To Face the Wolf

Finrod Felagund

He doubted if any of them comprehended what it would mean for him to return. What it meant to be born deathless and still having to die. He had felt the first pangs before he was pulled from his own reality. It would be worse than the pain of his wounds or the wolf's venom coursing through his veins. Yet he knew he had to go and face it, face the Houses of the Dead and the judgement of Mandos.

Oddly enough it Remus - who risked most if he stayed - was the one to say it: 'Why? Why go to your death?' And taking the liberty to plunge into the wizard's mind, Finrod caught the thought behind it: It's far from certain he'll become a werewolf. He didn't think so himself.

He hesitated. What he was about to do was cruel, but Remus had more than his share of pain and grief. He should not also have to feel guilty for letting a friend go to his death. As nothing less than the starkest of alternatives would do, Finrod thrust it at him, unrelentingly: I do, now. Your magic works for me in this reality, as the Disillusionment Charm proved. Surely a werewolf bite will turn me. When he saw the other blink he knew that his words had come through and added: I must leave, Remus, to face the wolf that is death and what lies beyond it. It is enough that you will have your own wolf to face, time and again, without having to fear mine as well.

The wizard bent his head.

Finrod cleared his throat. 'I do not belong here,' he said aloud. 'My home is elsewhere. Though I may die on my return, in the lands of my birth a House is waiting to receive me. My soul must seek entrance there, whatever it takes to cross the threshold. Consider this. I am of a race that does not die of old age. Were I to stay here - if this were possible - I would live on and on, doomed to see my friends die on me time and again, with none of my own kindred to turn to for comfort and company. Call me selfish, if you will. Also, consider what it would do to you, were you to see me remain young and unassailed by sickness and decrepitude.'

The Headmaster shook his head, but not in denial. 'Even if you could stay here, who would want you to suffer such loneliness? And who could live side by side with such longevity and not feel resentment of their own briefness gnaw at them? We have seen to what lengths some will go in order to eat death.' Finrod saw the blue eyes behind the half-moon glasses dart toward Severus Snape before they were fixed on Hermione. The Potions master's face contorted for a moment; then his eyes widened and he went rigid, as if transfixed with sudden understanding.

The Headmaster held the Time-turner aloft. 'Miss Granger, would you be willing to let our guest use this to return to his own world? It would be the most simple and elegant way to go about.'

'Can we be sure he will return there?' she asked anxiously.

'Nothing is ever wholly certain, child. But travelling back in time, he will pass the moment when your desire to save him pulled him into Hogwarts. From that moment, his time-line leads back to -' he sought Finrod's face, ' - what I am willing to assume is a reality as solid as our own, even if it is fiction to us. But do you realise that the last turn could send you straight back between the dying werewolf's venomous fangs?'

Finrod nodded calmly, while Hermione whispered forlornly: 'But then my Time-turner would be lost to m- to this world.'

'Indeed, my child. That would be the case, it seems,' the old man confirmed.

The stern lady had told Remus (who in his turn had told Finrod) how the girl had been using this device to take more classes than otherwise would be humanly possible. To judge by her stricken face, one would think Hermione's life depended on learning and knowledge. Finrod's Noldorin side sympathised with her predicament.

'You're a Gryffindor, Miss Granger,' came the voice of Snape, dripping with venom. 'One would think you knew how to make a choice between what is right and what is easy.'

'Severus, please,' the Headmaster said, but it was hardly a request.

Snape's jaws clenched visibly, but he spoke no more. With sadness, Finrod realised that this man - who was not without honour - would nurse his resentment until it was strong enough to destroy either himself or others. And the Headmaster would need every ounce of his mortal wisdom and perhaps more to mould all the conflicting emotions and interests with which his little world was rife into a higher unity. If such a thing were possible at all: it was nigh impossible for any finite being to do justice to each and every cause.

'I guess I don't really need a Time-turner.' Hermione's voice held a hint of defiance.

'Pity,' said a sarcastic voice from the wall. 'I'd have loved to witness the casting of a Confinitus curse.'

The Headmaster raised his eyebrows but said nothing. He merely smiled at Hermione, and Finrod knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Dumbledore had another such device at his disposal. The girl would not go without, now that she proved willing to make the sacrifice. This ancient mortal might be manipulative, there was mercy to his method.

'Miss Granger,' the old man said. 'I expected no less of you.'

'Thank you, Hermione,' said Finrod.

'You thank me for helping you to go to your death?' she said, looking none too happy.

'I thank you for believing in me.'

'I only do so because I want to,' she objected quickly, as if earning gratitude for the wrong reason was the most embarrassing thing in the world.

'But what more could you do?' Finrod asked, and when Hermione had no answer to that he bent forward and kissed her on the cheek. 'Hermione Granger, anar kalúva tielyanna.'

'The sun will shine on your path,' she replied promptly, either unable to keep herself from translating his words, or just repeating his farewell.

***

Epilogue

They were back in Remus's quarters for a private goodbye before Finrod would travel back to his own reality. The windows were open a few inches; the curtains were fluttering, and the scent of early spring rain pervaded the room. Finrod could not help thinking that if Mandos were to keep him in his Halls as the rebellious Noldo he was, this could be the last time he smelled anything in Arda. But maybe he would be granted the memory of smells, and sounds, and colours, and light.

'You want to leave,' said Remus softly, 'but you fear to go.'

Finrod nodded; no use denying the obvious.

'Are you afraid to die?'

'I am not entirely sure what I dread most. The death of hope rather than that of the body, I should think. Or that I will regret my choices once I face the consequences.'

'There's a way to find out,' the wizard mused after a silence. 'I've got a Boggart in a trunk in my office. That's a creature that takes the shape of whatever it thinks we fear most. It could be good to know, and interesting to see how it would react to you. You could also practice the laughter needed to fight it.'

Finrod shook his head. 'I doubt if I could ever laugh at the prospect of losing hope. And I could be stalling for time if I went there.' He weighed the hourglass in his palm. For such a powerful device it was ridiculously light.

Remus smiled. 'Best not do it, then.' His smile dissipated. 'I'll be sorry to see you leave, Finrod. Another friend gone...' He frowned. 'Forget the self-pity. You'll be facing yet another farewell, and a worse one than this.'

It will be worse for Beren. Like you, he must face the loss

. 'Perhaps you will find Sirius again,' Finrod said.

The wizard cast him a strange glance.

'I think he's really just after rats,' Finrod explained. 'Like the ginger cat with the squashed face. It was after an old rat I held in my hand, a few days ago. A truly ratty little creature. But it escaped me.'

Remus continued staring at him. 'If I had the Marauder's Map,' he murmured, 'then... No. That's none of your concern anymore.' He shook his head. 'I loved him. Sirius, I mean. Or no. I still do. If the Dementors catch and kiss him, half my soul will be gone as well. I wonder what that makes me. Half a traitor, probably.' He smiled wryly. 'The heart has two halves; I guess one is always prepared to host treason.'

'Kin unto kin, brother unto brother,' murmured Finrod. If I do not leave now, I will never leave. He stepped forward to embrace Remus. 'Then open the other half to trust,' he replied, while the wizard's arms went around him. He kissed Remus on the forehead. 'I must go now. It may be that we shall not meet a second time in death or life. Namárie.'

'Good-bye, Finrod,' Remus said quietly.

When they separated, Finrod took the Time-turner in both hands. 'One more thing. I made you a farewell gift. Look for it under your couch.'

He took a deep breath and began to turn the hourglass over.

***

A blur, and he was gone. Remus stared at the place where he had vanished, knowing the meaning of loss all over again. Less than a month, he thought. He was here less than a month, so why does it seem so much longer? Does time move differently if you are in the company of Elves? Did I miss a transformation?

Laughing mirthlessly at his own absurdity he tore his gaze from the emptiness where Finrod had been and knelt down at the couch. He illuminated the shadows underneath with his wand and found the object Finrod had mentioned. It was solid to the touch, and when he picked it up to study it in the harsh, unbiased light of day it turned out to be a dog, carved from wood, about three inches high.

Or not a dog. This was Padfoot, Padfoot running, until the last detail, from the point of his noise to the tip of his tail, from his wide grin to his padded feet. Unmistakably, uniquely Padfoot, even though the dog wasn't black but had the colour and shading of the wood it was carved from. The dog remained motionless like a Muggle statuette. Yet somehow he was more himself, more alive than if a wand and a spell had charmed the wood into motion.

He could start barking any moment. Transform any moment -

It was sheer agony of beauty, crafted by someone whose art was a birthright. Remus cradled it in his hand, stroking it carefully, as if it was brittle like ancient bones and dreams and memories.

You saw Padfoot

, he thought, vaguely noticing he was sitting on the floor and something seemed to be wrong with his eyesight. You knew about the dog. And you never said a word.

He would have laughed if his lungs hadn't cried for air and his chest hadn't ached so much.

***

In the gloom of Sauron's deepest dungeon, Beren and Lúthien did not see the strange object that had slipped from Finrod Felagund's dead hand. Therefore, when they left to fulfil their quest, it remained behind with the werewolf's corpse, to be buried under a collapsing watchtower.

Later, when Beleriand was rent and torn by the Powers in the War of Wrath and the waves rolled in to swallow the footsteps and the handiwork of Elves and Men, of maidens and warriors alike, the undercurrent caught it and swept it away to a place not known by any who breathe the air and tread the earth.

And if, much later yet, it was found by such folk as knew what it was and what purpose it served, this was not recorded anywhere.

"But Finrod walks with Finarfin his father beneath the trees in Eldamar."

Finite Incantatem