What It Takes

CHAPTER ONE: A HAUNTED HOUSE

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, had never seemed less inviting than it did that evening. Remus Lupin stood perfectly still, studying the snake on the front door as Severus Snape crossed the house's threshold. Home again, home again, jiggity jig, he thought in his melancholy mind.

"You coming in or not, Lupin?" Snape muttered, turning to the werewolf and staring perplexedly at him.

Remus jolted to his senses at once and moved forward. "Oh, yes, of course," he said. He entered, and Snape bolted the door behind him.

The house lay in an eerie silence, but Remus realized that this would not be the case for long. Within hours Molly and Ginny Weasley, who were around somewhere, would be bustling about, preparing for the multitude of guests who would undoubtedly be arriving over the next two evenings. There would be the rest of the Weasley family, of course, and Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Tonks, Mad Eye, and Mundungus, along with a number of other members of the Order of the Phoenix.

But most importantly, Harry Potter would be coming. Remus himself had made the trip to Little Whinging the previous night with Snape to inform Harry that an escort would soon be arriving to transport him to Grimmauld Place. The Dursleys could not have been more elated. They detested the boy, Remus knew, and despite warnings he himself had given them in June to treat Harry well, he also knew Vernon and Petunia Dursley were probably thrilled to have their nephew out of their hair.

"Oh, gentlemen! Glad to see you've made it here safely!"

Remus glanced up to find Molly Weasley moving toward him, smiling, her arms outstretched to embrace him. He hadn't even heard her enter. After nearly crushing Remus, Molly turned to Snape, who appeared shocked, among other things, to be embraced so warmly by her.

"Yes...Molly...we're just fine," Snape fumbled. Remus saw him roll his eyes a little over Molly's shoulder.

"And what about Harry?" she asked quickly, her eyes darting back and forth between the two men. "He's alright, isn't he? Those Muggles...they're treating him well, aren't they? Giving him food? Not ordering him around?"

"He's as well as any insolent teenage boy could possibly be," Snape muttered, scowling.

Remus was tempted to remind Snape that Harry had been responsible for the capture of several Death Eaters only two months earlier and was therefore in no position to be insulted, but he restrained himself. It mattered little, however, because Molly was quick to scold the Potions professor for his callousness.

"Don't you dare be so cruel, Severus!" she hissed. "The boy's been through far too much, especially these past couple months. There were those awful visions, and the attack in the Ministry, and losing his godfather--"

She broke off abruptly when she saw Remus wince. He hadn't meant to do it; he'd been careful not to show outwardly just how deeply the death of Sirius Black had pained him. But sometimes it was far too difficult to hide the heartache, the constant, nagging guilt. If only he'd filled Harry in on everything Dumbledore had been too afraid to tell him, if only he'd taken on Bellatrix himself....

"Harry's well, Molly," he said softly, eyes downcast. "Tonks, Moody, and Kingsley are fetching him at ten o'clock tomorrow evening, so he ought to arrive shortly thereafter."

"Wonderful...just wonderful..." said Molly, forcing a smile and turning quickly away from Remus. He knew she was merely pretending not to see the tears taking formation in his eyes, but he didn't mind. Maybe it was better this way, to suffer alone, without everyone's pity, without the continuous remarks of "I know how you feel" and "Your wounds will heal in time." No one knew, and not even an eternity could heal Remus' wounds.

"You should know, gentlemen," Molly said suddenly in a hushed voice, leaning slightly toward them, "Kreacher is still roaming around this place--"

"WHAT?" Snape growled, his eyes darting around the room as if to track the house elf down. "How on earth could anyone think of letting that traitorous vermin stay here?"

Couldn't have said it better, Remus thought to himself.

"What could we do?" Molly pleaded. "The Death Eaters hadn't gotten everything out of him, and Dumbledore insisted he remain here. I just...I don't know what to do with him. He's as miserable as ever...."

Snape's eyes drifted toward the staircase. Remus thought he might still be in visual pursuit of the house elf, until Snape absently mumbled "Merlin, I'm exhausted!"

Molly directed the two men toward the stairs. "Of course, of course, you both must be absolutely bushed! The bedrooms are all ready. Go on up and get yourselves to bed."

Snape started immediately up the stairs. Remus moved to follow him, but Molly grabbed him quickly by the hand.

"Remus," she whispered, smiling sadly. "Remus, I know you hate being here."

"No, I don't, I..."

"Yes," she said adamantly, "you do, and you know it. You and Sirius spent the majority of this past year alone together in this place. I know how much you loved him, Remus, and how terribly his death must have affected you, how terribly it is still affecting you. But please, darling, remember that you have the love and support of the entire Order, and we do truly need you."

Remus nodded and wiped a tear from his cheek. "I know that, Molly. Thank you."

Molly stood on tiptoe and swiftly place a kiss on his cheek, then urged him toward the bottom stair. "You go and get some sleep now, you hear?"

Remus forced a smile, then headed up the painfully familiar wooden staircase toward his bedroom to find the sleep he so desperately needed.

But Remus did not sleep that night. The hours ticked by on the Muggle alarm clock Arthur Weasley had surprised him with last Christmas. Twelve. One. Two. He would've given anything to feel the sting of sleep on his eyes, to lose the thread of conscious thought, to shut his mind down, if only for a few brief hours. But it wouldn't happen, and Remus was painfully aware of it.

"Wish you were with me, Padfoot," he whispered into the darkness as a lump formed in his throat. He closed his eyes for a moment. It was foolish to even wish Sirius could have been there, in the bed the two of them had shared for almost a year. Sirius wasn't coming back. He himself had said the words to Harry just after Sirius had disappeared through the veil--Sirius was gone. There was nothing Remus could do to change that fact, but nothing he could do to accept it, either, nothing he could do to suppress the shudder that would inevitably come over him anytime anyone spoke Sirius Black's name.

Sick of trying to force a sleep that wouldn't come, Remus pulled his wand from the bedside dresser, chanted "Lumos!" into the dark, and quietly made his way out of the bedroom.

He had expected to find the second-story hallway deserted, but such was not the case. Beneath the snoring, muttering portrait of Mrs. Black stood a small, aged, nearly-naked house elf wearing an expression of vehement anger. He smiled maliciously when he caught site of Remus.

"Well, well, well," he croaked. "If it isn't Master's bloody awful werewolf friend! What brings you out this late?"

Remus gritted his teeth. "Wanted a drink of water," he managed to answer. He attempted to move past Kreacher, but the house elf stepped forcefully out in front of him.

"Codswallop!" spat the house elf, still smiling sickly. "I heard you boo-hoo-hooing in there. The bloody werewolf misses his ickle boyfriend, does he? Master is dead, good and dead."

"SHUT UP!" Remus hissed, attempting and failing once more at passing Kreacher.

"Serves him right," Kreacher mumbled. "Letting all the blood traitors and mudbloods and brats into the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, helping the Potter boy fend off the Dark Lord, and you--doing all those disgusting, unnatural things with his ickle werewolf right here in the house of his mother and father!"

Remus said nothing, but glared at the vile house elf through angry, tear-filled eyes. Kreacher's smile did not falter, and neither did his malevolent gaze. Molly Weasley may not have known what to do with a traitorous house elf, but Remus was ready to give Kreacher the only thing he had ever wanted out of life--

His head, mounted on the wall, right next to his mother's.

CHAPTER TWO: FAREWELL TO NUMBER FOUR

There were some people in the world that absolutely dreaded the task of packing, but for Harry Potter, the simple folding and tucking away of clothes into one's trunk brought with it the promise of long-awaited freedom. Well, not that long-awaited. Barely a month had passed since he'd returned to Number Four, Privet Drive, yet the days had stretched out into what seemed like centuries.

But at last, Lupin had come with the word that Harry would soon be taken to the Order's headquarters. That thought had filled Harry with so much joy that he hadn't even minded the fact that Professor Snape had accompanied Lupin. Not even a slimy Potions master could make this news less comforting.

However, the thought of returning to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, was bittersweet at best. What would that dark, ancient house be like without Sirius ambling about? Harry didn't even want to think on it, because every time he did, along came the creeping suspicion that he himself was responsible for the fact that Sirius would not be waiting on him when he arrived. If only he hadn't been so foolish.... If only he'd made an effort during Snape's Occlumency lessons and actually learned to close his mind....

Don't blame yourself, a nagging voice said to him as he gathered his school materials, the last of his luggage, and tossed them into his trunk. Deep down, Harry knew that Sirius' death hadn't truly been his fault. Remus had told him so. So had Dumbledore, and if that wasn't consolation enough, then nothing short of the words straight from Sirius' mouth would have comforted him.

Besides, it did not do to dwell on guilt; Harry had far too much ahead of him as it was. Merlin only knew what Voldemort had up his sleeve for Harry. Since Harry had come to Hogwarts, not a year had gone by without some Voldemort-related attack, earning Harry an even greater reputation for being The Boy Who Lived. He certainly could have done without it, without the pain and loss he'd endured on account of Voldemort, without the frequent (although not as frequent as they had been) nightmares of death and torture and other unspeakable evils, and certainly without the recently-unveiled prophecy hanging over his head. Kill or be killed--it hardly seemed fair to put that kind of an ultimatum before a not-even-sixteen year-old boy. But what had been fair about any of it?

In the meantime, though, Harry would have his sixth year of school to deal with, not that that amounted to anything nearly as frightful in comparison. But his O.W.L. scores, which had arrived one week earlier, brought with them the promise of a very challenging schedule.

He could deal with O.W.L. level Charms, Transfiguration, and Care of Magical Creatures classes; the basic versions of these had been the subjects in which Harry had always done well. As could be expected, he hadn't a clue what an O.W.L. level Defense Against the Dark Arts class would be like. Harry wasn't even certain that Dumbledore had hired a new professor to fill the position. Anyone, he thought, would be better than Dolores Umbridge, though.

But the class he feared most of all, however, was the one in which he had surprisingly received the highest marks--Potions. When he'd first look over his scores, he had been almost convinced that there had been some sort of mix-up. In all his time at Hogwarts, Harry Potter had never excelled in Potions class. This was partly to do with the fact that he had always detested and feared Professor Snape and had never had any sort of motivation to apply himself in Snape's class. However, after all he'd learned about Professor Snape during the previous year, Harry was no longer as quick to hate him. Snape had his reasons for being so cold and obtuse, even if Harry wasn't precisely sure what those reasons were, and Dumbledore trusted Snape, after all. If anyone was an excellent judge of character, it was certainly Albus Dumbledore.

"POTTER! DOWN HERE, NOW!"

Harry cringed at the sound of Uncle Vernon's bellowing voice. Hurriedly, he dashed out of his bedroom, but came to a halt on the upstairs landing when he realized who was standing at the bottom of the stairs.

"Oy, Harry!" squealed Nymphadora Tonks, who had used her metamorphmagus powers to give herself an electric blue bobbed hairdo. "Good to see you, mate!"

Tonks was flanked by Alastor "Mad Eye" Moody on her left and Kingsley Shacklebolt on her right. Both of them beamed up at Harry. To their right stood Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley, all of whom wore expressions of sheer terror, though they had in fact met both Tonks and Moody before.

"I...I'm all packed," Harry stammered, his eyes darting between the horrified Dursleys and the small gang of wizards who had invaded their otherwise "normal" home. "Give me a moment while I fetch my trunk and my broom. We will be flying, won't we?"

Evidently, the thought of a flying pack of wizards sickened Uncle Vernon, because he made an audible sound of disgust at the mention of the word. Harry paid no attention.

"'Fraid not," croaked Moody as his magical eye rolled around to have a look at Dudley, who shrunk away in fear. "But be sure to bring everything with you. We'll be taking the Floo Network from Figgy's place down the road."

Harry nodded excitedly. "Alright, then. I'll go get my things. Be right back!"

"I'll help ya, Harry!" cried Tonks, and a second later Harry heard her charging up the stairs behind him.

They entered his bedroom. Harry pulled his Firebolt out from under the bed and motioned with his free hand toward Hedwig's cage on the dresser.

"You mind getting that?" he said to Tonks. "Hedwig'll be wanting it. I sent her on ahead with a letter to Lupin, so she'll be waiting when we get to Grimmauld Place."

"Sure, no problem!" Tonks replied, beaming. "Hedwig ain't the only one waiting on you, though. Everybody at headquarters is just dying to see you, Harry! Wanting to make sure you're doing alright, I expect."

Harry furrowed his brow. "Why should they worry? Lupin and Snape were just here to see me two days ago. They know I'm alright. They saw me for themselves, didn't they?"

Tonks shrugged, then pointed her wand at the heavy trunk and chanted "Wingardium Leviosa!" Instantly, the trunk levitated, and Tonks began to lead it toward the bedroom door, but Harry stopped her.

"Not a good idea, Tonks," he said. "We can't very well walk from here to Mrs. Figg's house with a floating trunk. The neighbors will get suspicious."

Tonks made an apologetic face, then immediately directed the trunk toward the grown and administered a charm to simply make it lightweight. She grabbed one end of the trunk, and Harry grabbed the other, and together the headed carefully back down the stairs.

"That everything?" asked Moody, and Harry nodded. "Alright then, let's be on our way to Figgy's." He suddenly turned to the Aunt Petunia, who literally jumped when his gaze fixed on her. "Thanks for keeping the boy alive for a couple of weeks. Your sister would've been grateful."

Aunt Petunia nodded hesitantly, but didn't say a word.

And then, without so much as a word to his aunt, uncle, or cousin, Harry followed the three wizards out of Number Four, Privet Drive, and prepared for his return to a place he was less reluctant to call his home.