To Face the Wolf

Finrod Felagund, ctd.

The girl's voice broke the silence following Remus's words, sounding reedy and small. 'Professor Lupin, can I have my book back now?'

For a moment, Finrod thought he heard the wizard murmur: 'Confiscated and highly dangerous,' but all Remus said aloud was: 'You shall have it back later, but we need to talk first, Hermione.'

'Yes,' Finrod said, forestalling the girl's objection, which he saw was imminent. 'We do. The three of us.' He turned to the wizard. 'Before you magicked the book out of my hands, I saw more than either of you are probably comfortable with. As it happens, my memory is strongly visual. I could quote every sentence written on those two pages - and explain to you what more they told me that was not there in so many words.'

The wizard nodded slowly, seeming to accept this. Hermione looked troubled. 'But sir - sire -my lord king - you aren't supposed to know what will happen after - the entire trage-' She faltered. 'I mean...'

Despite everything, Finrod couldn't help smiling at her determination to address him correctly. 'I know what you mean, Hermione. And - well, I concede you have a point concerning the rest of the story.' His gaze found the book in Remus's hands. 'Though I shall not deny that I am tempted, my heart warns me how little wisdom there is in desiring to know what is beyond my power to change. What I read, was all it took to grant me peace of mind concerning my worst fear.'

Wondering why Remus suddenly bit his lip at the words 'worst fear', Finrod raised his voice and recited:

'"So deep was his anguish that he lay still, and did not hear her feet. Then thinking him already dead she put her arms about him and fell into a dark forgetfulness. But Beren coming back to the light out of the pits of despair lifted her up, and they looked again upon one another; and the day rising over the dark hills shone upon them."

Blinking, Finrod paused for a few moments until he could see Remus and Hermione again. 'My friend Beren survived Sauron's dark dungeons, even though I died.' Seeing their dismay he went on: 'No need to protect me against the knowledge that this book describes my death. If you have read the tale of Beren and Lúthien, surely you realised that I was aware of my doom before I set out with the son of Barahir. So why would I be shocked to find that it came to pass?'

There was a sound of pages being turned. '... and he knew that the oath he had sworn was come upon him for his death, as long before he had foretold to Galadriel,' Remus read quietly.

'An oath I too shall swear, and must be free to fulfil it, and go into darkness. Nor shall anything of my realm endure that a son should inherit,' recited Hermione, her voice wavering.

Finrod nodded. 'That is indeed what I said to my sister. You seem to have read it well, that you know it by heart.'

'Not well enough,' she whispered. 'I wanted you to live. I wanted it so much that I forgot all about your foresight and the Doom of the Noldor. I shouldn't have...'

Too young to grasp the implications of the Curse, Finrod thought, but the next moment he chided himself: until quite recently, he had also failed to grasp its full meaning. The Music of the Ainur may be as fate to the Elder Kindred, but we do not know the melody until it actually reaches our ears. How could he expect this daughter of Men to be wise beyond her few mortal years while he had not been wise beyond his own yeni?

'Ah, but this shows what a compassionate soul you are,' he told her. 'Do not be overly distressed because the prophecy of a dark Doom slipped your mind.'

'I should have remembered and understood,' Hermione insisted stubbornly; the girl was not easy on herself. She turned to Remus. 'But... Professor Lupin...' The fingers of both her hands locked in some kind of wrestling match.

Remus had been leafing through The Silmarillion; now he gazed up. 'What is it, Hermione?'

The fingers unlocked. 'Have you ever heard of the case of Ophelia Watershed?'

If Finrod had been any less perceptive he'd have missed the wizard's reacton, subdued as it was - no more than a ripple across a smooth surface. 'I have,' Remus replied, 'though I'd be willing to bet my last knut you're the only student currently at Hogwarts who knows her name. What about her?'

'Surely you understand what I'm getting at, Professor?'

'I believe I do,' Remus said gently, 'but all the same I won't ask him to leave - or propose to walk your back to your common room for another private chat.' He turned to Finrod. 'I apologise for my attempt to keep you in the dark. Some people are good at facing the facts' - he smiled wryly - 'and you have a right to know what is going on.'

***

Remus Lupin

The next day found Albus Dumbledore once more in Remus's quarters, about two hours before the Quidditch match Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw was scheduled to begin. Hermione, being the one who had created the situation in the first place, had come as well, on his own invitation.

It was Finrod who wanted to speak to Dumbledore, though Remus had tried to suggest it would be better if the Headmaster remain unaware of the existence of The Silmarillion. With only The Lord of the Rings to go by, his theory about Finrod's presence at Hogwarts remained debatable. For some reason - probably because he had concocted some kind of conspiracy theory - Snape had refrained from presenting the other Tolkien work as evidence, yesterday in Dumbledore's office. So it seemed they had better neglect to mention its existence.

But Finrod had insisted on a confrontation. Remus had the impression that being considered a figment of mortal imagination irked his strange friend somewhat more than he was prepared to admit in so many words. He also realised that Finrod could be extremely stubborn - and he had thrown his crown to the floor in a fit of anger once, when he was still inside his own history. And so, after a dispute he had no chance of winning, Remus had grabbed a handful of floo powder to call the Headmaster.

Dumbledore, enjoying a cup of tea and a helping of chocolate from Remus's professional supply as a Defence teacher, sat listening patiently to their account, reading a relevant passage from The Silmarillion every once in a while. 'Well,' he said at last, stroking his beard and putting down his empty cup. 'It appears the riddle of your presence at Hogwarts has been solved now, Finrod.' He sighed. 'The truth must have come as a shock to you.'

'I fear I must gainsay you, Headmaster of Hogwarts,' Finrod continued. 'What you judge to be the truth, is an error in my eyes. I am fully certain that I exist, body and soul, thoughts and memories, hopes and dreams. Finrod Felagund is not the offspring of mortal thought, of fantasy shaped into word and image, devoid of reality and lacking a history. I know that I live, as you know that you live. Indeed, I could rightly ask how you intend to prove that it is not you, not the people in this place, who are mere shadows of being in a dream I dream, a vision I see on the treshold of death?' Suddenly and unexpectedly, he laughed. 'Who, indeed can tell if we do not all act our parts in a tale, told by a fool carried away by fancy?

Remus was fascinated, and not just by the way Finrod made his point. His manner of speech had changed; it was closer to the language of The Silmarillion than it had been before. Until now, he had adapted his speech patterns to those of Hogwarts, but today he seemed to be falling back on something more ancient. As if it came naturally to him.

Or as if he's using the language of The Silmarillion to make us think so, a more suspicious little voice said.

The shocked voice of Hermione Granger cut through his musings. 'But that's impossible. We're as real as can be. I'm perfectly sure I am nobody's dream or fantasy!'

It was almost a pity the girl had entered the Wizarding World too young to have read any Muggle philosophy yet. But Remus wasn't going to add any more titles to her TBR list, though he could think of a few.

'How can you be so certain?' Finrod asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

'We can't,' Dumbledore answered before Hermione could. 'You could be right. This could be your dream, and you on the verge of waking. I can only tell you what I see and perceive, not what you may or may not be dreaming.'

'And yet you propose to force me back into this book with the help of your magic?'

'I would rather not force you.' Absently, the Headmaster waved at the teapot. It rose to refill their cups. 'Actually, I'm not even sure that it will work. But I am prepared to try.'

'You hope that I will comply and let you do as seems best to you to avoid' - a glance at Hermione - 'complications?' His gaze flicked briefly toward Remus before turning to the Headmaster again.

Finrod couldn't speek freely in front of Hermione, but the reference to what could happen when the next moon was full couldn't have been more obvious. And suddenly, Remus realised what it was the Headmaster was trying to do. By proposing to Banish Finrod back into The Silmarillion, Dumbledore was trying to protect him, Remus Lupin, a registered werewolf watched carefully by an ancient foe. Snape was poised to strike at the 'monster's' very first slip, real or perceived, and in all probability Dumbledore considered Finrod's removal from the scene the best solution.

And the Headmaster had a point. With Sirius prowling outside the castle and Sirius's former mate teaching inside, Snape could easily lose it. He had been known to do so before - that time when he went and joined Voldemort's Death-eaters.

Remus wondered why he hadn't seen this the day before. Because Finrod had become his friend, and he would be sorry to see him disappear? He had lost enough friends for a lifetime. Or did he fear for Finrod - fear that that someone so vibrantly alive would be reduced to letters in a book, scatterings of ink on sheets of paper, losing both soul and substance? Would this be any better than a Dementor's Kiss?

Such a beautiful sentiment... But for you the real question is, if it would be better than McNair's axe or Azkaban - isn't it, Lupin? Will you speak out against Dumbledore's intentions?

'That is indeed what I hope,' Dumbledore broke the silence.

'May I ask you, Headmaster Dumbledore, what you believe in your heart of hearts? Can a finite being truly turn an image residing in the imagination into flesh and blood and mind and memory? Purely through an overwhelming emotion?'

'Miss Granger is quite the witch,' the Headmaster remarked. 'And such things have been known to happen.'

Finrod did not give up. 'What If I tell you that your Divination teacher uttered a prophecy that fits my situation very well?'

Dumbledore's hand stopped halfway his beard. 'A prophecy?'

'The lady invited me to her tower room, and offered to divine my future by gazing into her crystal orb. Instead, she entered into a trance and spoke words in a voice not her own.'

'Trance?' Remus asked, more sharply than he intended too.

When Finrod nodded, the Headmaster asked: 'Do you remember what she said?'

'I remember it well.' Finrod face closed; his eyes hooded, his body gone still like a Muggle statue, as if it was already reduced to an image of life. 'These were her words:

"I see a wolf. I see a hound. I see a maiden. Wolf and hound shall struggle fiercely. The hound prevails; the wolf runs; the doomed one shall live and the Deceiver flee to his dark master. The maiden holds the key to that which was wrought in the past and must come undone. The maiden holds the key."'

The hearth fire hissed softly, but no one else made a sound. After a time, Remus rose and walked to the nearest window to gaze out, half hoping to glimpse Padfoot, half fearing he would. There was nothing to be seen outside, nothing out of the ordinary.

The previous day, between classes and also after Harry's Patronus lesson, he had checked every Silmarillion passage mentioning Finrod with the help of the index, and he had read the entire tale of Beren and Lúthien. He understood how Sybill's words could be applied to this story: Huan the Hound as the one who overcame Werewolf-Sauron, and Sauron himself as the Deceiver who fled to his master Morgoth, the Black Foe. The doomed one must be Beren son of Barahir, while the maiden was Lúthien Tinúviel, whose magic was the key to Sauron's dungeons .

Of course, there was a wolf here at Hogwarts, too. And a hound, or rather, a dog. And if the other characters were more difficult to fill in it could be because the events Sybill had spoken of hadn't happened yet. All the same, Remus felt a guilty relief for having a reason not to mention the dog. He could hardly be expected to dig his own grave.

'It would fit,' Hermione suddenly said. 'Those words do fit the story of Finrod's last expedition as told in The Silmarillion. Though if it turns out Professor Trelawney read it, she probably -'

'My dear Miss Granger,' said Dumbledore before the girl could commit the faux pas of calling a teacher a fraud to the face of her employer, 'if Professor Trelawney spoke in a trance, the odds are that it was a prophecy, indeed. This is easy to verify. If her words were truly prophetic, she will not remember them. However, this still does not prove they apply to Mr. Felagund's... situation.' His gaze landed on Remus, as if to ask his opinion.

Remus found himself tongue-tied, either on Finrod's behalf or on his own.

Someone chuckled softly. But it wasn't Dumbledore - it was Finrod. He appeared to have decided that amusement was the best option, as if Dumbledore's suggestions were a Boggart to be fought with a Riddikulus. 'We all believe what is most convenient to us. No argument will ever convince anyone with a reason to remain unconvinced. Do I lack a soul because the Dementor was unable to suck it out? Or do I have a soul, and did the Dementor fail for some other reason?'

Dumbledore nodded. 'Wise words... We choose our own beliefs; no one can possibly do more, as long as certainty is beyond our reach. And it is our choices that make us what we are.'

'Wait!' Remus found himself saying, unable to help himself. 'A successful Patronus will shield the caster against a Dementor, and it takes a happy memory to conjure it.' He did not know why the idea of a soulless Finrod was so repulsive to him, but it was.

Hermione opened her mouth, but as she lacked a first-hand knowledge of the Patronus charm, he shook his head. 'I haven't finished yet. I know Finrod's no wizard and has no wand; that could be the reason why the Dementor got close enough with its mouth. But something must have warded it off - something that was strong enough to make it dissolve. Did you look at it, Finrod?'

'I did.'

'Then,' said Remus, 'your Patronus must be in your very gaze.' His eyes met Finrod's, and though he tried to stare into their light without flinching he had to look away after a while, feeling that he might turn blind if he didn't. He even understood why: there was too much darkness inside him.

'What is your happy memory?' Dumbledore asked Finrod.

'To have beheld the Light that was before the Sun and Moon before it was extinguished. To have been taught by the Powers who sprinkle the heavens with stars and release the winds, who form the earth and tend all that grows and lives on it, who speak with the music of water, who weave all dreams, spin all tales and soothe the souls of those that grieve. This is my happy memory, and though the primal Light is no more, I hope - I trust...' he paused for a moment. 'I am not sure how to render the word estel in your language.'

'You mean to say that you have faith?' Dumbledore offered.

Finrod nodded courteously. 'Thank you. So let me put it like this: I have faith that one day, when Arda Marred is remade, I will behold this Light once again.'

Hermione was listening raptly and breathing swiftly.

Remus's chest felt painfully tight; for a brief moment, he felt ready to trade his own soul for such a shining memory.

Dumbledore leaned back, looking wistful. At last, he sighed. 'We will have to think this over. All of us. Choosing the proper path will take time, and time is what we are short of, right now: there's a Quidditch match to attend. We will have to postpone the rest of this discussion until later - with our honoured guest's permission, that is.'

'I can wait, Headmaster,' Finrod replied with a hint of mockery, 'Time is a commodity my kindred has in abundance.'

(TBC)