Rise from the Ashes

Chapter 1: the ghosts in the attic, they never quite leave

"Aren't you coming?" Simon asked, fastening his cloak and throwing a scarf about his neck.

It was a Hogsmeade weekend, and the common room was emptying out quickly as his friends and house mates buttoned their cloaks and pulled on mittens to ward against the February chill.

"I've got that Transfiguration essay to finish," Teddy replied, easily meeting his friend's gaze and pointing to his book bag on the table in front of him. "Too much time with Quidditch practice this week, you know, and another tomorrow. And with N.E.W.T.'s coming in f--"

"Four months time, yeah, I know. They remind us every bloody week."

Teddy chuckled. "Annoying, isn't it? Like a death sentence. You'd think they'd show some confidence instead of trying to have us all committed to St. Mungo's. Even O.W.L.s weren't this bad. Cushing's about ready to crack."

"Eh, no loss there, he's a stonking great git. Maybe if we all fail, they get sacked."

"Hmmm, that's a thought. Anyway, Professor Carlyle'll have my head if I don't turn this essay in Monday, and I don't want to risk him docking me from playing next Saturday."

"He wouldn't do that, would he? To his own house? You're the captain!"

Teddy shrugged and reached for the zipper on his bag. "Dunno, and I'd rather not find out. I'll meet up with you lot later at the Broomsticks. And have some pity on Gwen. Or rather her mouth, and don't try to chew off her tongue this time."

"Hey! I did not try to--we were snogging! Well, a bit more, after, but that part was strictly snoggage. You should try it sometime."

Teddy closed his eyes and concentrated, his hair lengthening and turning a darker brown, his face fluid and flowing into the image, fuller lips pouting even as his jaw softened into femininity.

"Is that an invitation?" he asked, batting his eyelashes and pitching his voice higher. He grinned and ducked Simon's swipe at his head, and relaxed his features back into his own. "I know what snogging is, you prat. Not to brag," he said airily, buffing his fingernails on the front of his robes, "but I'm quite adept at it myself, and that was definitely not snogging."

Simon rolled his eyes and Teddy grinned wider. "Smart arse. You think so, hmm? You look better as a girl, you know. Next time you should grow some tits, too. Hey! Can you? Grow tits, I mean. All these years and I've never asked."

Teddy tried to look appalled. "You're such a pervert."

"Just figuring that out now, are you? So can you?"

"If you think I'm going to tell you now. Next thing, you'll be climbing into my bed at night, groping and feeling me up."

"You should be so lucky." Simon grinned and leaned closer. "Gwen says I'm very good with my hands," he stage whispered.

Teddy rolled his eyes and playfully pushed his friend away. "Makes up for your ineptitude with your mouth I suppose."

"Bastard," Simon said, grinning and pulling his gloves from his pocket. "Just for that, you're buying the first round. No swotting all day. Meet us around one, and don't be too late," he added, and smacked Teddy over the head with his gloves.

Teddy rubbed his head and sat down in the chair, pulling his book bag closer as he watched his laughing friend leave through the portrait hole. He might as well make it look good.

"Lying, Mr Lupin? And you a prefect, too. Tsk Tsk."

Teddy looked up at the portrait. "What? What'd I say? He really was trying to chew her tongue off. Well, maybe it was more like trying to suck it right out of her mouth than outright chewing. But there were teeth involved. You should have seen it. No sense of artistry at all."

"I'll take your word for it. But no, I was commenting on the Transfiguration essay part. Would that be the same essay you were up all night writing two nights ago?"

"Oh, that." Teddy blushed and glanced around the common room. There were a few first and second year students sitting on the couches and chairs by the fireplace, now that the older students weren't there to shoo them away, and none of them were paying any attention to him.

"Yes, that," Cedric's portrait said, looking amused. "Up to something, are you?"

Teddy shrugged. "I just have something I need to do, and I didn't want to have to explain. It's, well, it's a bit personal is all."

Cedric nodded and fell silent. He usually was silent, which was a bit unusual for a portrait in this school, but he was new to Hogwarts. Teddy had returned from summer holidays at the start of seventh year to find that the large framed photograph of Cedric had been replaced. The Fat Friar had told them, quietly, that Cedric's mother had passed away that summer--his father having died long ago during the war--and since they'd had no other children, his mother had bequeathed the portrait to Hogwarts.

Everyone had clambered to talk to him, of course. Cedric Diggory was something of a legend in Hufflepuff: Former prefect and Quidditch captain, and Tri-Wizard Champion, well, co-champion, but that detail was usually overlooked by most in his house, and fallen war hero.

The Legend of Cedric Diggory had, as all legends tend to, grown with the telling. Cedric's portrait self never really commented on the stories, and politely deflected most questions put to it--him, choosing instead to smile somewhat mysteriously. Teddy had asked his godfather over the Christmas holidays, his curiosity near to bursting. Harry had been reluctant, and it was obvious that a few details were missing from the story when he finally relented. Teddy had already known about the various Tri-Wizard tasks - he'd found every archived Prophet article he could, and there were several books that referenced the events, including three unauthorised biographies about Harry himself which, with few exceptions, were complete rubbish. Still, he'd spoken with Hermione and Ron and George over the years, and he knew enough to fill in most of the gaps.

It was the personal details he was interested in anyway, particularly what Harry himself thought about Cedric and, of course, what had really transpired in the cemetery that night long ago.

Teddy hadn't confided the truth to his friends and housemates; if they wanted to believe that Cedric had been killed in a duel with Voldemort - after fighting off a dozen Death Eaters in a desperate attempt to protect and save poor, young Harry - he wouldn't disabuse them of the notion. Despite the outrageous exaggerations, Cedric had been a hero, and that was what really mattered.

Teddy reached into his bag and withdrew the map. He sat back in his chair and ran his finger down the blank face of the parchment. It was his most prized possession, and he carried it with him nearly everywhere he went. The fact that it was dead useful was only secondary.

"Cedric?" Teddy said, glancing thoughtfully up at the portrait. "Can I ask you something?"

Cedric inclined his head and raised his eyebrows.

"It's nothing personal, I mean, not about you. I know you don't like to talk about yourself. But I've wanted to ask. You, um, you knew my father when he taught Defence, didn't you?"

Cedric nodded. "That was my fifth year. Back then, we never had a Defence professor last for more than a year, and most of them were pretty awful. Not your dad though. In fact, if it hadn't been for him, I wouldn't have done nearly as well on my O.W.L."

"So he was a good teacher?"

"Got an Outstanding, so I'd say so. You must have known that already though."

"Well, Harry said so, and so did Ron and Hermione, and George and Ginny, too, but I figured they were probably a bit biased, all things considered."

"Harry's your godfather, yeah? I don't mean to eavesdrop, only it's kind of hard not to." Cedric faked a cough into his fist and smiled. "All things considered."

Teddy grinned back. "Yeah. He, uh, he sort of told me what really happened. That night, you know." He ducked his head. "Well, all right, I admit it. I pestered him until he gave in. I haven't told anyone else though."

"They probably wouldn't believe you anyway. They wouldn't believe me, either, so I don't bother to correct them. It's kind of nice, the dashing hero thing, but don't tell anyone I said that."

"Cross my heart," Teddy said, gesturing. Cedric was a hero, and he found himself thinking, as he often did, that he would have liked to have known him--the real Cedric--that they'd have got on well. But at least he could talk to his portrait; get a sense of the boy--young man--he'd been. There was no portrait of Remus Lupin, and that tore at him more than he would ever admit to anyone.

"So, my father. You liked him then? Despite..."

"Despite?"

"Well," he glanced around again, making sure they were still alone. "You know what, um, what he was and all...."

"Oh, right. That." Cedric shrugged. "Yes, I liked him anyway. I'll admit it was a hell of a shock. I didn't believe it at first, you know. But then, well, like I said. I liked him. He was a good teacher, fair, and he was always nice to me. And he had a pretty good sense of humour, too. It wasn't his fault he was, you know, a Gryffindor."

Teddy rolled his eyes and stood up. "Very funny. Least he had the good taste to marry my mum, and she was Hufflepuff. Anyway, thanks. I have to go. I'll see you later."

"Should do. Pretty decent chance I'll be right here when you get back."

Teddy grunted and shook his head, shouldering his bag. "Is that portrait humour?"

Cedric shrugged. "By the way, I'm curious. Can you?"

"Can I what?"

"Grow tits?"

Teddy laughed. "I think I'll just let you mull that over for a bit." He left the common room and touched his wand to the map, checking to make sure his route to the seventh floor corridor was clear.

When he reached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, he checked the map again before wiping it clear and stowing it back in his bag. He faced the blank wall, ready to begin what he thought of as the ritual of calling the room when a prickle of apprehension stole over him, starting in his lower abdomen and crawling upward, racing outward down his limbs in a ripple of gooseflesh. It had seemed like such a good idea when he'd thought of it over Christmas holidays, but now that he was finally standing here, ready to carry out his plan, it seemed ridiculous and stupid.

The Room of Requirement could do many things, but conjuring a ghost or shade of a dead man was beyond even its magical capacity. It was a dumb idea and he was a fool to think it could work. He threw up his hands and turned to go, then stopped. He wasn't a coward. Or perhaps he was. No, it was the idea that was stupid, utterly daft. He'd known that all along, and had allowed his hopes and desire to overrule logic. Still, maybe there was something. Even though it wasn't on the map, he was sure his father and friends had found this room, and had used it for plenty of nefarious purposes in their day. Perhaps the room would remember and show him, like a pensieve of sorts.

"Right. Never know unless I try." He took a deep breath, closed his eyes briefly and began to pace. I want to know my father. Show me my father. Anything about him, the real him, something he did when he was here. Please. I just want to know more about him. I need to know.

He stopped when he saw the door appear in the wall. He walked over and reached for the handle, then dropped his badly shaking hand. His tongue felt like the dried parchment of the map in his mouth, and his heart was literally hammering in his chest.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" he said aloud, and grasped the handle. Why was he being so pathetic? He closed his eyes, opened the door and stepped inside--

--and felt his stomach drop as the floor beneath his feet plummeted. He shouted and opened his eyes, but everything was black and the darkness swallowed his words. He couldn't even see his own hands which, at that moment, were flailing for something to hold onto. The silent void was thick and heavy, and he struggled to breathe, to blink, the nothingness consuming him whole.

Then suddenly there was a rectangle of light, and he hurtled toward it, through it. The door slammed behind him, and he was on his hands and knees, gulping for air, and blinking up at the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his dancing trolls. He got to his feet and turned around, but the door had vanished.

"Shit!" He kicked the wall and exclaimed again, grabbing his foot and hopping. He limped back and glared at the wall. "Hang it all! What the bloody hell was that?" He swung his leg back to kick the wall again, and then thought better of it, his toe still throbbing.

He was a little surprised at how angry he was. Yes, the room had literally thrown him out, and he had no idea what had happened, or why, and those few seconds of blind panic had startled him. It was his disappointment, however, that had cut bone deep. The room had raised his hopes and then struck him down, and that stung both his heart and his pride. Still, getting angry at a room was rather absurd and, under different circumstances, he'd probably laugh at his own folly.

He stared at the wall for a few minutes more, and concluded that the problem lay in the wording of his request. It couldn't hurt to try again. He paced up and down the corridor for a good half hour, but no door appeared at all in response to his pleas.

Frustrated and infuriated, he picked up his bag and stormed off. A long soak in the prefect's bathtub sounded like a good idea right now, and with most of the school off in Hogsmeade, he'd have it all to himself.

o...o

Two hours later, his fingers and toes looked like sickly, blanched prunes, but he felt a lot better as he made his way back to the common room. He'd put his silly adventure from his mind and it was time to meet his friends at the pub. He could do with a few drinks as well as the distraction his friends would provide.

When he reached the painting at the dormitory entrance, he reached out to tap and stroke the sequence on the flower petals and stopped, staring. Someone had changed the flower arrangement.

"Oh, for--who the hell? Can nothing go right today?" He sighed, suddenly feeling very weary, and stomped off back upstairs to find Professor Carlyle, muttering about the audacity of the buggering lower-year prefects. He knocked loudly on the door to his office, but there was no response.

The portrait of Sir Stockton Stockbridge, irritated at the disruption to his afternoon nap, grudgingly confirmed that the professor had gone out earlier.

"The Professor doesn't tell me where she's going, young man. Do I look like an appointment secretary? I tell you, the lack of respect in this school is appalling. Portraits treated rudely - harassed, even attacked, stabbed, and startled right out of their frames! Can't even enjoy an afternoon nap these days. It's shameful."

Teddy coughed politely and turned away from the portrait before rolling his eyes. Dotty old bastard was always talking nonsense anyway. He might as well just go to Hogsmeade along with everyone else, and Simon would have to buy. Pity.

He'd have to forego his cloak and use a warming charm. Hopefully it wasn't too windy; his warming charms didn't hold up well in a stiff wind. He was contemplating a nice firewhisky-induced stupor when he turned the corner of the first floor landing and nearly knocked over two younger students.

"Oh, sorry," he said, reaching out to steady a small, dark-haired boy. "You okay?"

"Fine," the boy mumbled, straightening his glasses.

"You should watch where you're going, you know," his red-haired companion said unkindly.

Teddy saw the boy's red and gold scarf and rolled his eyes. Bloody Gryffindors. "And you should watch your tone with a prefect or you just might lose some house points next time."

"Yeah, right. C'mon Harry, better go before Percy shows up, too," the boy replied, and tugged on his friend's arm. The dark-haired boy looked apologetically back at him and then followed his friend upstairs.

Teddy rolled his eyes and continued down the stairs and outside, this time paying a bit more attention. The weather was milder than he had expected, the snow from last night having melted into a slushy mud, and his warming charm worked rather well until he approached the front gates.

An icy chill swept over him, through him, as if his bones had frozen solid, and despair seemed to settle around his shoulders like a mantle.

Just ahead of him, hovering outside the gates like a decaying black cloud, were two Dementors. He stared at them in disbelief, shivering with cold and growing fear, frozen in place, his wand pointed uselessly at the ground.

Something silvery-white streaked across the air and the Dementors darted away, taking the icy oppressiveness with them.

"Sorry 'bout that. They've been a bit excitable today with all the comin' and goin'."

Teddy blinked at the man who was now standing at the gate. He was dressed in Auror robes, and he was still pointing his wand in the direction of the fleeing Dementors. Aurors and Dementors at Hogwarts. Dementors. At Hogwarts. And this Auror was acting as if it were a normal occurrence.

"You okay, kid? Sometimes people come over a bit queer from 'em. Nasty things they are. Useful though. If anyone's gonna catch Black, they will, and believe me, it won't be pretty when they do."

Teddy had no idea what the man was talking about. He was still staring, mouth hanging open and his eyes wide, wondering when he'd hit himself on the head and had started hallucinating. Maybe he was still in the bath and he'd fallen asleep on a cloud of foam. Or perhaps he'd drowned.

"Kid? You don't look too good. Bit green around the gills. Maybe you wanna head back up to the school there. Have a bit of a lie down."

Teddy nodded and managed to stop gaping. "Yes, that's, yes, a good idea." He turned, still in a daze, and slowly walked back up to the school. The younger students were filing into the Great Hall for lunch, and he saw those two Gryffindor boys again, this time accompanied by a girl. He nodded at the boy - Harry, his friend had called him. That one was easy to remember, and funny, he almost looked--

"You just wait, Potter! You'll get yours! You and Weasel and the Mudblood!"

A blond boy with a Slytherin badge on his robes and a sneer on his face had ascended from the dungeons, flanked by two larger boys, and was stalking toward the three Gryffindors in the doorway. The red-haired boy made a rude hand gesture before his friends restrained and yanked him into the Great Hall.

Teddy watched them disappear, backing up slowly. He banged his hip painfully on a doorknob, and managed to find the presence of mind to open the door and close it behind him right before his knees gave way, and he collapsed onto the floor of the small, dark chamber.

After a few minutes of some needful hyperventilating, he fumbled into his pocket for his wand and nearly ripped open his bag in search of the map. His hands were sweating so badly that he had trouble holding his wand.

"Lumos. I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he said in a shaky voice.

He quickly found the Great Hall on the map, his eyes ignoring everything but the Gryffindor table. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger. The three black dots swam before his eyes. He felt dizzy, and his stomach was a giant knot. When his gaze inadvertently slid to the dots clustered around at the Head table, he was promptly sick all over his trainers.