The Tower of Learning

THE TOWER OF LEARNING

I'm looking for the tower of learning

I'm looking for the copious prize

I saw it in your eyes what I'm looking for

I saw it in your eyes what I'm looking for

I really do fear that I'm dying

I really do fear that I'm dead

I saw it in your eyes what I'm looking for

I saw it in your eyes what'll make me live

All the sights of Paris pale inside your iris

Tip the Eiffel Tower with one glance

Stained glass cathedrals, with one glint

You smashed them with your eyes

What I'm looking for

One blink and then my heart wasn't there no more

I'm looking for the tower of learning

I'm looking for the copious prize

I saw it in your eyes what I'm looking for

I saw it in your eyes what I'm looking for

***

For a moment, I thought I was looking at the ghost of James--tall, lean, with unkempt black hair and a weary smile. Three things gave this man away, though: the substitution of contact lenses for eyeglasses, a pair of gleaming green eyes, and the lightening bolt-shaped scar situated just above them.

"Harry," I whispered, beaming as I embraced him. "Merlin, it's good to see you!"

His attire was similar to mine--Muggle. We both wore denim pants and solid-colored button-down shirts, although my clothes were a bit shabbier than his. The end of the war hadn't made me a richer man, after all, but money had always been of little importance to me, anyway.

"Good to see you too, Remus," said Harry with a smile, pulling away. "How've you been?"

I motioned for him to follow me into the Leaky Cauldron. "I've been well," I answered, leading the way toward the staircase. "Things have been busy at the Ministry, but Arthur's doing his best to make things as easy as possible on everyone. Can't imagine Cornelius Fudge ever making things easy, can you?"

Harry laughed and shook his head. "No, I can tell you that from firsthand experience! Things would've been a hell of a lot easier if Arthur had been Minster of Magic from the very beginning. Hermione owled me in Italy and said that she and Ron were coming to London this summer to visit Molly and Arthur, actually."

I turned to him and crooked one eyebrow as we mounted the stairs. "When were you in Italy? I thought you were only going to Paris."

Harry shrugged. "That was the plan, but I ended up all over Europe. I was in Paris for about six months, then got tired of it. I ended up staying with Seamus in Ireland for a while, then went to Italy and Greece and Germany, then to Romania with Charlie for two months. I even stayed a couple weeks in Bulgaria with Viktor Krum and visited with some friends from Durmstrang. It was quite nice, actually."

For someone who had secured the fate of the wizarding world little more than three years ago, he looked good. No, I thought, he looked great. The boy I'd known at the end of the war had been badly wounded, both physically and emotionally, and had been, if I wasn't mistaken, more than willing to have accepted a different outcome. We'd lost close friends--Sirius, of course, and shortly after Bill and Percy Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks, and then finally Albus Dumbledore. There were nights still when I saw those battles in my mind, saw as people I loved were stricken down by the Death Eaters. It had been painful, to say the very least, and Harry had felt the pain just as acutely.

But this, I thought, this was the same person I'd known before the war--happy, healthy, even if he was a bit weary still. The boy had grown into a man, aged twenty-one years now, and just as delightful as he had ever been.

I took a moment to fish through my pockets for the roomkey, then slipped the key into the door. The lock gave with a small snap, and the door popped open.

"Let me take your jacket," I said as we entered the room. Harry peeled off the dragonhide coat, no doubt purchased in Romania, and placed it in my hands. I moved to the coat hanger in the corner and waited for the charmed hook to snatch it up.

"So, did you meet anyone...interesting...in your travels?" I asked, trying to make polite conversation. It felt odd, not knowing what to say to Harry after these three long years. He and I had always been close, but all the time apart had added an awkward dynamic to our relationship. In a way, I felt as though I were talking to a stranger.

"What d'ya mean by 'interesting'?" said Harry, smirking as he plopped down at the foot of my bed.

I shrugged and smiled. "I don't know, any girls? You seeing anybody these days?"

Harry chuckled. "The only girl I have any interest in seeing is Patricia, and Hermione, perhaps, if she happens to be the one carting my goddaughter around."

I thought for a moment of the newest addition to the Weasley family, Patricia Molly Weasley, the one year-old daughter of Ron and Hermione. The little girl already possessed the standard Weasley red hair and would no doubt be showing her mother's extraordinary abilities as a witch soon enough.

"But to answer your question, no," said Harry, averting his eyes from me suddenly. "I...uh...I'm not seeing anyone and...to be quite honest...if I were seeing anyone, it would not be a...a girl."

I gasped without meaning to and gazed at him from across the room. "S...sorry," I stammered. "I didn't mean...I was just startled is all. I didn't realize you--"

"Were gay?" he finished, laughing a bit. "Neither did I, really, until I left. The war didn't exactly give me many opportunities to have a life, let alone date anyone. But while I was traveling, I got all the time I needed to sort some things out for myself." He looked up at me suddenly. "You're the first person I've told, actually. You aren't going to hold it against me, are you?"

The smirk on his face was enough to tell me he knew the answer already. "Of course not," I answered, crossing the room. "Just don't hold my being a werewolf against me."

"Deal," he said, extending one hand toward me, which I accepted and shook, laughing uneasily.

"And how 'bout you?" he asked as I took a seat next to him on the bed. "Are you seeing anyone?"

I snorted. "I'm too old for dating," I said. "Besides, I haven't really had much time in the past three years to do much but grieve and work."

Harry nudged my shoulder with his own and chuckled. "You aren't old, Remus," he said. "You're, what? Forty-two? That's not old at all. You've got half your life ahead of you."

I rolled my eyes, then turned them to my lap. "Well, that's an optimistic way of looking at things. But really, I haven't been romantically involved with anyone since...well, since I was your age."

No need to tell him that last encounter had been with his godfather. No need to tell him that Sirius Black had been, in fact, the only romantic interest I'd ever had. Azkaban had brought an end to all that, though, and even after Sirius' escape, things were never the same. I couldn't say we hadn't tried; we had. The first year after the Order's reformation, Sirius and I had spent weeks on end alone at headquarters in a desperate attempt to find what we'd lost. We'd changed. We weren't the young men we'd been thirteen years before, and in the end we'd settled for friendship, for brotherhood, things we had always been capable of. But the rest--that was nothing more now than a ghost out of an idyllic past. Sirius was dead, and there was no reason to resurrect his memory for myself or for Harry, not after all this time.

I jumped slightly as Harry's hand slid over mine, then relaxed and locked my fingers tightly around his. He leaned his head onto my shoulder in a manner so childlike that I couldn't help but be reminded of the boy he'd once been, a boy what had virtually been a man since the age of thirteen. I supposed he had Sirius--Merlin, there was that name again!--to thank for that.

"You're not old, Remus," he said again. "You're alive. I'm thankful for that. You should be, too."

I sighed. "You're alive, too, Harry. Don't forget that."

I felt him shake his head against my shoulder. "Now that the prophecy's been fulfilled, I half wish Voldemort had been the one to fulfill it. I'm past fearing death. Now, I just fear that I'm already dead."

"Don't say that," I whispered, wincing. "You've been through far too much to start feeling this way now." I didn't realize until I felt the dampness seeping through my cotton shirt that Harry was crying. Tentatively, I lifted one hand from my lap to run through his black hair. "You've got so much ahead of you, Harry. It's been three years. Don't you think it's time to start living again?"

Harry sat up straight, wiping his cheeks dry with his free hand. He gazed at me through long lashes to which teardrops clung. His brow furrowed, and suddenly I wanted nothing more than to smooth away the tiny creases in his forehead that this unexpected consternation had brought on.

"Remus," he whispered. He pulled his hand out of mine and gripped the back of my neck, then drew nearer to me. I knew what was happening; I was letting it happen. And when Harry brought his lips to mine, I realized just how much I wanted it to happen.

His hands came up to stroke my hair, and I literally felt him moan as his tongue sought and was granted entrance into my mouth. The kiss was slow, sweet, comforting, and even though I could taste the salt of Harry's tears on my lips, this simple connection was a warmth that I would settle for, one that seemed determined to remind me that I still had reasons to live. I could only hope it did the same for Harry.

"Merlin...," he sighed, pulling slowly away from me. "I...should I apologize?"

I shook my head and brushed my knuckles against his cheek. "No, don't be sorry. I just...why?"

Harry shrugged, then smiled sadly. "Does it matter?" he whispered. "It would take far too long to explain all the reasons."

"I've got time," I said. "Explain."

Harry looked at me for a long moment, then sighed and settled back onto the bed. Languidly, he motioned for me to follow suit, and I complied, stretching myself out on the mattress beside him. His soft smile made him glow suddenly with a new and different light, but what wasn't new and different about all of this? If anyone had told me five years earlier that I'd be kissing Harry Potter, son of my best friend and godson of my former lover, on a bed in the Leaky Cauldron, I would've called them mental. But here I lay, gazing over at the Boy Who Lived, the Man Who'd Survived, and feeling something for him that I had never imagined possible.

"I didn't know why it started," he began, twining his fingers around mine once again. "I'd been in Paris four months, maybe five, and I just...I was seeing you everywhere I went. I didn't know what it meant, not really. I knew I loved you. I've loved a lot of people, though--the Weasleys, Dumbledore, Sirius, even Snape on occasion. But you...."

He broke off for a moment to bow his head against the top of mine, then gently pressed a kiss to my hair. "It's no exaggeration to say that you are the reason I'm alive, Remus. You have to know that. You're the one that held off the Death Eaters long enough for me to kill Voldemort in the Death Chamber. You nearly died from it!"

I shook my head. "My injuries weren't that serious, Harry," I mumbled. But, in truth, they were. The Cruciatus Curse is horrible enough to drive any wizard insane; it's a thousand times worse when that wizard happens to be a werewolf. I'd spent half a year in St. Mungo's after that night, but I would've spent an eternity there just to know that the war was over, that Harry had lived.

"Don't be modest," Harry whispered, laughing. His breath felt warm against my face. "The point was, I loved you even more for that, Remus. Not once during these past three years did I ever stop thinking about you. I hadn't heard from you. I hoped like hell you were alright. Hermione had told me in her letters that things were fine with you, but I wanted to know it for myself."

"Sorry 'bout that," I sighed, averting my eyes shamefully. "It's just...I know you well, Harry. I knew you'd left on this little journey to be alone. You need that time. You deserved it. I didn't think you'd want me bothering--"

"Hush," he whispered, pressing soft fingers to my lips. "It's a moot point now, water under the bridge, so to speak. I'm not accusing you. All I'm trying to say is that I wanted more than anything to see you again, to have the chance to thank you for all you had done for me."

"You've more than thanked me," I said, suddenly stricken by the pang of guilt and humility in Harry's tone. "I don't want you to feel that you owe me anything. And if...this...is how you think you have to repay me, then you're much mistaken."

Harry scoffed and tightened his grip on my hand. "You think I kissed you out of pity? That's hardly the case, Remus. I wanted to kiss you, because I am grateful to you, yes, but also because I'm in love with you."

His words struck me harder than any act he'd committed that evening. Harry was in love with me? Part of me wanted to be angry with him for being so foolish, so rash and bold with his words. They were strong, those words. But still, another part of me, a larger part of me, couldn't help but sigh at the recent memory of his fingers in my hair, his mouth opened against mine. The feeling those acts had elicited had been far too stirring to be anything as simple as lust.

"Harry," I shuddered, "don't say things you can't mean...."

"I do mean it!" he said, bolting upright in the bed. "I wasn't sure at first, not entirely. But when I saw you downstairs, I just...I knew. And, I mean, it's more than just how beautiful you are--"

"Now I know you're just trying to take the piss out of me!" I insisted, laughing a little. "I most definitely am not beautiful!"

Harry sighed exasperatedly as he threw one leg over me so that he was straddling my hips. He bent low and took my face in both his hands, smiling.

"I've been all over the continent these past three years. I've seen some of the most beautiful sites of Europe--the Grand Canal in Venice, the mountains of Romania, the fields of Ireland, and everything the city of Paris could possibly have to offer. But when I saw you, Remus, when I looked into your eyes and saw, for the first time in far too long, the man who had loved me and cared for me every moment I'd known him, the man who saved my life...all those beautiful places just...paled."

He dipped his head an inch, maybe two, just enough to brush his lips over mine. I couldn't suppress a slight shudder. Harry must have felt it, because he ran one hand gently, coaxingly, through my hair.

"You, Remus," he said tenderly, working at the buttons of my shirt, "are more beautiful to me than anything in this world. I...am...in love with you."

I let escape a soft moan, breathing warmly against his jaw. My thin, trembling features danced along the hem of his shirt, testing limits in a way I didn't think words could. Harry nodded his assent, then raised his arms and allowed me to pull the shirt over his head. Sitting upright, he smiled down at me with eyes so full of love I thought I might weep. His fingers wrapped gently but firmly around my wrists and pulled my hands to his naked chest. He was warm, impossibly warm, and I could feel his heartbeat as if I myself were tapping it out with my trembling fingertips.

"You aren't afraid, are you?" he whispered, still smiling.

"A little," I answered, nodding as my hands trailed down his torso to make a careful study of the tiny ripples of his abdominal muscles. "I haven't done this in a while."

He covered my hands with his own and directed them toward the button of his blue denim trousers. "You're doing just fine, Remus...."

We divested one another of all clothing in what seemed to be a sort of methodical frenzy. I'd forgotten how sublime it felt--this touching, this kissing, the clumsy but always-rewarding search for the precise way to elicit a desired response.

Amid the sighs and urgent whispers and eager looks and slow, calculated movements, I saw Harry Potter as I'd never seen him before. This person was far too deliberate in action to be James, too masculine and too aware of his own desires to be the Boy Who Lived any longer, and far too far removed from pain finally to be the Man Who Saved Us All. This was Harry, who had nothing to lose any longer, but who knew precisely what he was setting out to gain--exoneration for sins he'd never committed, a reason to stay alive even after his prophecy had been fulfilled, and a love that could last for as long as he did stay alive.

Exoneration he would never find in me; I was no priest, and in my mind, Harry Potter's soul was as pure and beautiful as new-fallen snow.

But those other things, love and a reason to live, those were things I could give him, things I hoped he had found there in my arms.

FIN