Seo Gerecednis

When Harry awoke he felt as though he'd been asleep for days, although the angle of the sun's light into the room he shared with Ron told him it was not long past dawn. Only a few feet away Ron shifted in his sleep, embracing his pillow and murmuring Hermione's name with a tender sigh. Harry smiled to himself as he reached behind his head to retrieve his glasses and put them on.

His good humor didn't last long, however, as memories of the previous night came flooding back into his mind. He'd been dreaming--of what, he couldn't quite recall, although he vaguely remembered fleeting images of running through a forest, the sword of Godric Gryffindor in his hand. But was he the hunter or the hunted?

Then the ache that had been bothering him all day had exploded inside his skull with the light of a thousand suns, and in his mind's eye he'd found himself looking into the eyes of Voldemort. Only this time he wasn't looking at Voldemort; he was looking at himself. A reflection, as in a mirror, and Voldemort's eyes staring back at him. Then the image had shifted and Harry'd found himself looking at a reflection of Ron...then Hermione...Ginny...Neville...Dumbledore...Sirius...and, finally, Bellatrix Lestrange.

The agony in his skull had renewed itself with a vengeance then, until the pain was as bad as it had been at the Ministry in June when Voldemort had possessed him, using his own voice to taunt Dumbledore into killing them both. The small part of Harry that had clung to himself then had begged silently for Dumbledore to do it, to strike Harry with the killing curse that would rid the world of Voldemort forever and release Harry's spirit to join Sirius.

But Dumbledore had refused. He had stood by and watched--watched!--as Voldemort tortured Harry with the worst possible sort of torment, the chance to be reunited with his godfather and his parents for eternity. Eventually it was that love, that desperate yearning, that drove Voldemort from his mind, leaving behind an empty, desolate shell. Dumbledore had later explained why he couldn't rise to the challenge, how only Harry could kill Voldemort, how Harry was destined to kill Voldemort...or else die in the attempt.

When Harry had first learned of the existence of the wizarding world and his membership in that exclusive society, he'd felt the most indescribable joy. An outcast all his life, he had at last found a place where he belonged. Now, however, with the knowledge of the prophecy weighing on his mind, he felt trapped. As much as he dreaded the thought of spending the rest of his days living as a Muggle, right now he wanted nothing more than to be rid of wizarding society forever.

He got up and dressed quickly and quietly, taking care not to disturb Ron, and tiptoed downstairs, his trainers in his hand. He was relieved to find the kitchen still dark; he no more wished to deal with Mrs. Weasley's motherly cheerfulness than with Ron's worry and doubt. He took an apple from a bowl left sitting on the counter and eased himself outside, not daring to release his breath until he heard the door click softly shut behind him. Then he sat down on the top step and put on his trainers before polishing the apple on his jumper sleeve and biting into it, wiping away the bittersweet juices from his chin with the back of his hand.

The air was sharp and crisp, foretelling autumn's imminent arrival. What few clouds had accumulated overnight were evaporating with the growing daylight. Harry inhaled deeply, breathing in the rich, full aromas of apple, freshly cut grass and the loamy fertilizer the Weasleys used to enrich their garden. Bullfrogs croaked by the pond; the lowing of cattle and the metallic clink of cowbells echoed over the hills behind the house. Far away a train whistle sounded. A rustling and a gruff "ahem" near Harry's feet stirred him from his musings, and he looked down to see a handful of gnomes staring at the apple core he held between his fingers.

"You want this?" he asked. The gnomes licked their lips greedily, so he tossed the core into their midst. Instantly a dozen more gnomes appeared as though from thin air, and soon a full-blown scrum was on, replete with scuffles, grunts, and a multitude of outraged squeals. Harry watched, both amused and appalled. When the dust had settled only the original gnomes remained, looking much the worse for wear and just as ravenous. "Sorry," Harry said. "I don't have anymore." He grinned as they trooped off in disgust.

He stood and stretched, wincing at the residual soreness from last night's attack. Mrs. Weasley would be stirring soon if she wasn't already, and he still longed for solitude before facing any of the Weasleys and their concerned attentiveness. His gaze fell on a shed across the yard. Suddenly remembering, he dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out the keys Bill had given him yesterday. Sirius' motorcycle. Even if he couldn't drive it yet, he could still go...look at it. Familiarize himself with it. And who knew--maybe he could figure out for himself how to operate it. Bill'd said it wasn't difficult. Maybe he could persuade Ginny to show him how...

He shook his head rapidly, trying to drive that particular image from his mind. The last thing he needed to do was to encourage Ron's recent attempts at matchmaking.

At least he could be alone in the shed with only Sirius' motorcycle to keep him company. Maybe then he might find his way to some sort of resolution about what he'd done to Sirius and what he had to do to Voldemort. Then, when he was ready, he could come out and face the Weasleys on his own terms.

The door unlocked easily at the touch of his wand. Rusted hinges groaned as he pushed the door open, and a beam of early morning light glinted off the chrome fender. Harry felt a knot form in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly the motorcycle seemed to represent everything that Sirius had been: potentially dangerous, a bit banged up in places after years of misuse and neglect, but underneath the rust and the dents and the faulty motor, a wondrous joy, a passport to adventures beyond Harry's wildest dreams.

He opened the shed door wider to let in more light so he could get a better look at the motorcycle. It was in dire need of repair he could tell, but he didn't know the first thing about motors and he wasn't keen on asking Mr. Weasley if he happened to have any mechanic's guides lying about his office. The leather on the saddle and handlebars was cracked and worn; he supposed he could repair it magically and then keep it conditioned with the dragon leather oil he kept with his Quidditch kit. He spotted an open tin and a stained cloth on a table in the corner of the shed, and was pleased to discover, upon examination, that the tin contained chrome polish. That, he concluded, was something he could do now, and, judging from the amount of rust, it would keep him busy and out of sight for hours. Happy to have found a useful and mindless occupation, he sat on the floor by the front fender and began polishing vigorously.

"Lovely day for a ride," someone said after some time had passed.

Harry looked up to see probably the last person in the world he wanted to talk to right now. As if the crushing guilt he felt at having been instrumental in Sirius' untimely death wasn't enough, he now, for the first time since that terrible day, found himself facing his godfather's sole surviving friend with no one else around to run interference. At least at King's Cross Tonks, Mad-Eye and the older Weasleys had been there as well, saving Harry from having to speak to or even look at Remus Lupin on his own. He'd have no such luck today.

"S'pose Dumbledore sent you to look after me," he grumbled, working at a particularly stubborn spot of rust. "Can't have his champion wandering off by himself, where Death Eaters and dark wizards can do all sorts of nasty things to him."

"Actually," Lupin said evenly, refusing to take the bait, "Dumbledore did send me here, but not to check on you. He wanted me to make sure the wards he and Arthur placed around the perimeter last night were secure. It was Ginny who told me where I could find you."

"Yeah? So is she part of my bodyguard too?"

"I reckon she'd be just as likely to hex you as hug you when you're like this." He ran his fingers along the motorcycle's worn saddle. "She was finishing up a letter to Hermione when she happened to look out the window and see you heading this way. No one else knows you're in here."

"Good."

Lupin sat down on the hay-strewn floor next to him with a quiet groan. Harry glanced out of the corner of his eye at him, remembering last night's nearly full moon, but unsure if it had been waxing or waning. He looked more careworn and haggard than usual, and Harry thought he spotted a couple of fresh patches on his threadbare cloak. His shoes, too, it seemed, had been recently mended.

"Y'know," Lupin said, scratching at the stubble on his cheek and yawning, "you used to love riding that thing when you were a baby."

Unable to help himself, Harry stared at him in shock. Lupin smiled. "Oh, it's true. Your mother thought it was dangerous, but whenever she wasn't around James would hand you over to Sirius, and off you two would go." He looked down at his hands as they lay clasped in his lap. "You'd come back with your hair blown every which way, your cheeks as pink as roses, and laughing so hard even Lily couldn't stay angry for long." He sighed. "When your parents died, Sirius lent Hagrid the motorcycle so he could get you to safety."

Harry tossed the blackened rag to the floor and got to his feet. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Hm. Odd, but I thought I was doing the talking." Harry turned his back and huffed in annoyance, ignoring the treacherous prickles at the corners of his eyes and the pressure in his chest. "If you don't want to talk, fine. But I do. I lost my only friend in all the world a few weeks ago, you see, and I'm...a bit lonely." Harry heard a shuffling sound that he presumed was Lupin getting to his feet. "I thought you might understand how I was feeling, seeing as you loved him too, but...well...." He sighed, more heavily this time. "If you'd rather wallow in self-pity than comfort a hurting friend..."

Harry choked back the sob that had risen in his throat. "Don't go!" he wailed, turning and launching himself at Lupin.

Instantly Lupin's arms were around his shoulders and his raspy voice was crooning in his ear, assuring him that he would be all right, that it was okay to grieve, that he, too, mourned and missed Sirius, that he didn't blame Harry for what had happened. Harry, for his part, poured out all his misery and grief, everything he'd kept so tightly bottled up inside for so long he thought he'd burst from the pressure of it all. He'd never allowed himself to cry like this before, not even when he first realized at a tender young age how much the Dursleys despised him, and certainly never in front of anyone. Part of him feared opening up like this, making himself so vulnerable, but once he'd started it was as though the floodgates had opened and no amount of effort could close them until he'd emptied himself.

Harry didn't realize at first that Lupin, too, was crying, until he felt the man's shoulders heave. He instantly felt ten times worse than before. He at least had the Weasleys and Hermione; Lupin had no one, and as a werewolf he was forever branded an outcast. Feeling awkward and uneasy, Harry backed away. "I-I'm so sorry," he said. "You must think me the world's most selfish brat."

Lupin recovered far more quickly than Harry would have thought possible. With a renewed stab of guilt he wondered how many times in his life Lupin had had to turn off his emotions as though he were turning off a tap. "No, Harry," Lupin said, straightening, "you have nothing to apologize for."

"But you...Sirius was your best friend!"

"And your godfather."

"And all I can think about is how much I miss him!"

Lupin smiled wanly. "Don't reckon I didn't notice how you avoided me at King's Cross, or know why you did it. Yes, losing Sirius has torn me apart, too. But the truth is, I lost him nearly fifteen years ago. The past two years...it was all just borrowed time. I knew it, and he knew it." He shoved his hands into his pockets, causing his thin shoulders to hunch. "At least this time he got to go doing something noble and brave, and not reviled as the worst sort of coward. At least he got to know you before his time was up." He squeezed Harry's shoulder. "I've lost the only people who loved me unconditionally. I'm not going to lose you, too."

Harry felt his throat tighten. The walls seemed to be closing in around him, and he was having trouble catching his breath. "Do --" he whispered, "d'you know about the prophecy?"

Lupin's grip on his shoulder tightened painfully. Harry looked up to see Lupin's eyes boring into his with an intensity he didn't think he'd ever seen before. "I do," he said at last, his voice grave.

"All of it?"

"Word for word? No. But I know enough."

"I can't do it. I can't. I hate him. I hate him! But killing? Is that all my life is meant to be? Why me?" His voice felt rough in his throat.

Lupin sighed and dropped his hand from Harry's shoulder. "Why any of us, Harry? Why did I have to get bitten by a wolf when I was a child? Why did Sirius have to spend twelve years in Azkaban for something he didn't do? Why did your mother have to give birth to --"

"The Boy Who Lived?"

Lupin nodded. "Exactly. No one knows why these things happen. Muggles and wizards have been trying to make sense of fate for ages. As far as I know, no one's succeeded. All we can do is to make the best of whatever fate happens to toss our way."

"Even if --"

"Even if it means murder. Don't you see, Harry? If you succeed --"

"What if I fail?"

"You won't. You won't be facing Voldemort alone. Dumbledore will make sure of that. I'll make sure of that." He paused and took a deep breath. "You have no idea how many witches and wizards stand ready to face Voldemort at your side. At your side, Harry, not behind you."

Harry turned away from him, unable to bear his penetrating gaze any longer. "At the Ministry, in June, I tried to use the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix Lestrange." He heard a sharp intake of breath. "I couldn't make it work. I hated her so much, but I couldn't even make her twitch. If I can't even do that, how am I supposed to kill Voldemort?" Panic rose in his throat like bile.

"Harry, look at me." When he refused, Lupin walked around him so they were facing each other again. Harry nonetheless refused to lift his gaze from the floor and look directly at Lupin. "You don't have to kill Voldemort today, or tomorrow, or even next week," he said, undaunted. "You'll have time to prepare. Dumbledore has arranged for some of the best teachers in the world to help you learn what you need to know to defeat him. And when the time comes, you'll be ready. You won't fail."

He peered up at Lupin. "You seem so sure of yourself."

Lupin smiled, more broadly this time. "I have great faith in you, Harry. You haven't let me down yet."

Harry was about to reply when the most unexpected sound came from behind him, nearly causing him to jump out of his skin.

A cow lowed.

"What the --" he yelped, pivoting on his foot and pulling out his wand at the same time. A cow stood just inside the shed, looking very perplexed. Beyond it Harry could see several other cows milling about the Weasleys' yard. Then Harry heard an outraged squawk from what had to be Mrs. Weasley. "Uh oh," he said, looking up at Lupin.

Lupin chuckled. "Uh oh, indeed."