Memory Madness

Memory Madness

Chapter 4:

As the next day dawned, one Professor Remus Lupin sat at the desk in his quarters examining a rather strange letter.

When the owl tapping on the window had jolted him out of sleep shortly before, he had expected it to be a letter from Sirius. He was currently in London, not far from Diagon Alley, but was keeping in contact with his good friend.

After the summer, Lupin had taken up the Defense Against the Dark Arts post as teacher again. Dumbledore had been almost desperate in his search. With all that had happened - he hadn't been trying to find a teacher until it was half way through the holidays. Everyone had other things on their minds. Lupin had taken up the job straight away on the condition that Sirius would also be around.

Sirius Black was cleared in the summer when a number of Death Eaters were caught. But Lupin had to admit that Sirius had not been quite as pleased as he could have been. He knew the part of being free that Sirius had most looked forward to had been to look after Harry.

Not having anything to do, and wanting to get his mind off things, Sirius had taken up his old job of being an Auror just before Lupin set off to teach. Since the two wanted to be close by when they were both free from their jobs, Sirius bought the two of them a flat to share in Hogsmeade.

It was a shame that both of their jobs were so demanding on their time, and that Sirius was often away on Auror business, but the two had grown accustomed to this new arrangement, and didn't mind all that much as long as they kept in contact.

It was therefore, presumable that the letter would be from Sirius, but it wasn't. It was from Ron Weasley.

Lupin had been concerned about Ron and Hermione when he came back. But they had been very much as they always had in class, which had surprised him after what had happened. They had lost their best friend. He would've thought that'd leave a lasting mark, but they appeared as normal as ever.

He realised this wasn't so, however, when Ron had appeared at his office very late one evening a couple of weeks after term began. He would not have still been awake, usually, but he had a pile of second year essays to mark and had lost track of the time.

The boy had looked - lost. Staring at his feet, he had asked Lupin if he could have a word. Lupin had assured him that he could, and had gladly pushed the pile of essays aside.

"I'm really sorry to come in so late and all, Professor," Ron had started. "It's just, well I can't talk to Hermione - she'd start crying again, and I would talk to Ginny - but she's asleep, of course. And I would love to be asleep too - but I can't."

If Lupin remembered correctly, this had gone on for a few minutes. He had listed people he would have gone to about whatever was bothering him, and making the excuses as to why he couldn't.

"And I'm sure you have much better things to do," Ron gestured at the piles of parchment, "but I really need to talk to - someone." He had ended listlessly.

"Well - I'm all ears," Lupin had assured. And that had been it. Ron Weasley had spoken all about everything that had happened after Harry disappeared. Lupin could tell that he had told no one any of it, and felt almost privileged to have been Ron's choice, but he'd shaken the thought away. It was hardly a good thing the boy had had so much on his chest to begin with. Worse still that he had not had anyone he felt he could turn to.

After that night, Ron had stopped by a few more times, often just to say 'hello' and ask Lupin how things were going, and ask how Sirius' job was working out. And Lupin started talking to Ron about some boring concerns of his own.

They became each other's confidantes. They got on remarkably well, and never found it hard to talk to the other about any of their problems.

Wondering what Ron could be sending a letter for at the time of night when he ought to have been asleep and hopefully avoiding the nightmares that plagued him, Lupin opened Ron's letter and read.

Remus,
I hope things are okay at Hogwarts. And I hope you're all right, etc. I just wanted to know, is there any way to tell if a ghost has been present in a house? Oh, I have to go, Hermione's just come in - I don't want her to be bothered with this. Please let me know with an owl, or when I see you next.

Ron.

What an odd letter, Lupin mused. What was all this about ghosts? He had a funny feeling about this. Perhaps he ought to have a word with Dumbledore...

*~*~*

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office. He had been awake for quite some time, and was turning a wand over and over thoughtfully. The wand was not his own, it was Harry Potter's. It was found in the place the boy and the Dark Lord had disappeared, according to the Death Eater's accounts.

The old wizard had woken abruptly in the middle of the night with a feeling of unease. Walking in to his office, he saw the wand glowing on the shelf on which it resided.

When the glow had finally faded, Dumbledore had picked it up, sat behind his desk and had been in the same seat since. His pensive frown turned in to a slight grimace when he thought of all he could have done to prevent the tragic events of the previous year, if only he had realised...

A light knock on the door brought him out of these thoughts and he glanced up to see Severus Snape walk in.

"And what would our Potions professor be doing up at such an early hour?" Dumbledore asked pleasantly, as Snape sat down in front of the desk.

"I suppose I could ask you the very same, Headmaster," the professor replied with a sour expression. "It just so happens that I have received a reply from Lucius Malfoy," Snape went on, handing the old wizard a letter.

Dumbledore scanned the missive quickly. "Ah, so you are to meet with him in four days at the Leaky Cauldron?" he said, more of a statement than a question.

"Yes," Snape needlessly replied with a curt nod. "I do not think he trusts me as of yet, but after the past few months he seems to believe my fabrications about biding my time."

"What exactly is the situation with the Death Eaters at present, Severus?" Dumbledore inquired, twirling the wand between his fingers once more.

"They have banded together, as far as I can gather," Snape began carefully, "but it looks as though Lucius is running the whole thing. He tells them that he plans to find Voldemort and restore him now that Potter is out of the way, but I highly doubt that. Malfoys like to be on top of things, and in power. I believe he plans to cause trouble in the near future..." Snape trailed off and for the first time he noticed what Dumbledore was holding. "Why are you playing with Potter's old wand, Headmaster?" the Potions professor asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I am not 'playing' with it, Severus," Dumbledore said quietly, "I am inspecting it." And he was, indeed, gazing at it intently, as though it held the answers to secrets of the universe.

"It hardly looks all that interesting to me," Snape sighed slightly.

"It reacted to something last night," Dumbledore said flatly, "and I am trying to work out what."

Snape opened his mouth to say something - no doubt it was to be a snide remark, Dumbledore thought wryly - but a hesitant knock on the office door stopped him.

"My, my, this is a busy morning," Dumbledore commented lightly, before calling 'Come in'.

Remus Lupin entered cautiously and looked tense when he realised Snape was also in the room. "I - um - just wanted to show you this letter, Headmaster," he spoke up, gesturing to a piece of worn-looking parchment in his hand.

"Another letter," Dumbledore chuckled softly. Snape rolled his eyes.

"What could be so important about one of ex-criminal Black's irritating letters, Lupin?" Snape asked, looking supremely annoyed.

"It isn't a letter from Sirius," Lupin said guardedly and handed the letter to Dumbledore, while pausing to glare at the Potions master.

"Ah. Interesting..." Dumbledore said softly after reading the admittedly short note. "I wonder why young Mr. Weasley would wish to know of ways to detect a ghost's presence."

Snape straightened slightly. "Weasley? Ghosts?" he frowned.

"It only came a short while ago," Lupin said, looking thoughtful, "so it was sent in the middle of the night...I'm not sure what to make of it to be honest."

Dumbledore looked at the wand on his desk. He nodded to himself, as though he was coming to a silent conclusion. His expression, however, was one of concern. The wand reacting, and whatever prompted Ron Weasley to write such a letter were both connected incidents. Of that, Dumbledore was positive. It was the implications of that truth that worried him.

*~*~*

The boy wanted to put his plan in to action. As much as he liked Terry's company, he wished the Nurse would leave him alone so he could work on keeping himself out of the nuthouse. Terry, however, was babbling on about how his wife was truly amazed at how fast he was recovering. Apparently, Nancy had told him the boy was mending as if by pure magic. The boy was rather restless though, and could not honestly say he was listening all that closely.

It was three days since he'd woke up from the strangest dream of his life - or at least that he could remember - and he had been doing the Physiotherapy exercises by himself in the middle of the night in secret. While the hospital all thought he was just strong enough to grasp a teacup, he knew that if he tried, he could perhaps walk. The boy fleetingly wondered what Nancy would think if she knew how well he had, in truth, really recovered.

The boy wished he had longer to build his strength up, but he'd overheard Dr Grizzle-Guts announce that early the following morning would be the perfect opportunity to move the young mentally disturbed case to the Mental Institute. The boy was sure that was earlier than had been originally planned, but the fact of the matter was that if he was still lying in that hospital bed the next morning when they came, he would probably never get away. He had to act now.

Finally Terry said goodbye and left. When the boy was sure he was gone, he cautiously pulled aside the blankets and sat up. It was rather painful to be honest, but it wasn't unbearable. Now was the moment of truth. He would either manage walking, or fall flat on his face.

A careful movement brought him to the edge of the bed, and he gripped the rail with his right hand as his feet hit the tiled floor for the first time. The ground was cold and hard beneath him but he didn't seem to care. Slowly and steadily he shifted his weight forwards and he straightened up. He was standing! Ah - but now he had to try walking.

Taking a deep breath he moved his right foot forward and then his left, still holding the bed for balance.

He spent about ten minutes getting used to walking and, as slow as he was, he was still getting somewhere. Eventually he let go of the bed entirely and made it around the room without falling or even stumbling.

He sat heavily on his bed, flushed with success though almost completely worn out. Now all he had to do was get some sleep while he could before he made his escape in the middle of the night.

He woke up with a start, and had a sudden fear that he had slept in too late and that the next day was upon him. It was a groundless thought, however, because he could see out of the window and it was all completely dark outside.

With a slight sigh, he stood and looked about the room briefly. He didn't have anything that belonged to him, and there wasn't anything of his own he could change in to.

He cautiously tiptoed his way out of the room for the first time, and followed signs that directed him to the hospital exit.

As he was passing some lockers, he caught sight of a maroon coloured tracksuit that hung on a peg, and a small pair of trainers sat beneath. He bit his lip. It would be awfully cold outside, but he didn't want to steal anything! Still, he reasoned, he didn't exactly have much choice. It wouldn't be much of a help if he escaped the Institute just to freeze to death afterwards. With a guilty sigh he pulled the thick material free of the peg and pulled on the clothes over the hospital pajamas, and then followed to pull on the training shoes. The clothes made him feel remarkably warm and cosy. Feeling slightly less guilty than he perhaps could have, the boy continued following signs. This was almost too easy, he thought happily as he took a left turn and made his way down a flight of stairs. But he spoke too soon.

He was just about to exit the stairwell through the grey door, when he saw two people talking by the receptionist's desk. One of those people was Dr Grizzle-Guts himself.

He stood for many moments, silently wishing they would go away. He could see the hospital entrance, or in his case the potential exit, standing yards behind the talking doctors. It was as though the exit was standing there taunting him. He had to get out, but how when those two were still standing there? The boy had the sudden fleeting wish that he could be invisible and pass them by without them even knowing.

Then, as luck would have it, they both turned towards the elevator doors and pressed the 'up' button. The boy was silently chanting to himself, Go on, go on, go away, go away. But there seemed to be some trouble. Dr Grizzle-Guts was tapping the button over and over and glancing at the other doctor with an annoyed expression when nothing happened.

They both turned and the boy realised that they were heading towards him. They were going to take the stairs! He cast about for a second, looking for somewhere to hide. When he didn't find one, he jumped behind the door just as it opened.

The two doctors talked animatedly to each other, in some kind of complicated debate, and the boy held his breath, hoping they didn't look around as they made their way up the first flight of stairs.

They didn't. The boy let out a huge sigh of relief and let himself out of the stairwell and towards the freedom of the world outside the hospital doors.

It was only after he had walked down a couple of streets, that the boy realised he wasn't sure what he ought to do now. He hadn't exactly planned further than getting out of the hospital in one piece. Now he was faced with the reality that he had nowhere to go, no money, and had no precise idea where he was.

Not having any better ideas, he kept on walking. This didn't help him very much, for less than half an hour's worth of walking later he was perfectly sure he was completely lost.

He started to panic a little. What was he meant to do? He cursed his bad planning. Any sensible person could have foreseen this problem. Then something caught his eye. There were some colourful flashes around the next corner. It was a little late for a party, and the wrong time of year for fireworks, but the boy was curious so he crept up to the street corner.

What he saw utterly confused him. He could see four figures, all wearing long cloaks. They all held sticks and it was these sticks that fired the flashes and bursts of light. He could see that the four were not all dressed alike. Two of the figures wore what looked like dark blue cloaks, and the other two were wearing black. He found himself positive that if any one side should win in this, well he supposed it was a fight of some kind, then it ought to be those in blue.

The boy couldn't see anything detailed from where he stood, he really wished he had the glasses he'd seen himself wear in his dreams.

A light blue flash made him blink and see stars, but then he shook his head slightly and saw that both of the people in black were surrounded by what looked very much like a bubble.

One of the people in blue shouted out to his partner. "Those shields will last for hours if they want them to. Leave them, Sirius, we should get back to Diagon Alley. Who knows? Maybe Snape's got some news out of his meeting."

The person named Sirius tried to force his way through the bubble and was just hurled backwards. Looking highly annoyed he kicked the bubble hard. "How typical!" he said angrily. "We run in to a couple of Death Eaters in Muggle London but then can't counter-curse their shields!"

"We could if we had more time," the other man said with a shrug. "We just don't. We were meant to be watching Snape, making sure he didn't get in to trouble with Malfoy, remember?"

"Snape's a waste of space," Sirius muttered, looking sulky. "I don't know how you can't agree, Mundungus."

The young man named Mundungus chuckled and started to lead Sirius away from their two enemies, towards the boy's corner.

To say the boy was confused would have been an understatement at that point. He could have sworn he'd heard the name Sirius before. And all the business with the flashes of light and the impenetrable bubble were all rather fantastical. Of course, a number of the doctors thought he'd sustained a very forceful blow to the head, and surely that could make him see things that weren't there, but he was unconscious for months before be woke up. He would've expected the side effects of the blow to have worn off.

All in all, the boy was feeling rather disorientated and confused about the whole thing. The two men walked past where he stood hidden in the shadows and didn't see when the other two cloaked men came out of their bubble and started hurrying after them, sticks held high menacingly.

"Watch out!" the boy cried just in time. Mundungus and Sirius turned and had time to pull out their own sticks and cast off more flashes than the boy could count.

The boy realised that this was just as queer as some of his dreams. He wondered for a moment if he was asleep, but after pinching his arm he was almost positive he wasn't.

"Jeez! That was close, Sirius!" Mundungus commented, looking down at the two stunned Death Eaters.

Sirius, however, wasn't listening. He was staring into the shadows where he could just see the shape of a slight figure standing by the wall.

"You there!" he called, seeing the figure shift slightly. "You warned us, didn't you?" he asked.

"Yes," came a soft reply. Sirius checked himself slightly. That voice was very young and - familiar.

"Come out here, the least me and my friend can do is get you a drink in thanks," Sirius' tone was light but he felt very uneasy for some inexplicable reason.

The boy weighed his options. He felt like he could trust these strangers, but at the same time they had just knocked out two other people. In defence, yes, but still... He wouldn't fancy being on the receiving end of one of those strange sticks either. But, he was very thirsty, and it had started to rain.

Taking a deep breath and hoping for the best, the boy stepped forward into the soft light of the old-fashioned street lamp.