I see you've brought company...who, may I ask, is this?"

The five people (two women and three men) who stood at the bedside turned to look at me. I figured I might as well introduce myself, intimidated though I was.

"I'm Allan Volkman, Mistress Lovegood is my mentor," I said, hoping desperately that I didn't sound as nervous as I was-they were all rather intimidating.

Lupin smiled, and suddenly everything seemed as though it would turn out fine. It was rather like having a large dog rest its head in one's lap, its warm breath coursing over one's leg. I relaxed visibly beneath my cloak and Mistress Lovegood smiled at me warmly.

"Well, Allan, I'm pleased to meet you. One is never too old for the young, as Dumbledore would say," he smiled softly, "Have a pouf, and some fudge." He offered me a plate of fudge, which I took rather shakily, and sat down quickly next to Mistress Lovegood.

"So," Lupin said, and turned to Potter, "Hermione was just filling me in on the way things are running themselves. I hear the Ministry is as bogged down in its proceedings as ever?"

"Some things never change, Remus," Potter said with a small, sad smile, taking a seat next to a red haired witch I assumed was his wife. She put an arm around his waste, and squeezed him gently.

Lupin shook his head. "One of life's greatest comforts," he lay down, and glanced at what looked a little like a clock on a small table beside his bed. "So, if you will pardon the failing memory of an old man, does anyone wish to tell me what's been going on in your youthful lives of late?"

The man to my right spoke. He had dark brown hair, rather unremarkable save for its thickness, which was matched by that of his somewhat bushy eyebrows.

"The Finnigans are moving again, Father," he said quietly, "Seamus got a post in America...like I said earlier, I'm taking the Care of Magical Creatures job here next month..." his voice cracked, and he broke off.

"I remember our years in Care of Magical Creatures," Lupin said, putting a gnarled hand on the man's, whom I now assumed was his son, knee, "that was my favorite class. I remember the time Padfoot nearly got himself gored by a Push-Me-Pull-You...tried to feed it, but couldn't make out which head to offer the cabbage." He closed his eyes, and his smile broadened.

"First day of fifth year, all the teachers were trying to impress us...Professor Kettleburn rode in on a Norwegian Ridgeback, name of Draelah. She almost fried Prongs...he was too nervous, though he would never admit it if you asked him. Its usually a good idea to stay calm around animals with teeth larger than one's head." He shook his head reminiscently. "You know, as long as someone remembers those old stories, they're never quite gone..."

"No, no one is," Mistress Lovegood said calmly, "Why, I have at least twelve conversations a month with my father, and he's been well... dead for over a decade. They're only dead when we think they are. They don't like being treated like they're freaks, you know. It offends them."

I hadn't known that about Mistress Lovegood, but it didn't really surprise me-well there was a good deal about her that wouldn't really surprise me. If there ever had been someone who could carry on a conversation with a dead person as though it was perfectly normal to do so, it would be her.

"I'll always remember, father. We all will," Lupin's son spoke again, gesturing lightly towards the table nearest the bed, where I now noticed a Pensieve. "Thank you for giving them to us."

Lupin smiled, and his nose twitched in the effort.

The door opened suddenly, and I turned, as did almost everyone else in the room. Mistress Lovegood alone did not, but she spoke first.

"You're late."

It was Neville Longbottom, I should call him Master I suppose, but he insisted on Neville at this time, and I imagine he would prefer that I refer to him as such.

"I'm sorry," he said humbly, taking a pouf next to my mentor. The small room was now getting rather crowded, but somehow that felt right. "I only just got Ron's owl," Neville continued softly.

"Neville," Lupin said. "Could I trouble you to close the door?"

Neville, eyes shining with tears, rose and did so. I had heard the most about Lupin from Neville himself, and I knew he still regarded the man as a personal hero -though he was quite accomplished himself, by that point.

"I'll always remember teaching my first third-year Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson here," Remus said, his eyes on Neville, "but you all know those stories, there are others who can tell them now."

He trailed off and Neville took his pouf again, very quietly.

"I have not the time," Lupin continued "for another one myself, nor am I needed any longer to keep Padfoot and Prongs alive. Even Wormtail, before he turned, is immortalized along with them in my stories. Now, I have reached the end of my own tale, and I wish to leave nothing untold."

"If you're tired, you should sleep, Remus," Potter managed. I could hear the sob in his throat, and I felt my own clench in sorrow.

"No, I am not tired, Harry," Lupin said with a smile. "This old body knows it is running out of time, and is making the most of what it has - this isn't the time for sleep." He turned his attentions to his son.

"I can find no words in me I think - if Padfoot were hear I'm sure he'd find that most amazing," Lupin laughed, "to express my deep love and pride for you. You've had more, done more, and been more than I ever could have, and I wish to ask but one thing of you son, just a little thing. Remember me, and remember your mother, our love for you does not die with our bodies." He touched the cheek of his son, who was now crying silently, and turned to the woman next him.

"Hermione, your voice of caution, reason and logic has filled a great void in the Ministry. It is my firm belief that without you, the government would have sunken back into its corrupt state quickly after the Second War," Hermione nodded, teary eyed, and clenched her hand tightly on the shoulder of the red-haired man next to her.

Lupin smiled softly and continued, "Ron, Ginny, You are both some of the finest people I have had the pleasure of meeting. Ron, you particularly must remember that your loyalty to your friends, in addition to your great individual talents, is a part of you. You are strong, loving and protective...the cornerstone of a pack. Ginny, I suspect you may not wish to hear this, but you are extraordinarily like a girl I knew when I went to Hogwarts... she too was kind, just, brave and headstrong...never had a compunction about speaking her mind..." Mrs. Potter didn't sob or cry but her eyes had a hollow look to them and from where I sat her comforting embrace of her husband looked somewhat pained.

"Luna, Neville," Lupin said softly, "you two are justly brave, intelligent and stubborn. Always remain firm in your convictions; you can rely on your own confidence in them to see you through. And always remember that your own peculiarities are what make you who you are, you must never fear or regret them." Now he turned to Potter himself.

"Harry, dear Harry, You are much more than your father's son. True, you have his bravery, chivalry, adventurous spirit and aptitude for leadership, but combined with all that, you possess humility, something he never could have known...Prongs and humility were not on speaking terms...," Lupin laughed softly, silent tears were rolling down Potter's face, his jaw clenched.

Then suddenly Lupin turned and looked right at me, a small smile on his lips, "And now I come to the newest member of your pack...Allan. Allan, though I have only just met you, from what Luna tells me, you are a true Ravenclaw. You seek knowledge, have scholarly integrity and possess a mind for synthesis unrivaled by any. Remember always your friends and remember those you died in order for you to live as you do now, you must never forget those who live in your stories Allan...never."

I was deeply touched, but I honestly couldn't bear it any longer...I'm not usually a quiet person, and I was getting antsy.

"Headmaster Lupin," I asked quietly, "I must admit, I find this all really strange. I feel as though I have no role here...you all have such history...every one of you is a legend in your own right...why am I here?"

Lupin smiled. "You are here because you are part of the pack, someone from a new generation, and so perhaps most crucial. You have closeness with Luna that is on a different level than all of ours, and in this way, you are family. I hear you have a great enthusiasm for stories, and it is my wish, if I might impose upon you, that you should tell this one."

I nodded, a little dumbstruck. Lupin, however, merely continued to speak.

"If there is one regret left to me now, it is that I have outlived my pack; Nymphadora, Padfoot, Prongs, Lily, Alastor...you know, they say a lone wolf is a dead wolf, in the wild," he looked to those seated beside him, "thank you for never letting me be alone."

All at once his expression changed. He went from a look of intense memory to one of total calm, as one might have while drinking hot chocolate on a window seat during a blizzard.

It was his face that changed first if I remember, slowly shifting and elongating, his teeth melting into sharp canines. A tail shot out from his spine, and there was a soft of crunch as his joints reversed and molded back together. Chocolate colored fur covered him, replacing skin and clothing. His whole physicality was altering...it was the strangest thing I have ever seen, and I happen to have witnessed quite a few strange things, after all I did live with Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom.

But finally the change was complete.

The wolf that was Remus Lupin stepped slowly off the bed and walked towards the door, his joints stiff with arthritis, and whimpered softly.

He lay down slowly and carefully, turning his age-grayed muzzle towards us. Here, perhaps, was the purpose of everything Mistress Lovegood ever taught me...the embodiment of the lesson she wanted me to learn above all else.

What had, not a minute before, been the strangest thing I had ever seen was now the most beautiful sight I could imagine...the most stirring image in my memory is that of the old wolf looking up at us, his eyes misty with cataracts, his muzzle pure silver, his ears flecked with gray. With the air of someone with all the time in the world he set his head between his paws and closed his rheumy eyes.

"Good dog," I heard Potter say. "Good dog." And he crossed the room to stroke the wolf. Lupin's son did as well. The room was totally silent for a while as the two men ran their hands through the deep brown fur, weeping gently, tears splattering his fur. The wolves breathing slowed, and in what seemed like a world apart from time, it gently stopped.

With a sort of jerk, the last remaining Lupin looked up from his father's gaunt form, his tears drying on his face, and quoted a muggle book, something I had heard only Mistress Lovegood do.

"Howl, Dogs. A wolf has died tonight."

And so it came to be that Moony, wisest of the true Hogwarts Four, passed on his last tale.