Remus Lupin and the Revolt of the Creatures

Chapter Fourteen: The Walls of Cover and Confinement

Neville's round face was glowing with excitement. He was placing boxes of Senecio sylvaticus seedlings carefully back against the inner walls, which had eventually stopped trembling.

This little greenhouse had been built by William Wotton only a few years before his death, and perhaps the protective magic of the elves had kept it intact when the estate had been abandoned by humans. Remus had not needed to actually repair anything, not a single broken windowpane. Instead, the size of the greenhouse had now needed temporary fixing.

"The effect of this expanding charm should last for a couple of days without renewal," Remus said.

He summoned another box from the middle of the greenhouse and forwarded it cautiously closer to Neville. The boy's expression regained serenity when he bent over the seedlings to examine their condition and to consider in which position they would best benefit from the meagre October daylight. At the moment the large windowpanes were hammered by relentless rain.

There was clearly visible benevolent radiation only from the few sun-resembling candles Neville had brought with him. Somehow this invaluable light seemed to emanate from his face, when he lifted his eyes to Remus. Nervous joy returned to his smile, which now reminded Remus of Alice - as a young girl and as the damaged woman taking in the wonders of Diagon Alley and of a pet shop. However, Remus wanted to believe that all insecurity had started to recede in both mother and son.

"I'm not sure," Neville said, "how necessary it was to make this much space for a large audience."

"It's not going to be only audience. Everyone can be active."

"You know, I doubt that lecturing to big groups is really what I..." Neville's voice trailed off. He turned and headed for the shelves at the opposite end of the greenhouse. "I must check if we have the ingredients I've thought could work best, after Thisby told me about the natural habitat of woodland groundsel. With a small group of workshop participants I could perhaps mix, or try to mix, the fertiliser..."

"Lecturing is not your favourite teaching method, is it?"

"I feel more comfortable when I'm talking to a couple of people at a time - or to one, actually." When uttering the last words Neville glanced back. An intense gaze and a quick grin told Remus that this boy had been looking forward to his own confidential discussion with the host.

A week had passed without an opportunity for this kind of privacy. Or perhaps it could have been arranged, but whenever the two of them had participated in the same labour or conversation, Neville had been in fluent interaction with someone else, too, often exchanging pieces of knowledge dealing with the work at hand or something more general.

Remus himself had been busy receiving reports. Listening to a faun explaining how amazanthines had noticed some people moving into Ice-Stare's village, or to one of the goblin actors describing the encouraging reaction of the goblins of the London pub to their invitation, or to Thisby's dire news concerning the poorest families of the Ancient Village. All this was important and required immediate attention. But Remus had neglected Neville for too many years and still continued to do that.

Harry in turn had now chosen to spend a lot of time on his own, after Remus had found behind the bookshelf some rolls of parchment with his old notes on the magic of Animagi. Remus had also guided him to the first basic exercises of focusing on the dimensions of his body, so that he would gradually get ready to actively lose those dimensions from his consciousness.

According to the guarded knowledge of Animagus experts, it was not necessary to master any other spells of wandless magic. But Remus wished he had enough time to encourage Harry to deviate from following the same first phases of practice which Remus had recorded on his friends' behalf twenty-five years earlier. He now believed that wider expertise in this type of magic would have supported his Marauder friends in their efforts. At least Sirius's constant using of the Animagus spell seemed to have made it relatively easy for him to learn - after his escape from Azkaban - to perform basic charms without his wand. Obviously his success had been partly due to his desperate needs. But Remus himself had hardly managed to learn two spells of flames all through his time as a destitute, even though he had often been among muggles and therefore not in the position to use his wand.

There was also the possibility that Sirius had simply been so much more talented in magic... No, Remus had to stop disparaging himself. So as to show an example to Neville. And he had to focus on Neville now.

Remus chose a seat on a bench near the shelves. When turning back, having singled out and arranged a few pots, Neville was clearly glad to see that Remus wanted to stay. He sat down beside Remus and seemed to expect him to talk.

Remus decided to return to the earlier topic. "I've seen you do it excellently - guiding others to learn without lecturing to them."

Neville looked pleased and perhaps only slightly surprised. "You mean... Your people are so eager to learn, and they teach me at the same time."

"Exactly. You'll do the same here this evening and tomorrow. Thisby and Rose will have central roles beside you, explaining how they have taken care of plants like these, and probably asking most of the questions. But you'll encourage the others to comment as well. You'll keep our young ladies on topic, too. They've already learnt to respect you, since you're the expert from Hogwarts and you've shown respect for their different expertise."

Remus's words obviously encouraged Neville to describe his own plans. "What if I just say a few words about the goal of this workshop: about collecting and developing the insight into the care and use of these plants which can serve in defence and healing. We'll divide into three groups... I don't think I've really guided anyone yet. I've just been chatting with some people here, so that we can get to know each other. And you know, I had decided to take the chance... to be different in their eyes. As they didn't know I was supposed to be shy and to fail most of the time. You didn't tell your people about us beforehand, did you? About the famous Harry and someone's who'd be nothing compared with him."

The tone made Remus smile. It was neither resigned nor defiant. Neville knew his own value and was simply curious to see when others would discover it.

"You don't think I'd put it that way. I could have explained about Harry and hardly mentioned you. But no. I said that two sons of some friends of mine were coming. I mentioned the parents - yours, too - only to Jonah, as he asked. He, too, lost his father in the war."

"I know. I've talked to him. It's been great: making friends. But actually... I have to confess I've tried to somehow test if I could really teach. And teach in the way Professor Pilz does."

Remus could not suppress any of the joy evoked by that phrase. The joy had been building up in him since Harry's first brief mention of the new Potions master. Since then Remus had known that he was not desperately needed at Hogwarts, and, on the other hand, he had found it hard not to wish he had been able to get there. Staring at Remus expectantly, Neville had to be puzzled by the inordinately joyful response in the form of a wide smile and of the words Remus blurted out.

"So you like Brünnhilde... Pilz?"

"Oh yes. She... I'm actually surprised I haven't got more nervous in her classes. I seldom know what to do in the way I got used to... being told that I was doing something wrong, so that I would know I should be doing something else. Sorry, that doesn't make any sense."

"I'd assume it does. Hermione wrote to me that everyone now feels good in the Potions classroom."

"That's true. Professor Pilz makes us - me, at least - feel... safe, and that's when I can learn. And when I learn - that's what makes me feel good, too."

"But what do you think... How can you feel safe when you are not told clearly what to do?"

Neville spoke slowly but firmly, as if looking for the best expressions, while having already thought about this question before. "She reassures me that whatever I do - whatever I consider worth trying - is fine. She asks us to consider, to make suggestions to her, to discuss alternatives with each other. Then try and do it."

"She must be your best teacher."

"Yes... You were my best teacher, too. But back then I wasn't quite ready for something like this."

The polite acknowledgement stung Remus as a reminder of his own fragile self-esteem, his continuous hunger for praise, which when given in this way, like in Hermione's letter, left him feeling it was mere charity. He had to ignore it and focus on his former student and former teacher.

"You've changed and learnt to know yourself, and this year Brünnhilde is perhaps helping you learn to know yourself better."

"Do you know her?" Neville asked, apparently at the point when he already guessed the answer.

"She... gave me my first group of students, in January 1988."

"Have you been to Durmstrang, too?"

"No, I met Brünnhilde in Barcelona, and she took me to Africa - to Angola - to work for her. But that's a long story, or several stories. The point is that I hope I learnt something from her, so I was able to do my humble share in preparing you for what you had the chance to learn last year. And this year... it's turning into what you talked about in August."

Neville looked at Remus inquiringly, as if considering how to encourage him to share a story. But either he noticed in Remus's expression his reluctance to talk about himself - or he did not care so much about the history, at least not now, when anticipating his trial. He glanced around, and the excitement was again visible in his smile. "At least you've turned this place into something like one of the Hogwarts greenhouses."

"Yes, like a school, Neville."

"The whole of the Wotton Manor - or rather all of you..." Now Neville hesitated for a moment, but he did not look away while a slight blush crept over his luminous face. He pushed himself to correct the words. "All of us in the brotherhood are like a school."

"It was your idea, remember? All of us, yes. This is your school, too."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. And I must thank you - for talking to me about this in August, when I still didn't know where to turn."

***

Did Neville truly know at this age? And why had Harry claimed that Neville, too, only thought of revenge?

The darkness outside allowed the image of the crowd to be reflected on the glass walls, so Neville's audience of about thirty creatures looked doubled. Remus could not help admiring the courage of the sixteen-year-old, who was now launching into his opening speech - his least favourite part of the workshop. The flushed cheeks could be seen by anyone else only as proof for eagerness. His grandmother's harsh criticism had guided him to concentrate on the field which had been the easiest one for him. But the example of the few people who had helped him feel more confident had encouraged him to face this challenge: to word publicly the knowledge which he could as well have put in practice only silently, tending to plants.

Neville had to be quite as startled by the applause as Remus, who had been absorbed in his thoughts and not even listened to Neville's words. But the boy recovered from his confusion surprisingly quickly and managed to stop the clapping of hands from spreading outside the little company of thespians. He punched Peck, who stood next to him and was guilty of starting the applause. "Stop that. I'm not an artist. And you must come to my group, because I really want to see how you make the plants prosper only by standing nearby. Thisby, please, call out the names of those we planned you could have in your group."

Remus asked to be included in Rose's group. To his delight he managed to drag Harry to join him.

Rose was already waiting behind a long table, which Remus had conjured. She was standing quite erect, and despite having chosen one of his mother's most modest robes she had fixed her hair up in her most ostentatious way. Harry looked rather suspicious when pushed to take a place in front of her, among three fauns, a goblin and five young wizards. At the latest now it became evident that, unlike Remus, he was not particularly interested in learning more in general about the wandless magic of humans.

In Herbology wands were often not used much at Hogwarts either, and Rose did not seem to have anything special to offer. Most of the valuable plants, once brought to the Wotton estate by Remus's herbologist father and still growing here thanks to the elfish magic, or now discovered by Thisby or the fauns and moved to the greenhouse for the winter, were unknown to a girl who had grown up in the slum of the Long Compton. Rose's demonstrations of wandless magic were limited to moving some objects and probably appeared to Harry as irrelevant tricks.

Obviously sensing contempt in the famous hero's expression, she became more and more arrogant herself. Remus's attempts at an eye contact were in vain. Rose was performing for Harry, or perhaps simply loyal to her self-centred, almost jealous style, she did not let anyone else take the floor even for a brief encouraging comment. While repeating briefly some facts she had just learnt from Neville she kept taking members of her group unawares by sending samples or tools to them without any visible or audible sign of magic as a warning. Finally she stopped her hurried lecture and made a single irritable gesture towards the wall.

In a moment Remus heard the door fling open. With a gust of wind and a shower of rain a bunch of plants swirled in, sprinkling water on those on its way, and it landed with a splash on the table in front of Rose.

"If you're interested, this is what we who can heal and defend ourselves without wands use for almost everything. Common wormwood. Relieves melancholia and all stomach disorders. Rather bitter, and smells repulsive. Expells worms and almost anything. Counteracts poisons and some evil spells. It grows on any wasteland, too. No care is needed. Just keep it free from weeds. To cultivate it you can divide roots, take cuttings or sow seeds. Anything goes. Squibs gather it only on dry days of July and August, but it still blooms in October - exceptionally well around here this year, I've discovered. And a proper wandless drying spell makes the leaves and flowers soon ready to be powdered, even if you've gathered it in rain." She placed her hands above the plants.

Remus stared at the pool spreading on the tabletop, until the sound of the drops, clearly audible in the silence, as they hit the floor, guided his eyes down. When he lifted his gaze again he realised that thick steam was rising from the pile of plants. But Rose did not focus on the target of her drying spell. Before the steam hid all faces Remus saw that her eyes were locked with Harry's. And when she had finally condensed the humidity into a ball of cloud in her hands and sent it violently towards the opening door, she was sharing a smile with the Boy Who Lived.

Now this teacher also agreed to remember Neville's recommendation. "All right. What if each of you in turn tells the others - or asks the others - about one use of a magical plant, or one magical use of a plant, or just about a plant or whatever... Something important in healing or defence, of course," she said lightly, turning finally to Remus. "I think I know who has the best handwriting for making the notes."

***

Remus stayed behind to deliver the notes to Neville, who was going to plan the study programme for the following evening on the basis of what had been achieved.

"You'll have a lot of work reading and considering all this."

"Not all the notes are as comprehensive as yours," Neville said, glancing at the parchment. "I think Thisby's group must give its summary orally."

"Perhaps one more evening won't be enough."

"If people don't lose their interest, could we continue longer?"

"Why not."

Remus pulled out his wand and directed it at the pool under the table on which Rose's excellently dry wormwood leaves and flowers had been powdered at the end of the discussion. With the wand in his right hand like almost always he hesitated for a moment, stretching his left hand towards the water as well. But there was obviously no adequate need to cause even a drop to evaporate. Wondering whether the range of Harry's curiosity had widened, Remus added, "You can continue with those who are interested."

After cleaning the floor with simple wand magic Remus proceeded to arranging tools and samples, surprised to catch himself performing practical tasks. He recognised his familiar self better in Neville, who had sat down, partly absorbed in reading the notes, partly allowing his thoughts to wander somewhere beyond, unable to resist wording them.

"There's so much that these different...creatures can learn from each other, or at least achieve by combining their knowledge, if they share what they know."

"And do you think we are willing enough to share?" Remus asked.

"Some are more secretive. Perhaps... at least in this field, the fauns. Their knowledge is somehow so deep that they are not used to putting it to words, I think. Thisby, instead..."

"She's gained only recently most of the traditional wisdom of the veela, too. She can hardly wait to forward it to others, as she's also learnt to control and enjoy her languages."

"I really wish I could stay." Neville's words sounded like a hopeful question, and he lifted his head, perhaps only now realising that Remus had been moving around in the greenhouse, and why he had done that.

Before he could make more than a feeble attempt at standing up and doing something useful Remus sat down beside him. "After next summer when the two of you have come of age, and after you've left Hogwarts, perhaps this could become a home for Harry and a school for you. I want you to remember that you can come back - even in case I'm not here any longer."

"Why wouldn't you...?"

"I still haven't found out where to turn - where I truly belong. When I do..."

An awkward silence followed, and Remus regretted having talked like that. Perhaps the familiarity in Neville's behaviour had so easily enticed him to open up, now that he had gradually revealed uncharacteristically much of himself to Harry and some others as well.

"Do you mean that perhaps you want to concentrate on revenge?" Neville asked at last, hesitantly. He was obviously ready to tackle another topic.

Since Remus had not expected this turn of conversation on the basis of what he had said, he could not hold back a gently amused smile. "No. Not at all. Is it Harry who has talked to you about revenge? He says that revenge is all that both of you want."

"He's asked if I want to revenge myself on Bellatrix Lestrange, and I haven't managed to say I don't... But really... I've had enough of those bitter thoughts. Perhaps I used to think I had to prove that I wasn't afraid. That I had to grow up to become a warrior like my parents - just because Gran had given up on me and didn't believe I'd be capable, perhaps since they all first thought I was a squib. But now I've somehow proved myself. I was afraid, but I did it..."

"You didn't agree to be left behind, and you faced Bellatrix..."

Neville hardly needed more encouragement to disclose his thoughts - and to clarify them for himself while doing it. "I don't know. Facing her was more like a coincidence. And I wish I won't have to do it again. There must be better witches and wizards to duel with her. I'll do it, if I have to. But why should my goal be to kill or torture her? I just can't see the point. Maybe I'm a coward but I think I can be more useful, if I try to do something else."

"No, you are not a coward. Some of us are reckless."

"And you are planning something..."

"It's not what you think - I don't think so... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked like that. I hope I can stay around as long as I'm able to serve." Once again Remus had managed to avoid any precise questions by resorting to an ambiguous statement.

But Neville was well able to make use of this habit by choosing the next topic. "I'm not sure if it's all right to ask for a favour... You should know you are needed no matter how many creatures you have gathered here to take care of each other. But I don't know if I can ask you to take care of... my parents, too."

Remus had been determined to discuss Frank and Alice with Neville, but a request like this took him unawares. "Would you trust...? Do you believe it would be good and safe enough for them here?"

"What could be a better place! You've got all this protection, and they won't know anything about your worries. They'll simply enjoy the company. Perhaps someone here can guide them to help in some easy tasks, and they'll feel like they are... living, you know."

Neville's excitement was contagious.

"You must be right. I should have thought of that. If they can get out on a holiday, as Nymphadora Tonks told me, we could just kidnap and keep them! But what would your grandmother say?"

"Oh, Gran will be thrilled. You've been her hero since the trial, if not before."

"I didn't achieve anything by mentioning their case in my speech."

Now it was Neville's turn to reassure his former teacher. "Yes, you did. That speech became too famous, and it seems the ministry wanted to show that at least some of your complaints were not justified. That's why, I think, Mum and Dad have been on several day trips - at home and on Diagon Alley with Miss Emmeline and Gran or Tonks, mainly. But at the ward it's still the same, Gran says - except for the imaginary pets."

"Oh... not imaginary... So your Gran noticed them. Or did Miss Emmeline tell her?"

"Mum told her, and she doesn't know what to believe when Miss Emmeline keeps reminding her to guard it as a secret that... well, Mr Lupin and Mr Hagrid bought invisible pets for both her son and his wife."

"I know it's hard to believe that I could have bought anything - as it's been denied in court I ever paid my rent either." Remus was unmistakably talking like he talked only to friends.

Still, he had softened the bitterness in his comment - fortunately, as Neville was immediately a bit taken aback. In the silence that followed Remus stood up and crossed to the door.

"Let's go. We can walk slowly and talk more despite the rain. You can protect the roll of parchments under your cloak, and I actually enjoy getting my clothes wet when there's a fire waiting."

Neville slipped out of the greenhouse and settled to lean against the wall while Remus was closing the door. "I'm sorry... But do you mean that they really exist... what Mum calls wats?"

"Yes, we had a Care of Magical Creatures professor as an expert to make the final decision and to split the expense with me, when Frank and Alice chose their pets."

"Gran should have believed Miss Emeline and sent you a thank-you note. That was too much..."

In fact Remus was surprised to hear again about the wats. It made him feel guilty when he realised that he had hardly remembered them, as if he had actually completely forgotten Frank and Alice, too.

"That was my pleasure... shortly before the full moon, two months ago. I hoped these pets would ease their minds, perhaps help them practise interaction more constantly, as cats have helped me at some of the times when I've craved for contact."

"I think you were right. Even Dad has started to talk..."

Why had Nymphadora not mentioned this? "He has?"

"Only to himself," Neville replied. "Or to his wat, as I now must believe. Gran describes it all in her letters - in the way she sees Mum and Dad, always compared with how they used to be at a time I can't remember. Her comments aren't exactly positive on something like this: Dad muttering to an imaginary pet and trailing off when anyone gets near." Now Neville took a few steps towards the house, turning his face up to receive the raindrops, but he did not pause. "You know I hate reading the letters. I read each once and then I remake it in my mind. I'd like to believe Dad will talk to us as well. But Miss Emeline, too, admits that, unlike Mum, Dad doesn't let anyone - her or Mum - touch his own wat. Do you really think you could welcome... that kind of people?"

"Frank and Alice are my friends, Neville. I'm sorry I've neglected them without a proper reason. If you think it's all right, I'll ask Nymphadora to bring them from London through floo network to Mrs Hopchin's house down in the village. Unless a day trip is denied, they could get here before you have to leave after Halloween."

"Thank you, Professor Lupin!"

A small flame had appeared on Remus's palm, and it illuminated Neville's wet cheeks as well as the pools on their path. The round face was beaming to Remus again, and it was easy for him to return the smile, before they continued slowly side by side across the garden, watching their steps. Holding the parchment roll under his cloak, Neville had not pulled out his wand and he probably did not notice that Remus had not done it either.

"Now, unless you want me to call you Professor Longbottom, you'd better never forget to say just Remus. Besides, I must thank you again: for another brilliant idea. You know, you remind me of an old friend who used to have the most extraordinary ideas..."

"Do I remind you of Mum or Dad?"

Remus did not need to regret his spontaneous words. Neville could not possibly guess whom he had been thinking of. Another clever boy who had mainly failed to make an impression on both adults and peers. A sensitive, caring boy whose attempts at helping his friends had not been successful enough or remained unique enough to be appreciated.

"You all remind me of everyone. You know... perhaps Harry told you I've started to write about my school years, so it's all almost too vivid in my mind again. But I knew Frank at Hogwarts only as an excellent Quidditch player. He was three years above us. And I have to confess I actually thought there could be nothing interesting to do with him - just talking about sports. I wondered if Alice chose him only because of his looks. He was tall and strong, and I must have envied him, too. I got to know him better only after we left Hogwarts and joined the Order. I was surprised how much we had in common when we got to talk about politics. He was serious and had high morals, but he was more realistic than me, or Sirius. Soon when he got married, I felt I shouldn't intrude, or just... I admit I stopped seeing almost everyone outside the Order meetings, simply because I was not in the position to invite anyone or to go out... You know, because I had no money. But after you were born I couldn't resist making a few visits.

Despite the cold seeping through his wet clothes Remus caught himself trying to make the walk to the house last as long as possible, and he was delighted when Neville asked a new question.

"Can you remember me as a baby?"

"Yes, of course. You were a very... confident baby. You weren't too shy with visitors, not even with someone like me who came to see you so seldom, although - or maybe because - you were not used to being left with strangers. Alice gave up her Auror duties for over a year because of you, and even after that she accepted tasks for the Auror Office or for the Order only when Frank or at least his mother could stay with you."

"Did you know my Mum better at school? Gran told me she was in your year, together with Harry's Mum... and Madam Bones."

"Yes, Alice was in my year. I loved watching her. There was such light and movement about her. You know, I used to look at girls - and everyone else, too - in such a way, and I still do. I don't know if in other people's view it's intrusive, or superficial. I'm seeking images, but that means I'm sensitive to what they express of their emotions... Sorry, I'm rambling. It's got something to do with painting pictures, I suppose."

"So it's true what they say in the Quibbler, this part, too: that you're an artist, on top of everything else."

Remus could not ignore the sincere admiration in Neville's voice and eyes any longer. That was definitely not charity.

"Well, yes, I've always wanted to be, but I haven't had a chance to paint much actually. In any case I just meant to say that I was never... interested in Alice romantically. I didn't even know her well, as she was the kind of girl who preferred other girls' company - until she ventured to date her true love, and I really got to know her as Frank's wife and an Auror trainee. But since our second year, I think, I sometimes indulged in admiring her... her lively, luminous beauty. And you know, I can still see it in her. I did particularly on our trip to the pet shop. Some of us have aged a lot more than she has. Perhaps lost a lot more of the innocence, of the ability to enjoy the simple pleasures of life. I do believe that both Frank's and Alice's lives are valuable as long as they are free to live... like children. Even in case they should never manage to grow up again to talk like your grandmother remembers. We'll... love them in any case, won't we?"

The two of them had now stopped on the yard. When Remus dared glance at Neville, who was already turning to hurry towards the west wing, he hardly had time to register a nod and the stifled voice.

"Thanks... Remus."

***

Harry,

I've just talked to Neville about his parents. His company summoned back the luminous image of young Alice, and now the grace of all the Gryffindor girls is persistently blooming in my mind like a bunch of flowers. Or perhaps rather shining like the circle of trees around the Hogwarts lake, in the autumnal chorus of colours.

In my mind your mother, despite her name and her white skin, doesn't resemble so much a delicate flower, but rather the fire of the rowans up in the north after a sharp frost in October. Among the dazzling golden light of the birches she alone glows in blood-red, secures the warmth.

She alone guided us to reconciliation, surprising all four of us, when we were devastated by the disaster James had hardly managed to prevent from happening. She didn't know much of anything, only what Dumbledore had, in a foolhardy gesture, told everyone in the Great Hall: James had saved Snape and me as well. Or perhaps she knew more than she let us understand she did.

In the same way she was wise and caring also when we were all supposed to build up our lives outside school. I felt at times that I couldn't possibly accept help from the other Marauders, particularly not from Sirius. Without claiming to know anything about my humiliating neediness, she would offer me support in ways which made it easy not to reject it.

Lily was the beauty who joined the beast and the three Animagi, perhaps almost fully aware of what they were. Am I conceited when suspecting that she was fascinated by us, and that she eventually could not resist, when she saw that James and Sirius had an opportunity to learn a lesson? She wanted to have her role in taming particularly the boy who had for years insisted on courting her. Still, she did not want us to become too tame. She, too, craved adventure as well as fun and affection, and she saw we had some to share.

She'd had her ambitious projects outside schoolwork before, too. She'd tried to pull Snape away from supporting the pureblood ideology. Having finally admitted her failure, by the age of sixteen she felt it was time for her to have more fun, a more satisfying project - to accept the romance and what came with it: membership in our intimate circle. This is how I remember her explaining to me, years later, why she had said yes to James just at a time when something so serious occupied him that he, for once, had forgotten to ask her to a date.

*

"Perhaps I wanted to brag about a boyfriend who'd been declared a hero," she said, grinning and lifting her wand to summon more roast beef to my plate.

I had to hurry to object to her statement, so there was no time for me to consider whether I should have tried to stop the charm. "No, you came to his support when he needed it. You had loved him... for a long time, hadn't you?"

I kept staring at her serene face under the crown of bright auburn hair, while she turned her gaze back to you. Yes, you were there at her breasts, and it took an effort for her to talk about anything but you, if she cared to use verbal language at all.

And I felt she lived mainly in denial of Dumbledore's dire news concerning what she wanted to believe was her blessed little family. He had not told us about the prophecy, but he had said that there were reasons to believe that you as well as Neville were in particular danger.

"Yes, I loved your dad, that insufferable brat," she said, perhaps forgetting that she had been talking to me. "I had admitted it to myself quite a while before, and I thought it was time to let him know, too, finally."

Perhaps she had chosen a topic which belonged to such distant past partly in order to escape the reality of the dark times, although she preferred regarding you as her only reality. But she had also learnt that I felt unwelcome too easily, so she did her best to talk about something, in order to make me stay and agree to be fed. And she knew I wouldn't have liked to talk about my current situation. I had nothing much to talk about : no job, no money, no heating in my room.

For some reason on these coldest nights at the beginning of 1981 James was often supposed to stay so late at work that Lily begged me to come and keep company to her and you. We both knew what she actually meant: to help her protect you in case something should happen. And that was not the only motive of hers we both pretended not to know.

She closed her robes and turned your beaming face as well as hers towards me. Two pairs of greenest eyes.

Having rejected the high chair James had bought, she kept you on her knees when reaching for the little spoon on a plate of potato purée. "I wonder why you're not so eager to eat potato," she said, and I needed a double-take to realise she was still talking to you. "I don't think it's because of the breast milk. You need to suck some first to feel good and safe... It must be because carrot and banana were the first kinds of purée I offered to you, so you don't find this stuff sweet enough. But you open your mouth beautifully when you watch Uncle Remus eat, don't you? Please, Remus, you must take some more potatoes, too, to show a good example to Harry."

And so I kept eating, and a bit later I dozed off in the blissful warmth of her fire, with you in my lap. I was hardly in the state to defend anyone against any attack, and when, having taken you to your crib, she stirred me awake enough to ask me to get under the thick blankets in her guest room, she neglected to mention that James had already come home.

*

Before you were born and before I lost my parents there were more carefree times, when Lily got to share fun and adventure with us, and I hope our story won't be told all in chronological order. Did I narrate this memory first for a purpose, for any benefit of yours? It's simply too dear and familiar for me to refrain from writing it down now. I've relived it so many times, while settling down to sleep alone, or trying to stay awake, when it's been too cold for sleeping.

I don't think I needed to lose so much in order to truly appreciate what I used to have. By 1981 at the latest I thought I knew enough about love, and it's hard to believe that the price we paid to learn more was not too high.

But I admit that only afterwards was I able to fully value the shelter Hogwarts had offered. I was not always happy to live surrounded by the stone walls. At times I was impatiently looking forward to freedom - longing to step out to the world where I could be myself. Burning with ambition, I dreamed of achieving... well, everything. Until the day I turned seventeen I stubbornly believed that the way I'd be treated out there would depend exclusively on my talents and efforts.

Perhaps partly because of my monthly confinement, I didn't easily feel completely comfortable in such concrete situations, either, when I was expected to stay inside for a long time. What made it not only bearable but a joy for me to breathe within those halls and corridors were the young faces I kept treasuring in my mind in every new nuance of expression.

Until our sixth year, when Lily agreed to join us, it was almost exclusively the three boys in the centre of my new world. As I had to admit to Neville, I hardly knew Alice or anyone else. I must have already told you that Amelia was my closest friend among the girls. If I managed to give you the idea that the two of us were conscientious students, you may have assumed that we shared a lot of time together at the library.

However, the library was never my favourite place. I preferred studying outside, whenever possible, and sometimes, when the weather was pleasant enough for her, too, Amelia joined me to write essays, unrolling her parchment beside mine on the ledge by the south wall of the castle or on that flat stone, near the end of the lake.

It was not hard for me to concentrate on reading, not to mention building up stories or processing images to paint, while walking, too, and I enjoyed escaping to this world of my own. On the other hand, I was never irritated when interrupted by a friend on these strolls either, even though I felt that it was impossible to share more than a fragment of what I sensed around me and of what I had playing in my mind.

I've never been very sensitive to cold, at least not outside when I keep moving. That's quite fortunate, as otherwise my years of homelessness would have been still a lot harder. Of course, nobody who spends even a part of the winter without a shelter or proper warm clothes either, here or even as far south as Greece, can avoid suffering from cold. After returning to Britain I've been determined to always have a roof over my head, no matter what else I've needed to give up. But during my drifting years I noticed that, with the exception of times when I was very famished or ill, or recovering from a transformation, the cold hit others harder than me. I was inclined to almost carelessly give away pieces of clothing, or to trade them for food, if possible.

As a child I got used to spending a lot of time outside, and ignoring all advice to dress warm. Walking barefoot since early spring until late autumn was nothing extraordinary among the poor members of the theatre group, including part-humans, some of whom never wore shoes. Perhaps I also trained myself to habits like these partly because I was irritated by my parents' fussing about my health.

Even though I'm now back at home, this rain makes me long for October in the north. I did enjoy walking in the rain at Hogwarts, too, but the setting of some of my most special memories is a clear crisp morning.

Twice, I think, I managed to drag Peter out with me before breakfast to witness the miracle prepared by the first frost. Almost throughout the last two school years I had Padfoot as my willing companion to romp along the shores of the lake regardless of the weather. But in that October when I was thirteen I slipped out by myself.

During the previous few days the landscape had kept acquiring, on the quiet, some new internal light and warmth. But when I woke up in the sensation that the almost full moon had set, and to see the lacework of frost on the windowpane, I knew it was the morning I didn't want to miss.

After pulling only some robes on, I ran down the corridors and staircases. By the time I stepped to the yard I was breathing deep enough to feel the sharpness of the frost in the air I inhaled. The first light of the sun was setting the treetops on fire, and the grass and the fallen leaves would remain white and stiff under my bare feet, until the rays would reach the ground and the warmth would turn it all drenched instead.

Stopping for a brief moment, I let the cold pierce me as it had pierced the trees. They had changed, and it was the most natural, necessary and beautiful thing that could ever happen. And then again I knew that in this burst of glory they had simply revealed their secret colours. This was what they had always truly been like, behind the disguise of the reasonable, productive green.

I started walking briskly, and I'd almost reached the lake when I heard the stomping of heavy shoes behind me. Glancing back, I was so surprised to see that it wasn't one of my three friends that I stopped again.

Amelia was not particularly pretty according to any conventional standards, and she still both looked and sounded completely reasonable despite the miracle of the morning.

"Silly boy," she said, "you'll catch a cold." There was a reproachful frown on her square face, but it turned into a smile, and I realised that the shyness in her smile had subsided after the previous school year.

For some reason I didn't feel irritated in the same way as when my father said the same thing. "I won't, unless I stand here still, talking to you."

I grinned before turning my back on her and moving away, sliding in the frosty grass closer to the water's edge. While continuing my way along the shore I kept my eyes on the spreading glow of the opposite woods and on its perfect reflection offered by the still water. Thanks to the complete lack of wind I hardly perceived the cold, until - when slowing down by the most glorious maple - I noticed her by my side again and saw that she was shivering despite her thick cloak and the hood, which he had lifted over her mousy hair.

I felt compelled to speak. "So you wanted to see this, too? Even though you don't feel quite comfortable in the frost."

But while talking I realised that the experience couldn't possibly be the same for her, if she didn't take it in as a blessing through all her senses. Besides, I doubted she perceived it through her eyes either.

She was gazing at me, and her reply was, "See what? I thought I could exercise a bit before breakfast, as it's not raining... No, to be honest, I saw you from our dormitory window when I got up to complete an essay. And I thought you were running away from your friends... feeling upset or something... as you were not dressed properly, and I got worried. You get ill often enough. But I can see in your face that you're doing this for fun. I just thought... I've got such an impression that you have some secrets, and..."

"Don't worry. You won't have to bother about my secrets. There's at least one right here, and you can't see it anyway."

To my surprise I felt as elated as before and, on top of it, amused. I hoped she heard in my voice that I didn't mean to offend her, but to make sure I added, "You're a mighty quick runner."

"Race me back to the castle? So you... I can get warm?"

I ventured to turn away for a moment, so as to take a deep breath and to focus once more on the light and colour as well as on my now almost numb feet. As I couldn't make myself hurt her feelings by insisting on greeting the sunrise on my own, I was suddenly determined to make the most out of her company.

Seeing her still watch me intently, I did something I had never dared do to anyone at Hogwarts. I reached for her hand. She had folded her arms, and the hand I caught a hold of was gloved and reasonable. But it squeezed my freezing fingers eagerly, conveying happy surprise.

"No, let's run like this, together," I said, pulling her with me to follow our footprints back.

When we were climbing up the staircases, my body finally agreed to show how much warmth it had lost. Trembling, I allowed her to wrap her arm around my shoulders, under her cloak. After two days, while waiting for the rise of the full moon, I summoned the memory of her touch to comfort me.

There was more and more for me and Amelia to share since our studies got increasingly demanding during our third year. I had chosen Ancient Runes and, as homage to Uncle Francis, Divination, while she maintained that Arithmancy and Muggle Studies were more useful choices. However, we were both genuinely interested in each other's subjects, too, and we spent a lot of time discussing and learning what we were not required to.

Besides, Amelia didn't refuse to touch me. She hesitated, though, and she never initiated anything. Indeed, she never asked me to touch her in return, beyond the unavoidable reciprocity in holding hands, which soon became our regular but secret habit for two full years, and in occasional hugs. Instead, when securely hidden from everyone else's eyes, usually outside, and as fully dressed as I agreed to get, I would guide her hand to caress me, even to wander under the robes, onto my skin, which craved for this service particularly when full moon was near.

To my relief, in fact, she wasn't that kind of a girl who would expect a boyfriend to actually kiss her before her OWLs or even before her NEWTs. Her outlook of love was more idealistic than that. That's the kind of romantic she was, and that's another thing we had in common. But perhaps partly because of that our relationship remained fragile.

The deepest our bond ever got was due to my suffering. Her emotions grew as close to love as... well, as love in an average teenage romance can ever be - when she realised that I was incurably ill. I never mentioned pain to her, or allowed her to see the scars, but her fingers must have traced some of them and she may have connected my most urgent requests for caresses to my recurring absences from classes. And in her touch I felt that she truly loved my weak body, as we loved each other's minds, with the difference that she never - until after twenty years - found out what my body really was.

I just couldn't let her know. I kept telling myself I wasn't allowed to. And even after we left school I couldn't force myself to do it. By that time I had already ended up distancing myself from her in any case. I think she must have actually figured out what I was. But she was there for me throughout my Hogwarts years, and she never demanded me to discuss my secrets.

Soon after the beginning of our fifth year my relationship with Amelia got less intimate, giving way to something else. Since my three best friends had become something beyond the boys they had been, and the Marauders had another major secret to share, I needed less consolation from anyone else. Only later did I realise how much this must have hurt Amelia. I had been close to her only as long as I needed her. As far as I know, she never had a proper boyfriend.

Maybe the guilt I felt for that was one reason why I mainly avoided seeing her after we had lost all the others. I should have thought she needed me after the loss of those two who had been her closest friends among the girls at Hogwarts. But she had a splendid career at the ministry, while the loss of my friends, two years after the loss of my parents, had left me completely destitute. At the tender age of twenty-three I foolishly regarded that as more important than what we had in common.

I felt Amelia would cope with the losses and start prospering along the whole of the wizard community, whereas I... Two years of deepening depression and the final almost unbearable blow had led me to the point where I could keep my sanity only by forcing myself to pursue studies for a couple of years more. At times I found some menial work, which saved me from starving to death. I was not able to contact anybody, the least of all someone like her. She might have been able to comfort me, but I was afraid I wouldn't have been able to do the same to her. I thought there was nothing left in me, except the desperate ambition, or rather a struggle for survival, which I wasn't sure I wanted to win.

How wrong I was. I was the fortunate one. But I didn't know how Sirius as an innocent man was being tortured in Azkaban. I doubt I would have been able to bear these bitter thoughts I'm tempted to dwell on now. That as a teenager he had been made to practise for the cruel confinement, and he was to experience it for the third time, in the same place as the first time. And the second time it lasted for twelve years, and in an extreme form. My mind refuses to comprehend how he was able to survive it. Maybe he suffered the most during those first couple of years, when his body and mind were still fighting against the deprivation. I can't... I don't know. He never wanted to say much about it. He said there was nothing to say. Why should I resurrect the suffering which probably his mind as well as his mouth rejected?

But after I lost him again, I've had these images of him haunting me. I try to remember our youth, and us living together at Grimmauld Place, but in my mind I see him alone, huddled in an ice-cold cell, covered with rags - and with his gorgeous mane. It's actually a ridiculous image, because his hair is always perfectly beautiful, as if I had washed and brushed it for him, and wrapped it around him to make him warm. I stare at his face to find out how he is feeling. But his eyes are hidden behind his hair, and there's no expression of any emotion around his mouth. His lips are parted, and he isn't moving at all. I'm afraid he is dead, and only the vague mist of his breath tells me he's still alive. But he feels nothing, not the urge to freedom or to revenge, not even the hunger any more, hardly even the cold. The mist around his face disappears, and he is gone.

I'm left to cry on my own. I hardly saw him shed a tear during the last year. After that, of course, it was obvious I needed someone else to weep with.

Amelia would have even held me in her arms. But I left England on the mission for the Order without seeing her. Even though a year earlier we had started meeting each other every now and then again.

When Sirius had come back to me, and I was better off in every respect, I contacted her at the ministry. That's when she told me that six years earlier, when I had - at the age of thirty-one - applied for another ten-year wand license for half-humans, she had happened to see my file and learned the truth about my condition. She never told me that she had guessed it before, but I suppose she just used the opportunity to make our relationship more open. We talked about Lily and James. And about Alice and Frank. And we even persuaded Mrs Longbottom to join forces with us and to make another application for the research on the long-term effects of the Cruciatus Curse to be disrupted, so her son and daughter-in-law could be moved to live in more favourable conditions.

During that year I felt we could all rise from the ruins in which the first so-called war had left us, regardless of the fact that Voldemort had regained his body. I didn't worry about Voldemort. On the contrary, the new threat seemed to take us back in time and paradoxically return to us something of the good we had lost.

The Order of the Phoenix was my family again. Even though I lived in Sirius's house without paying him rent, I was able to consider myself a respectable member of a community. I worked hard for the Order, so I would rarely have had even time for a paid job. I refused to take money from Sirius, but the gifts he offered to me at any acceptable opportunity were often something basically useful like warm clothes.

He was ridiculously rich. Yes, he laughed at it, but I know that here he was - barely - hiding some of his bitterest thoughts. His own property was his new prison - while it had been his first. With a member of the Order as a mediator he was able to use his vault at Gringotts. His rights to the gold were secured, while he had no right to his soul. That was another proof that the whole wizard community was rotten, as he kept telling me. I couldn't blame him for being clearly less optimistic than I was. Perhaps he wasn't, after all. He simply believed in the need for a more fundamental change, just as he had always done.

At the same time, I hope the gloom of that house was lifted at least for brief blessed moments in his eyes, too. When he saw you... Remember Christmas, and how you talked to him about James through the floo? For quite a while after such events the spirit in Sirius, as I had known it twenty and fifteen years earlier, was shining brighter again. But in my eyes it was always there. And I wanted to believe that the house welcomed me, as my home, where I hurried to return whenever Dumbledore allowed me a break from all those missions we considered so important at that time.

***

Here Remus finally dared stop, dropping the quill next to the cold blue flames he had moved onto his desk after conjuring them on his palm. Here there was a chance to focus on the dilemma of truly purposeful missions. How could a leader or a follower ever know whether it was worthwhile to sacrifice something? Perhaps one or more issues in Remus's opposition would have now demanded more concentration, and he should have sacrificed narrating these memories.

What was the point in any case, and could it be harmful that he allowed himself to stray from the topic of the Gryffindor ladies? When catching himself describing the most haunting image he had been afraid to put his quill down, but had done his best to find a path back to writing about Amelia.

He had certainly not planned to tell Harry more about the previous year yet. Not about Sirius or about himself - how he should have refused to sacrifice so much of their time together, even though he had not been able to know how little time they had left. Despite the pleasure of belonging he should not have fallen back to the young man's almost unconditional loyalty to the leader of the Order, after Sirius's needs had been ignored and while the mental torture still continued.

He had expressed clearly his objection to only one mission Dumbledore had suggested, and he still doubted the suggestion had been serious. How could Dumbledore have expected Remus to give up not only the home and the family he had finally got back, but also everything he had achieved in his struggle for his humanity since his childhood? Or was it possible that the all-knowing wizard had already been aware of what Remus himself was now starting to suspect? No, as far as Dumbledore had even given a thought to what the suggested mission would have meant to Remus, he must have understood the terrible risk - almost the certainty of its implications. And those implications would have undone any purpose that the mission could have had in the first place.

Perhaps by suggesting that his own ward - the werewolf he had helped become cultured and more integrated in the wizard community than anyone else of his kind - go to live among the werewolves as a spy, Dumbledore had merely tested his priorities. According to the - admittedly vague - knowledge Remus had possessed, such a spy, after pretending to be willing to become a member of a pack, would have been forced to participate in the rituals and would have lost his soul and humanity - therefore also his ability to serve the Order. Remus still did not know if, by refusing, he had passed the test in Dumbledore's eyes.

In any case, Dumbledore had not insisted. In the following summer he had not mentioned the possibility of sending Remus to tour the foreign packs in any other role than openly as an envoy. Probably taking the inevitability of a conflict for granted, he had not suggested such a visit to any British werewolf communities, among which the Cotswolds pack was clearly the most prominent. In this form, too, a mission related to the werewolves had been acceptable to Remus only in his despair, in his urge to risk the little he had left after the repeated loss, when once again his survival had felt like a burden.

Now, however, despite Hermione's fear, Remus was not planning to agree to do something foolhardy out of despair. Without following any leader, he was preparing himself for a mission which he considered purposeful, while he could not know the scope of the sacrifice involved in it beforehand.

Or rather he should have spent his time on preparing himself, sacrificing at least some of the pleasure of describing every detail of his dearest memories, or the sweet torment of wording what had kept haunting him. He had to remember to focus on what served a purpose of informing Harry of his parents' and his godfather's lives.

Standing up, Remus was about to press his palm over the flames. He had always preferred not only to sleep but also to undress in darkness. But throughout the year after Sirius had come back to him he had left a dim flame to illuminate the room. He had done it when Sirius had come for his brief visit during the winter before that, too.

As an uncharacteristic revelation in one of his first short notes brought by exotic birds Sirius had written: Yes, it's warm here, but under the starry sky of the desert the heat disappears. What's worse is the pitch-black night of the jungle... waking up in the complete darkness... and I wake up in suffocating entry of memories in my dreams, curious to see exactly what is returning of my past, but more often than not it's only the worst and the most familiar distortion of the past - the same nightmares I lived through again and again in there. And when I can perceive no light, it takes me a while to realise it's not the same darkness as it was then. As if the black night were mocking me, whispering in my ear that I'm still not free, I shan't be free.

After returning to Britain so as to be closer to Harry, Sirius had given brief reassuring answers to Remus's questions about his chances for food and shelter - while to Remus's relief not asking anything in turn. He had refused to follow Dumbledore's advice to hide in caves all through the winter. Only afterwards and only gradually had Remus found out that he had defied all warnings and actually sought refuge among muggles, and not only in his dog form.

"I'm not sure I believed I could be a man again," Sirius had mumbled one summer night on the steps of the backyard of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, after emptying a bottle of firewhiskey. "But I had to try and practise, for Harry... so I could act sane and say something useful to him. Practise by talking to those ladies, or rather listening to them... What could I have said to them? Kathy... and then Barbara, remember? I managed to find two of those we met at the muggle places where you used to drag me to dance, embarrassing me... I wonder how I could remember them, when there are such voids in my mind. They must have molested me. And I must have truly made an impression back then, as they were still charmed by me... with this damaged body. Or I just pushed myself for them to take care of all through the coldest months, as this body craved for a proper bed and proper food... some kind of compensation, you know. Even though any bearably warm place and anything I could digest would have been better than what I'd had for twelve years. But what I needed more than anything was light... Light. I've seen it only in that ridiculous room of yours - at night, too... And here. I don't know how it's possible here - with all this breath of evil will still around. But I think I can see it here. When I'm not left alone..."

Even on his better days Sirius had seldom talked much. But Remus had caught him gazing at his face, and wondered whether the flames were all that the words about light had referred to. Still, even though Sirius himself had, for several months, been careful not to show as much as his skinny arms to anyone, Remus had sacrificed the rest of his privacy and exposed himself. He had actually been surprised by the pleasure in allowing the light of his flames to dance on his own damaged, scarred and emaciated body.

Now, taking off his robes in this illumination again, he noticed that he had put on some weight just like during that one year - and actually every time in the distant past, too - when he had lived with Sirius. He had always secretly disliked it when anyone, when caressing him, had traced his scars. But now, sitting on the edge of his old, inherited bed, he let his finger brush the jagged bite mark on his shoulder and the lines which the werewolf's claws had left on the little boy's chest to widen as he grew up.

Suddenly shivering, despite the warmth that had risen from the fireplace up to his loft, he wrapped the blanket tight around himself, and lay down, turning towards the wall and his favourite tapestry. The cold flames painted the hero king's banners and the sky beyond in more ominous shades than candlelight or the noon sun turned up to the loft by Gumby had done.

Tonight Remus was not certain he could believe in any reassurances. Not so confident that he could escape feeling lonely despite the promises of companions. Perhaps this king - if he was ever worthy of being compared to such a leader - was to have his lonesome path, after preparing his army.