Remus Lupin and the Revolt of the Creatures

PART TWO: THE REVOLUTIONARY

Chapter Seven: The Comforts of a Home

The landscape did not look nearly like his latest painting. The narrow lane climbing up the gentle slope from the village was almost overgrown. There were daisies and even small bushes in the middle of it. In any case it was hard to see anything. Remus had lit the end of his wand in order not to stumble or step into pools. In the beam of light he could discern whirling leaves, which the gusty wind had torn off the old elm trees on either side of the lane.

It was certainly no weather for sight-seeing or for a nostalgic stroll. But having flown from London on his broomstick - no matter how slow his old Cleansweep was - and warmed himself up a bit by the fire at Mr Landor's place in the village, he was still early for the appointment. And he felt half reluctant to approach his destination, half so eager to do it that he could not resist getting the full experience of it, instead of simply apparating - which would have been easy from such a short distance, as he was not exactly ill either - or instead of flying the last stretch of the journey.

Besides his broom he was carrying the battered briefcase, in which he had packed all his possessions. He did not own a cloak. The drizzle turned into heavier drops of rain, which were thrown against him by strengthening blasts. His hair and robes were drenched by the time he reached the orchard and stopped to survey the view to the house.

In the gloom of the stormy September night it was more a memory than an actual perception that allowed him to recognise the shape of the low long building with two wings towards the orchard. The walls had been built centuries ago of huge boulders of stone, or maybe the mansion of the Wottons had been summoned to be formed from the bedrock itself. The roof, covered with grass and moss, had led its own life long enough to become a member of the sisterhood of the hills. For others than magical creatures the house was indiscernible in the landscape.

But to prevent wizards from finding it Remus still needed help. Now he partly regretted having not come up in a quicker way, because he wished he had had enough time to enter and examine the house alone.

Before taking the last steps to the yard, he still cast a glance on one of the apple trees on his right. He was happy to notice that he had remembered exactly in which one of the trees the branches had formed that comfortable seat for someone who fancied reading books, undisturbed for hours and having the snacks available within his reach. He put down the broom and the briefcase and bent to look for an apple under the tree in the light of his wand. There were a lot of them in the grass, and he picked up a few, breathing in the sweet fragrance, which had strengthened in the rain.

At that moment a warm golden light swept past him. Fawkes the phoenix must have brought Dumbledore, who was now standing next to the apple tree, smiling at Remus.

"It is the time for harvesting. Welcome home, Remus."

"I am welcoming you, Albus. Have an apple."

Remus put his wand and the rest of the apples in the pockets of his drenched robes and took the briefcase and the broom in one hand so as to be able to take a bite while they walked together towards the house. Dumbledore shed light to their path and kept praising the taste of the apple he was munching.

In front of the strong wooden door Dumbledore lifted his wand but lowered it again. "I guess you want to unlock the door yourself, Remus."

"I don't think it's locked," Remus answered slowly in a low voice.

He was not sure if he had just seen the door open. It was too dark inside for the crack to be visible, but he could put his fingers between the door frame and the door, and he pulled it open. As soon as they had stepped inside, a gust of wind closed it behind them.

They had come straight into the spacious room with an enormous fireplace in the middle of it. Dumbledore took a bunch of candles from inside of his robes, lit them with his magic without using his wand and threw them in the air. The candles scattered around the room and stayed in mid-air, banishing the darkness from all but a few most secret corners.

The tiny flames drew dancing shadows behind the beams in the high ceiling. The space looked bigger than Remus had remembered, maybe because there was none of the ancient furniture to be seen. He had a peculiar feeling that it might be there in any case.

He walked directly to the fireplace and sat down on its wide edge. Taking out his wand, he hurried to conjure a fire. Without any real matter to combine with oxygen, it would go off soon and it would not give much warmth, but it would allow Dumbledore to get started with his tasks and finish them and leave soon.

"Thank you for coming to help me, Albus," he said to fulfill the requirements of politeness. "Would you like to open the two floo network channels first? Or maybe rather close all channels except the ones to the headquarters and Hogwarts."

However, his green flames went off almost immediately, and some smoke was puffed out on his face.

Dumbledore conjured his golden fire, but the result was only more smoke spreading into the room. "It seems that the chimney itself must be opened first. Let me destroy whatever the obstacle is." Dumbledore stepped in to point his wand up the flue.

"No, please don't," Remus said. "To put off a magical fire, and especially yours, the obstacle must be something with a powerful magic of its own."

Mainly irritated by the delay but partly curious, too, Remus took his broomstick and went back out to the rain.

Having flown up above the roof, he discovered on the top of the chimney a large sphere made of straw, clay and precious stones, which twinkled, reflecting the light of his wand in numerous shades of colours. He made a gentle circular wand movement, whispering to the nest, and it rolled softly down and remained firmly in a safe spot on the moss between two of the bushes circling the chimney. There was a chorus of shrill beating sounds, but they abated into a satisfied murmur.

Landing in front of the door, where Dumbledore had waited, Remus could not help smiling. "It was a brood of amazanthines. They sound like they are ready to leave soon. There must be a hundred of them again, while every spring only one couple returns here to nest."

Blissful warmth met him on the doorstep. He refrained from turning questioningly to Dumbledore, who responded in any case. "No, I didn't light it. It's a real fire. Someone has brought wood and kindled it, while we were outside."

Remus avoided Dumbledore's eyes. He sat down as close to the flames as possible. "It doesn't matter. You can add your magic into it and check the floo network channels anyway, can't you?"

He saw the shade of the fire change for a moment and heard Dumbledore's murmuring incantation, but did not look up at him.

"It was still connected, but I closed everything except the channels you wanted."

"Thank you, Albus. Can we proceed to the Fidelius Charm now?"

When Remus finally turned to look up at Dumbledore's face, he saw the light blue eyes uncharacteristically devoid of spirit, as if the old wizard had been afraid of expressing even an apology. He must have known exactly why Remus was treating him in this way, and what Remus regarded as an unforgivable mistake.

Remus had refused to discuss it, so as to force each of them to feel the whole weight of the guilt. He should have known better and not followed Dumbledore's orders, and all-knowing Dumbledore should have considered what the predictable outcome of the trial would mean to those cited as witnesses. Remus could have declared his revolutionary intentions in an interview without bringing charges in court. The added drama in the publicity was certainly not worth depriving two innocent men of their souls.

Evidently forcing himself to suppress a melancholy sigh, Dumbledore sat down next to Remus and took his both hands. Unexpectedly Remus felt his eyes filling with tears when he looked down at Dumbledore's graceful long fingers. The touch of those hands reminded him of the unconditional trust which the two of them had once cherished for each other - a very long time ago. The performance of this ancient magic of ultimate loyalty could now be based only on what they honestly had preserved of it.

Dumbledore lifted Remus's hands on his silvery temples and pronounced softly, "Remus Lupin and those who join him may be found at the Wotton manor, in Bagendon of the Cotswolds."

He closed his eyes, and Remus suddenly saw him as a weary old man. But a light started slowly emanating from him and grew stronger, until the glow of the fire looked dim beside his silver radiation. Then he pressed Remus's hands harder against his temples, let go his own hands, and suddenly opening his eyes, he conjured a piece of parchment with a swish of his wand. Silvery letters of his handwriting were shining on the parchment, and it burnt Remus's hands, as Dumbledore guided them to touch it. In a moment the parchment disappeared in a golden flame. This was the refined form of Fidelius, which would allow Remus to conjure the parchment again to reveal the secret to those whom he wanted to be protected with him in his hide-out.

***

As soon as Dumbledore - with the secret hidden in his mind - had disapparated, Remus quickly took off the soaking wet clothes. He looked for his other robes in his suitcase and partly unpacked it, too.

For the journey he had transfigured his books from old magazines further into only one page each. Now he returned them into their original form, and when piling them next to the fireplace, he got a strange reassuring feeling that the books were really his and he could keep them safe. They were only books and not even the ones he considered the best and most significant, but just some he had been able to get and keep. Yet, the fact that he did not have to hide them or leave them behind any longer proved to him that he had come home.

Although finally dressed in dry clothes, he kept shivering. He took out and enlarged to its original size the luxurious, thick and light quilt which Mrs Porchead had given to him. Wrapped in it he sat down close to the fire again.

It was strange, indeed, that it had suddenly been so easy for him to decide to leave, and just when Mrs Porchead would actually miss him. It was not only that he was at risk of being accused of several crimes of slander against the authorities and needed to lie low. He had not come here to hide, but to act, and by coming here he had clearly broken the law. At the moment, though, it looked more like he had hidden away from the whole world - almost.

The warmth of the fire had made him sleepy, and he had nearly forgotten that he was not alone. He opened his eyes, but did not lift his gaze from the flames, when he said in a low voice, "Gumby, let me see you, please. Please, I wish to talk to you."

He glanced cautiously around, but the room still looked deserted. Most of the candles had gone off and fallen onto the floor, and his shadow was leaping towards the walls. He sighed, closing his eyes, and said, "Gumby, come here!"

He opened his eyes again only when hearing the little high voice. "Is it you, master Arth... Remus?"

He turned his head slowly to stare into the large green eyes, which clearly expressed delight, although it was carefully controlled by politeness and shadowed by doubt and embarrassment. He felt a spontaneous grin release his own face from the frown that he must have been wearing for the last few days. The tired smiles, with which he had greeted anything that had brought back memories, were nothing compared to this experience of becoming a boy again thanks to those familiar eyes. Or maybe the magic was in the long-forgotten name.

"So, my name really used to be Arthur. Fine. You can call me Arthur, as well."

Gumby the house-elf grabbed his bat-like ears and folded them, as if he had not wanted to hear such words. "No, no, Gumby made a mistake. Everybody was forbidden to call you by that name any longer, because you became..."

"A werewolf. Still, now I could order you to call me by that name again. But I don't want to give orders to you. Besides, I think I've grown to be Remus. I could replace my official middle name by my original name, though. And I wish I could call you by your real name, too. But I know the permission to do that is too much to ask for. Come and sit here beside me."

Remus knew he had confused Gumby, who could not possibly decide which one was the most upsetting statement: the intention to take back a forbidden name, the notion of unwillingness to give orders to a house-elf, or the reference to a highly secret elfish name. The Wottons' faithful servant must have thought that the young master was insane. Maybe that was why he managed to approach Remus and glance at him gently before sitting on the edge of the fireplace and turning his eyes to the flames.

"Thank you for the fire. I was freezing," Remus said.

"You are welcome. I know."

In this family a house-elf was used to being thanked for his services, so Gumby did not get more embarrassed. He cast another tender look at Remus, who had a peculiar feeling of the presence of some concealed magic, which had the power to discover in an instant everything that he had experienced in the last seventeen years. Whatever power there was in this creature, it was carefully hidden behind his appearance. Besides a pretty embroidered pillowcase, one of those which Philomela Wotton had prepared just for him, he was wearing a bed sheet, which was wrapped around him elegantly. He now arranged the folders of the sheet, looking down at his lap, and said in as much of an undertone as an extremely startled house-elf could muster in his naturally - or perhaps conventionally - high-pitched voice, "May I ask you something, master Remus? What are you..?"

"What I am doing here? I was told by Mr. Landor that the house was deserted. So I decided to come and settle to live here. I'm sorry that he didn't check if you were still here - so as to ask for your opinion."

"Gumby's opinion? What are you talking about, master? But you were forbidden to..."

"Yes, according to the law I had no right to inherit any property from my parents. As a werewolf I was no more their heir. There was, of course, not much to inherit. The Death Eaters must have either robbed or destroyed whatever they could, and taken the keys of the vaults and emptied them. I don't think they even found much, because my parents had spent most of their wealth on trying to help me and other unfortunate creatures. And I obeyed the rules of the law and never even came back after the funeral." Remus had talked mainly to himself, but he now suddenly turned his gaze at his old friend and said defiantly, "But neither the Death Eaters nor the Ministry managed to destroy or occupy the estate."

A broad smile on Gumby's disproportionate face revealed some hidden beauty. But his words were probably nothing deeper than a reflection of Remus's own triumph. "Young master is right. Gumby never let them in," he said lightly, as if it had been a joke.

"Have you been here all these years, and alone?"

"We are never alone. There is more than you can see. But there will be time for talking. You shall stay, and now - have dinner."

These words - no matter how simple they were - had a different tone. As if enchanted, Remus stared into those magnificent eyes and hardly managed to slowly turn to follow the polite gesture. He rose like in a dream and felt that he had become a child again.

The room was now lit by a circle of candles above a large oak table, which was laid for two. Every piece of the heavy oak furniture was exactly in the spot where it belonged in his memory. Allowing his eyes to caress the benches with velvet cushions, the high book cases, the elaborate tapestries along all the walls, he stepped next to the table and now touched the back of a chair and felt the wood smooth like silk. He was back in the world of his childhood.

Through his tears he saw Gumpy still standing by the fireplace, his hand still in the same polite gesture and his head bent to a slight bow. But the grin and the humorous glint in the enchanting eyes helped Remus find the right words to ask him to come and share the meal.

"Come on! We both know I'm no master and you're really no servant!"

He suddenly knew that he had uttered these exact words at a time beyond his memory.

***

Remus was waking up very slowly. Or maybe he was still dreaming. He was lying in a place which was soft and warm, and he felt no hunger at all. He tried hard to open his eyes. Yes, he was dreaming. This was the scene of the departure of heroes in the tapestry next to his bed at home.

"Come on, quickly! Can't you see they are leaving." Someone was pulling him up and towards the trees in the slope behind the house.

He could hear the sound of the marching army drawing away and see red light gleaming on the armour. Was it sunrise or sunset? He turned to look at the burning sky and back towards the forest, and he could not force himself to move.

"Come on! Nothing bad ever happened. It was all meant to be." The hand holding his was no smaller than his, and the large green twinkling eyes were on the level of his. "You are never alone," his friend said.

***

Having slept until noon, he sat up and had to believe that he had truly got back his old pull-out bed. His mother had told him he had inherited it when banished from her bed at the age of two. It suddenly struck him that he must have known himself as Arthur with no reservations at that time, maybe even called himself by that name instead of saying "I" or "me". He was lost in his thoughts, trying to reach a clear mental image of a certain role play on this bed, but he could not be sure if that memory was from a time before or after...

He stopped himself from thinking about that, or any pleasant memories either. If he did not force himself to stick to the present, he could waste the rest of his life lost in the past.

But before getting up he could not resist touching the tapestry. The colours looked faded and darkened by smoke, if compared with those in the lively scene he remembered having seen as a child - and earlier this morning. But the banners and the purple robes of the king were still fluttering in the wind, when he led his knights from the castle towards the woods and mountains. The sky was still glowing crimson - albeit so faded that he wondered what could have frightened him so last time he saw it.

He knew well that the dream had not been less real than anything else. His heart and mind were overflowing, but strangely he felt no such anguish as he had for years and until last night. Why would he not allow himself to dwell upon all his treasures, even upon the worst of what had been meant to happen.

The daylight, which now fell on the king's escort, making them look more like a worn piece of handicraft and less real than in the glow of candles in a winter night, came in through an opening in the curtains surrounding the loft. This was the place high in the farthest corner of the great hall where his bed had always been moved for the winter. In the summers he had - from the age of nine - had a more private abode of his own in the west wing of the building, but the wings had not been heated in the winter.

This was also where Gumby had prepared the bed for him to sleep in at the night before the funeral, because it had been December. But he had not slept that last night before his departure.

He leant his back and head against the tapestry and wrapped his arms around his knees. That was how he had been sitting here for a couple of hours, after Gumby had ordered him to have some rest. He had been clutching his wand and kept his eyes open and seen the light of the candles lit around the dead bodies of his parents. He had had no idea and he had not cared to think why Gumby had found it necessary to stay awake beside them, or why he had considered it safe to postpone the burial until the morning.

He had got Mr. Landor's owl well before midnight and ventured to apparate from London straight to the vicinity of the house. The dark mark had still been hovering above it. As he had warily approached the entrance, clutching his wand, Gumby appeared on the threshold.

Pointing at the pile of ashes nearby, Gumby explained immediately that The Death Eaters had effectively destroyed the corpses of all those who had taken refuge in his parents' house. "Not those of Mr. and Mrs. Wotton," he continued.

But Remus knew that they had been killed, too. He hardly listened to Gumby's condolences and the apologies, in which he heard only a scared servant's whining.

What were those words again, and what was the meaning behind them?

"I thought it was time, but I was meant to be late. They had killed everyone and were in the middle of destroying the property, when I got back. I could just see them leave. But from now on there is nothing for you to fear while you are staying in this house."

He had followed Gumby into the almost empty room. He did not care to ask if that was how Gumby had found it. Albeit probably willing to demonstrate that they believed how the pure-blood witch and wizard - even if traitors - deserved a different treatment from what the half-breeds and non-humans had got, the Death Eaters would certainly not have placed the two dead bodies side by side on the large table and surrounded them with candles and flowers. Where could even Gumby have got such flowers in December?

Their faces still felt warm against his frozen hands. And their facial expressions were not simply peaceful, but also so characteristic of the mother and father he had loved that he found it hard to believe they were actually not alive and to start mourning their deaths. He glanced in amazement at Gumby and became immediately irritated by the look of pride on the house-elf's face. Afterwards he thought that his parents might well not have met an instantaneous death by the killing curse without being tortured first in the cruellest way.

But thanks to Gumby's skilful arrangements, during that night he was not consumed by anger or thirst for revenge. He simply felt grief for having lost them, and fear for the return of the murderers and for what he had ahead in his life in case it was not to end that night, too.

***

Now, however, the warmth of the sun caressed his face. Unlike that night almost seventeen years ago he had now closed his eyes to relive his agony. But the darkness was gone, and the light almost hurt his eyes through his closed lids. He felt a sudden urge to finally start the day and to explore the long-lost pleasures.

Only when standing up did he realise that the beams of the noon sun - coming in through the low windows of the great hall - could not have reached him up on the loft. He pulled the curtain open and looked down to see Gumby standing in a spot of light in front of a window and waving to him.

Sitting down for another delicious meal, Remus could not help laughing at the thought that he was being treated and he was behaving as if he had been a wealthy tourist. And he realised he had really been a drifter for a very long time to have such a thought, instead of accepting the comforts of a home. In any case he had been prepared to take care of himself alone here, too.

"This can't be right. You are spoiling me!"

"As I used to spoil my baby brother."

Remus had hardly time to notice that Gumby had referred to one of the first secrets they had shared. Not even his mother had known that he had pretended Gumby was his brother.

The elf quickly continued, winking, which was quite an impressive expression thanks to the size of his eyes, "I trust you did not expect this and you do not demand this."

Surveying the table and taking pleasure in deciding what to pick on his plate first, Remus did not hurry to respond, but chose his words carefully as well. "How could I? You have no obligations. I finally made up my mind to defy the law and to claim the right to this estate, which my parents originally meant to be mine. Still, I don't claim any fake domination over you. I suppose you don't need a fake token to confirm your autonomy, because I accept your dignity, which depends only on the superior power and definitely not on any human, or half-human. But in case you wish, I can look if I've got a spare sock or two."

"No thanks. I guess you need to keep what you have got. You may not have gathered much wealth. But you have learnt a lot and not forgotten everything you used to know. So it should be understood by both of us what power makes me able and willing to tend your body and lighten your heart."

"I'm honoured, if I may call you my brother again. I came here in the hope of a new brotherhood to be formed, but I thought I would have been by myself to begin with."

"I am happy you are ready. But will you soon be ready for a walk around the lands, too? Now stop talking and finish your breakfast, which has turned into lunch. This is getting too solemn. It doesn't suit my conventional style." Gumby tilted his head on one side and smiled.

The clouds must have revealed the sun again, as the square of the window behind him was suddenly so bright that Remus could not see his face clearly enough to decide if it looked very young or very old.

"You always had a style of your own. My other friends used to say you were quite a cool house-elf."

***

The landscape was gleaming in flashes of sun, as the light entered through scattering clouds. Remus stopped on the threshold, but looked far over the rolling green hills, which continued all the way to the horizon, and down along the winding overgrown lane towards the wooded valley, where only a few of the houses of the small village of Bagendon could be discerned behind the trees. Every detail was shining - as if freshly painted - after the rain, which must have lasted until the morning. This was truly the original of a magic painting. The gusty wind had not abated, and since the grass and the branches of the trees were in a movement as unpredictable as the illumination provided by the restless sky, the whole creation presented itself to him as a symbol of change.

He moved his focus closer so as to examine the play of light and shade in his own orchard. But the enchantment was broken, when he saw that Gumby was among the apple trees, ahead on his left, already heading down towards the south-eastern corner of the estate. Remus meant to call him back, but managed to only whisper, "Not that way."

Turning to his right, he glanced at the west wing of the house, and he suddenly felt like staying to sit on the stone bench next to the window of his room. But he could not resist looking down to search for the place where he had seen the pile of ashes. He did not even know if the ashes had been buried, too. The ground was all covered with high grass and spotted with wild flowers in an amazing spectrum of bright colours.

He started to walk slowly towards the bench, but stopped among the flowers. He carefully chose two, and when he reached to pick them, a bird hardly the size of a snitch appeared in front of him. Holding the flowers, he turned quickly to follow the bird in order to catch up with Gumby, as if he had never hesitated. He knew he had to walk this way first.

He had been dizzy with grief and fear and fatigue at that sunrise when they had levitated the dead bodies of his parents, wrapped in white cloths, to the south-eastern corner of the estate and found all the witches and wizards of the Cotswolds waiting. Mr Landor had stepped forward to embrace Remus, and then performed the ceremony. He had finished before Remus had stopped wondering who had dug the grave. Startled by the sight of the bodies disappearing into it, he had let the armful of summer flowers, which Gumby had offered to him, fall down. Suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that all those people had come there to blame him for what had happened, he had turned and left without looking back.

The shrill cries of the bird guided him back from the gloom and cold of the winter morning, and he lengthened his strides while watching out so as not to step on apples. His shoes and the hems of his robes were drenched.

Gumby had now stopped to wait for him, but did not allow him to stop. Hand in hand they continued through the vegetable garden.

The small patch of meadow was clearly lower on the slope than the house, but there were no trees obscuring the view to the valley. Remus could see the brook glinting like a crawling snake which approached the village and passed by it, as if enjoying the terror it caused.

Gumby stopped and Remus forced himself to look down at his parents' grave. There was a small tombstone with their names engraved. He glanced around and felt relieved that there was nobody else there. His mother and father would not have blamed him. But would they approve of what he had done now and of what he was planning to do? He bent to place the two flowers on the wet grass in front of the stone.

"I think they would," Gumby said.

While realising that he did it mainly so as to clutch to this chance to escape his old grief, Remus pulled his hand away from his friend's and snapped, "Thank you. You must also be able to read in my mind how happy I am to have gained some distance from Dumbledore! Do you think I wanted you to replace him?"

He cast another glance at the grave and decided to come back alone. Then he turned to walk up the slope towards the north-eastern pastures.

***

Sitting on a stone bench with his head against the wall of the sheep shelter, Remus watched the flock move slowly across the pasture. He was surprised that the sheep actually came to greet him. He had not been here after he had discovered and started developing his ability to interact with creatures without verbal language. The first one to push against his knees conveyed a simple message of welcome.

"Thank you," he said quietly, caressing the side and then cautiously the face of the sheep. "This is where I belong."

With a satisfied baa this sheep stirred slightly, and the movement was echoed on the sheep next to it and started travelling rhythmically across the flock, which confirmed his statement, "This is where you belong. You'd better get to work and show it."

Or was it Gumby who had said it? But he was still far, walking towards the shelter.

The sheep moved away, and Remus stood up to meet his friend. "I'm sorry, Gumby. Of course I've always known about that ability of yours, and in your case it's all right, when there's no doubt you know my heart the way only you can."

Remus waited for a reply for a while, and as none came, he took a deep breath and continued, "But you know I think it's time to get over this emotional storm and do something. It was a happy surprise to see that the lands are yielding a good crop."

Gumby had taken Remus's hand again and was leading him to the west side of the estate. They passed the house from above and behind it, and Remus looked down at the nest of the amazanthines on the roof and avoided even glancing at the outskirts of the forest on his right. He felt relieved that Gumby headed down to the fields again, pointing forward eagerly.

"Yes, this year we've helped everything to grow. I thought there would be a chance that you come back this autumn."

"So you knew what would happen, didn't you?"

Remus had attempted a light tone, but Gumby replied sagely. "Of course I did not know. It was up to you. And not even now can I know beforehand what you will do. I can only know what you've been through."

On the edge of the potato field the elf stopped before continuing, "And there's no need for you to get so much irritated. I don't claim to know what is good for you. But the truth is that there is work to do. I think you are not too tired to get started with it soon. In the eyes of most of the creatures your right to the land is based on the work you do on it. And most of them don't reap any crop, so you are to do that."

"The sheep seem to agree with you. And so do I. I will start now, and I hope you can advise me what to do first."

The smile on Gumby's face reflected Remus's excitement. "First of all, go to change to the robes you have been wearing when painting. This work can be compared to that. You can take your wand with you, but do not expect not to get tired."

"Perhaps I can guess better than you how good it will be for me to get tired in this way."

***

Gumby guided Remus to the most urgent task of gathering in the crops of the vegetable garden, and they worked together almost until the dusk. Even though magic helped them transfer the crops to a cart, which Gumby had summoned from a shed, they had to pick some of the vegetables by hand and arrange them carefully in order not to spoil any. The weather was perfect for the work, since the wind dried the plants and soil quickly and there was no dust. But despite the cool breeze Remus was sweaty a long time before sunset.

He had never done much work on the fields as a child or a youth. His parents had always urged him to spend his time on studying instead. Soon after they had succeeded in arranging his education at Hogwarts, they had also told him that he should not count on agriculture to earn a living in the future, because he would not inherit the estate. He had never given much thought to that fact. Both Philomela and William Wotton had had other professional qualifications and occupations besides cultivating the lands, and there had been too many fascinating careers to consider for Remus to have ever thought that he wanted more than to keep returning home to his parents' estate for holidays.

He had not realised before that his mother and father had probably tried to prevent him from getting too much attached to what he was to lose one day. He had rather thought that they had considered him physically too weak for the work, especially when he had not yet been allowed to use magic. This had occasionally irritated him, but he had both been forced to admit that they were right, and learnt to take advantage of the chance to completely devote his holidays to his favourite pleasures of reading, painting and eating.

***

"It's a pity I never learnt to cook either." Remus was watching while Gumby was preparing the dinner.

Because the house had been built into the slope, the kitchen, facing north, had small windows high on the wall, and now it was dimly lit by the fire in the stove and by only a few candles. They had cleaned themselves of the soil and sweat, but the signs of the work of the afternoon could be seen in the piles of vegetables all around the room among the ancient kitchen utensils.

In his childhood Remus had spent a lot of time in the kitchen, mainly just listening to Gumby's tales. He had often drawn sketches to illustrate the tales. And sometimes depicted the utensils around him - but he had never cared to learn how to use them. Despite his fatigue he now felt irritated by the fact that he was not of any use. Instead of enjoying the well deserved rest he suffered from the idleness. He seemed to have already got into the habit of doing something which would reveal its fruits immediately.

Gumby smiled while apparently only staring at a knife, until it had cut some apples into slices for a pie, and then turned his gaze to Remus and replied. "Yes, you could have used that skill, instead of eating only bread or not even that at times when you couldn't afford to go to a restaurant."

"You are right. It's funny for how long I could refuse to learn something that was a necessity and would have been simple to learn, at least in its basics."

"Cooking may not have been the only thing you put off learning," Gumby said, grinning.

Remus felt like replying that he did not want to talk, but to do something. Yet, the warmth and the delicious smells had actually made him feel too drowsy to snap at his friend again. "Let's concentrate on these practical matters now. I suppose you can teach me how to preserve the crops for the winter."

"And I suppose you want to teach, too."

Suddenly quite alert, Remus got up from the stool he had been sitting on. "Thanks for reminding me. Really, I mean it. How good it is you can read something that's not even in my mind anymore. I totally forgot they have already started classes at Hogwarts today. And I still didn't ask Dumbledore who is now the teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts. I must talk to the new teacher about Harry."

"Just go and have your conversation now while I finish here. There's floo powder in the pot on the mantelpiece."

Kneeling on the edge of the big fireplace, Remus threw some powder into the flames, which turned emerald green. Hogwarts was protected against the entrance of visitors, and Remus had not even wished for an exception in either direction. The chance to communicate through the floo network was enough. He bent to put his head into the flames, and closing his eyes, he said, "Hogwarts, the office of the teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts."

While his head was spinning, he thought about how to introduce himself to the occupant of the room in which he had himself started to work three years earlier. The spinning stopped, and he opened his eyes to examine the office. There was nothing interesting to be seen, none of those ornamental plates decorated by kittens, which Harry had described as horrible, when still concealing the other torments he had faced in that room. Remus truly hoped that Dumbledore had found someone to take up the position, so that Umbridge had not been followed by another teacher nominated by the ministry.

"Good evening, Professor!" he said, and he waited for a moment before repeating it louder.

The door to the teacher's bedroom opened, and a tall figure walked quickly towards the fireplace, with black robes whirling impressively as if in a private storm.

Remus had a moment to consider if he should withdraw, but he decided to enjoy the facts that there was no need to introduce himself yet, and that he was in the position to say the rude words first. "What are you doing here?"

"What..." Snape's expression quickly turned from irritation into sheer loathing. But in an instant his face was quite blank again. He did not bother to kneel but stared down at Remus's head, bending his so that his greasy black hair framed his face, making it look even thinner and paler and his hooked nose sharper.

Remus wished he could have taken pleasure in disturbing Snape in the way his friends had always done, but after all these years it had become totally impossible for him. He had to concentrate all his strength on repressing his most violent instincts. He felt his nails cut deep in his palms, as he squeezed his hands to fists and channelled some of the overflowing aggression on himself. But his hands were far from Hogwarts, and his mind was still too full of anger for him to be able to say anything for a while.

Snape did not speak either, but took a step backwards and then turned to walk to the desk to place on it the books he had been carrying.

To Remus's relief Snape had not been at the headquarters at the same time with him after Sirius's death. At least all that time when he had not been travelling himself, Snape must have been on that secret mission which Dumbledore had decided not to reveal to anybody.

Remus normally refused to think about Snape at all, with the exception of some of his happiest moments. Strange though it was, at such times when he felt good about his own role in the company of other people, he sometimes allowed his thoughts to touch this person, who probably caused more disturbing hatred in him than anyone else did. It seemed he felt like testing if it would be possible to think about Snape without losing the control of his mind. He was quite aware that he had done it only a few times after Sirius's death. He had not repressed the thought of Snape evoked by Mrs. Longbottom's appearance, after he had told a true story to Frank and Alice so as to share his memories with them. And on the triumphant day when he had shared the best time ever with Harry and when he had felt confident even in Kingsley's company, he had ventured a thought of Snape on purpose.

Now the emotions of his homecoming had led him to a relative state of reconciliation with his own life, but that did not seem to be enough for him to free his mind from anger, when he unexpectedly not only thought of Snape but actually had to stare at him. He closed his eyes and almost decided to withdraw his head back home.

Snape was, of course, back at Hogwarts, but what was he doing not only in the Defence teacher's office but even in the bedroom attached to it?

Finally turning back towards the fireplace, Snape spoke in a soft voice and with hardly any discernible signs of loathing in his carefully controlled facial expression. "You...What are you doing in my office?"

Remus was glad his emotions had prevented him from repeating the same question and from revealing even more clearly the fact that he had not known or even been able to guess the truth. "Let me register my astonishment," he said, "that good old Snivellus ever managed to become the Professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts." Though leaving out the most insulting word of Sirius's line on the Marauder's Map, he allowed his voice to adopt Sirius's best mocking tone and his face to reflect Sirius's grin.

This was the only way it was possible for him to almost enjoy the hatred he felt - turning it into a light-hearted play and taking his friend's role in it. If he had ever managed to stop blaming himself, he would have blamed Snape for how Sirius had been forced to live the last two years of his life, and even for how he had died. And the best nonviolent way to punish Snape was to make him feel that Sirius had left neither of them alone.

Snape's face may have changed shade of colour, but it was hard to be sure in the flickering light of the flames. His voice was as expressionless as before. "Thank you. I suppose you have more to say. But don't waste our time talking about my nose or my hair. Neither of us is a beauty."

Remus was startled by the evident improvement in Snape's ability to control his behaviour and to even almost make fun of himself. A new disturbing thought of what this man might have been through and hidden from everybody except probably Dumbledore passed his mind, but he knew he could do nothing but ignore it now.

"No, I had something else in mind. I am probably exactly the wrong person to check that you have set aside any animosity against the Potters. But I felt it was my responsibility, as the person closest to a parent Harry has left, to ask you not to make life even more difficult for him than what it is already. And no matter who the Defence teacher is, I wanted to say that after training him I know that his ability to learn is worth the effort of offering him challenge and encouragement. He will make his teacher proud. Not to mention what he will hopefully do, because the only hope the whole wizard world has got must be based on him, if we believe in prophesies."

"Do you think it does any good to him that I have to hear this from you?" Sitting down on a chair, which he had summoned to the middle of the room, Snape had said those words slowly and thoughtfully. He rested his chin on his hand and continued to stare at Remus calmly, waiting for his response.

"Maybe it does. I am perhaps exactly the person to revive all your animosity, but I may also manage to make you channel it against me. If I hear that Harry is not learning but only suffering in your class, my head will pop in to remind you of who deserves your hatred instead of the boy. He never asked for the burden either to be James and Lily's son or to be the child of the prophecy. You may hate me. In me you may hate both James and Sirius. Unless you want to discuss your teaching methods with me, you'll do the duty trusted to you by Dumbledore, and you'll do it better than last year. I guess you don't want to hear from me very frequently."

"Everybody has already heard more than enough about you." Now Snape stood up, as if implying that the conversation had lasted long enough.

"And more will be heard. You won't manage to stop me," Remus said quietly.

"Why would I want to stop you, if we have the same enemy?"

Almost regretting that he had taken the conversation to this topic, Remus smiled and hoped he would manage to change to a lighter, almost playful tone. "I only hope we have. I may have more enemies than you have. And it's no use pretending that we are fond of each other."

"So what makes you think it helps Potter that you come to talk to me? Even if I did not loathe him, I would torment him in class just to cause you to suffer."

Snape's balanced voice was approaching such gentleness that it reminded Remus of Umbridge, and he could not resist resorting to his own vulnerability as his ultimate weapon.

"Can't you extract feelings from my mind when my head is in the fire? I trust in your skills of Legilimency. You must know how much even more than now I will envy you, if you treat Harry well enough to make him love you as his best teacher. Have a nice school year, Professor Snape."

Remus pulled his head away from the flames and sat on the edge of the fireplace. He wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his forehead on his knees. His heartbeat was quick and he was shaking. Had he done any good to Harry's cause or his own? He should have first checked who the teacher was, and prepared his speech.

Feeling suddenly his body relax, he looked up and saw Gumby standing close to him, and he smiled and said, "I wish I could just cook or work on the fields instead of talking to people."

Gumby took his hand and pulled him up and to the table. "No, you don't wish that. You enjoy being good at talking to people. You are. You did very well, once again."

Remus wanted to concentrate on taking in the beauty of the dinner served by his friend, and he felt it was all both well deserved and a gift which he had not needed to deserve. But he could not help paying attention to Gumby's words, while he did not know how to reply.

He must have expressed some confusion, as Gumby continued, "Did anybody say anything like that to you for a long time?"

"No. My parents did. They always praised the things I had said and done. Maybe because of that it's hard for me to ever believe that I have succeeded in anything unless somebody... no, unless everybody gives me praise."

"And that will never happen. I think. I do not know," said Gumby, winking and filling their glasses with apple juice.

***

Remus wished he could talk to Harry. But he did not want to appear in the Gryffindor common room fireplace, when he did not know how many students would be there to see him. Snape's words had given him the impression that the Quibbler had been read at Hogwarts, and maybe not only among the teachers.

After dinner Gumby had agreed to still instruct Remus in some methods of preservation. Preparing herbs to dry seemed simple enough, but it was hard to figure out how to pickle with the help of a wand, when the elfish magic was remarkably different. Even if Remus ended up spoiling some of the cucumbers he worked with, he thought it was a good teacher education lesson for him. He had never practised truly multicultural education, and he realised that this was exactly the challenge he would face.

But the problems of a professor teaching students with different backgrounds and abilities turned Remus's thoughts back to Harry and Snape. He was just going to ask Gumby if there were any owls around, when he heard the sound of a peck on the window. The window pane was so steamy that he could hardly discern something white among the darkness behind. But he recognised that peck, as if he had felt it on his skin. With a spell he opened the window and let in the fragrant night breeze.

Contrary to the conventional manner of messenger owls, Hedwig did not rush in but stayed on the window sill to hoot a polite greeting.

"Good evening, Hedwig. Come in. I'm so happy you are my first guest."

She flew in to perch on Remus's shoulder and rubbed her head against his cheek.

"Gumby, this is Hedwig. You know what friend she is to me. Hedwig, may I introduce to you my oldest friend. I call him Gumby."

Hedwig turned her head, and Gumby smiled and reached out his arm for her to perch on. "Let me show Miss Hedwig around, while you read your letter and write a reply, if it's urgent. In case it isn't, I hope Miss Hedwig will agree to stay overnight and preferably longer than that."

Remus shoved aside some jars and spread the parchment on the table. Smiling, he glanced at his friends, who exited to the great hall. Hedwig might like the high ceiling and even agree to share Remus's loft before her early morning search of prey. On the other hand, Remus was eager to send a letter to Harry as soon as possible, no matter what Harry had written.

***

Dear Remus,

How are you? I didn't need to ask Luna for the magazine. She showed it to us on the train. I didn't know what to think, but Hermione said she thought it was good. I mean that Luna's dad had written it well and what you had said was good. But Luna also said she knew that you were leaving London. I've noticed that the teachers talk about you, and some students talk, those who remember you as the Defence teacher and why you left then.

And I must tell you the bad news. Or did you know that Dumbledore would let Snape teach Defence? Could he really not find anyone else? We're going to have our first class with him tomorrow. I don't know how I can stand it. You know I've thought it was all my fault, I mean... You know what I mean. But at first I was so angry with Snape. And now that I saw him I know I'm still angry. As if I ever liked him very much! I feel like shouting at him that you have taught me and I don't need his lessons. But I think I need the Defence lessons. I just don't know how I can stand it.

Sorry. I just wanted to say that I hope you are fine. I wonder if you are in London anymore. But I'm sure Hedwig will find you. She always found everybody.

Take care.

Harry

***

While reading, Remus had felt the smile grow wider on his face regardless of the actual contents of the letter. The fact that Harry wrote to him in such a spontaneous tone made him feel that he had been given something he had missed for years. But he was close to tears, as well, by the time he reached the last sentence. He knew that the word at the end of it had been chosen to replace the name which Harry had actually thought of and hesitated to write.

But could Sirius ever really be replaced by anybody at all? Even though it could be possible in other circumstances, did Remus now have to resist this emerging intimacy and give it up for the benefit of Harry's relationship with his teacher? No, he was acting too dramatic. Harry would never really love Snape. Could Snape possibly be deluded to believe that? But it was worth trying to make Snape think that Remus was afraid it would happen.

Standing up, Remus noticed that Gumby was coming back.

"Maybe you'd like to sit with Hedwig while writing," Gumby said, "I'll arrange things here, so we can continue tomorrow. It's getting late, and you may not want to sleep until noon again."

Remus replied only with a nod and a vague smile, walked through the hall to its other back corner and climbed up the stairs to the loft. He saw Hedwig's figure shining white in the gloom of the ceiling and motioned for her to join him.

When he was lighting the candle on the small desk beside his bed, Hedwig arrived and perched on something that he was surprised to notice for the first time. It was his old easel. Had it been there in the morning, or had Gumby moved it up here later, and why would he have done it? Remus certainly had other work to do than painting.

Hedwig hooted once and started cleaning her feathers.

"Yes, I am going to write the letter. Harry needs to have it tomorrow morning. I know that you can fly very fast, so could you please stay until I'm asleep. And let's ask Harry if you can come back for a longer visit." Caressing her chest, he added, "It's been a long time since I wrote a letter to a friend."

He should have written to Harry during his mission. How could he have blamed only the other members of the Order for not watching over him? But since Dumbledore had sent him away, preventing him from really taking care of Harry, he had taken the opportunity to gain distance from the loss of Sirius. He had somehow tried to pretend that he had lost Sirius only once, and that he was living the life he had lived during those years before he came to teach at Hogwarts. His old friend and travelling companion Jean had - after days of general philosophical ponderings - half forced him to confess that he had a new personal grief. Having heard the details, Jean had insisted that Remus write to Harry. His failure to do that had actually been the last drop to outbalance Jean's control of mind, and having been deserted by his friend, Remus had not even tried to write but had focused on the increasing difficulties in his encounters with the werewolves.

But now he was not expected to write about Sirius. And a piece of parchment, a quill and a bottle of ink were waiting for him on the desk.

"You know, Gumby is really spoiling me," he said to Hedwig, and he sat down and started to write quickly.

***

Harry,

I hope you're happy to be back. At Hogwarts you can at least go out and relax by playing Quidditch.

I talked to Professor Snape through floo powder this evening before I got your letter. It was a total surprise to me to see him in the Defence teacher's office, and definitely not a happy one. I hope I didn't say something very stupid. I actually suddenly had the idea to make him think about how much more I'll envy him, if you learn to love him as your best teacher. That is true, Harry.

You know Snape hates me. So it may be worth the effort to try and make him think that he can get back on me by treating you fairly. My advice to you is that you try to show him that you like him a bit more, if he ever demonstrates any less bias against you than he has done so far. He will read your mind, so try to rationalise that you really appreciate his achievements in decent behaviour.

If you want to let him know, or if he otherwise finds out that you've learnt Rafinarisma, you could say that you - or maybe rather Hermione - learnt it from a book. There is one titled "Break the Evil into Peaces" by Shrin Lenbad. It's from the 1960's and now probably sold out, but she could have seen it at a public library in Finland - they have good libraries there. That's the only way he might let you continue to learn it, in case you care to.

Don't talk to him about me, unless you have bad things to say. And better not say even bad things, until as a reward for some bearable treatment that you've first received from him. I hope he will act decently, and he may really do it, because Dumbledore must have insisted that he co-operate with you efficiently this year. I trust you can stand it, like you did with Umbridge last year. But do not let him torture you. Not even mentally. You can always tell me, if he insults any of the Marauders - except me, or Peter.

I mean you don't have to let him talk to you about your father or Sirius. It seems a bit easier to now write than it was to talk about this. You know I miss them so much, just like you do. And I miss you. I'll write more another time.

I still need to tell you that I've come to my parents' place. Did you know they died seventeen years ago and I haven't been allowed to come here? So now I've decided to break the law. There's a Fidelius Charm, so the ministry can't find me. Any creature persecuted by either the ministry or Voldemort is welcome to join me. Now I'm just enjoying the comforts of a home, so there's no need to worry about me. An old friend in the disguise of a servant was waiting for me when I arrived.

I was happy to have Hedwig as my first guest. Since I need to send her back with this letter so quickly, could you let her come again to stay for a few days? Would it be all right, if I invited her for the full moon?

I wonder if you'll have your class immediately after you've read this. Try to stay calm and rant about it only afterwards to Ron and Hermione. I'm sure they'll support you. And maybe your Potions classes will be better this year - as they couldn't get much worse, no matter who the new teacher is. I forgot to find out about that.

If you feel like it, write down anything that you have in your mind, and you know I'd be happy to read it. Whenever you want to send me a letter while Hedwig is here, you can be sure that any Hogwarts owl will always find me.

Take good care of yourself, Harry.

Remus