Survivor's Guilt: Moony's Tale

"Professor Dumbledore has every confidence in you, Professor Lupin, and that being the case, so have I," said Minerva McGonagall, giving him a look that belied her words.

He nodded tiredly but said nothing, instead taking another long swallow of honeymarrow tea, savouring the flavour of a beneficial which did not carry the bitter aftertaste of wolfsbane.

"Now, Professor," continued McGonagall, "Gryffindor's chances are really quite good this year and I'm sure Potter will want his broom back as soon as possible. That is, if you're certain there's nothing wrong with it." She gave him a steely look. "Please do take extra care in examining it. I have good cause to think that --" she paused, looked around, and lowered her voice, fixing him with a meaningful look, "Sirius Black may have sent it to the boy. In which case it is most assuredly a danger to him. Undoubtedly full of Dark Magic."

"Certainly, Professor," he said with an inward sigh. He had already heard the rumours about Harry's mysterious Christmas present from the whispers of other members of staff. "I shall do all within my power to discover whether this broom is dangerous to Harry or anyone else. I'll have to run a few tests to be sure, but I should be able to give you a full report on the matter in a week's time." He put out his hand to take the broom. McGonagall hesitated.

She did not trust him. So few of the older teachers did -- the ones who remembered the boyhood bond between Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. She knew he was good at his job and that if the broom had any secrets he should be able to discover them. But he knew she had only come to him because Dumbledore had suggested it. And he also knew that, once he made his assessment of the broom's safety, she would still take it to Filius Flitwick to run yet another series of tests. Harry would be lucky to have his new Firebolt back by Spring.

"We are all concerned for Harry's safety, Professor," he reminded her quietly. "Lily and James were my friends as well."

Her eyes softened at that, and she blushed slightly. Finally, she laid the gleaming broomstick in his hands with a nod and left his office.

After she had gone, Remus returned to his desk and, leaning the broom against it, poured himself a fresh cup of tea. The honey was soothing to his raw throat and the magic with which it was infused radiated through his body, numbing the ache in his muscles, the pain of the fresh, raw marks on his arms. But the tea unfortunately did nothing to assuage the weariness. His mind felt dull and his limbs heavy.

It had been a hard night. Full moon nights always were. But usually he felt better than this by late afternoon the next day. I must be getting old, he thought. He closed his eyes and massaged his throbbing temples. If only he could remember what had happened.

He remembered going to the Shrieking Shack. Or maybe not, and only thought he remembered it because that was where he had awoken. He had been lying on the hard, bare floorboards, naked and shivering. And there had been a familiar scent -- a comforting scent -- and suddenly the familiar feel of thick fur against his skin, and then there had been warmth. Still mostly oblivious with exhaustion, he had turned instinctively towards the great black dog, burying his face in its fur.

It was only seconds before consciousness began to invade his brain. The first switch that went on said, "No!" before he even remembered why, and he was scrambling backwards on hands and knees until he fetched up sharply against the wall, casting about frantically for his wand.

The dog had turned and looked at him, looked with those piercing, pale eyes. Remus went cold. Between the dog's jaws was his wand. Slowly, Remus got to his feet, back and hands still flat against the wall. The dog stood too, still facing him. It shook itself, then gave him an appraising look from head to toe, something very like a doggy smirk evident on its face. Remus felt a faint blush tingeing his cheeks and had a sudden urge to cover himself.

But then the dog had turned and trotted towards the door. In the doorway it paused to look back at him almost regretfully. Then it had carefully laid the wand on the floor and padded away down the stairs and out of the house. Remus had sunk back down to the floor and closed his eyes.

In his weakened state he would have been no match for Sirius, especially without his wand. Why the man had come to him again -- and gone again without a word -- was still a mystery to Remus, and it was a mystery that had only deepened when he had returned to the castle an hour later and met Professor McGonagall waiting for him in his office.

Harry, it seemed, had been given a new broomstick for Christmas, evidently to replace his beloved Nimbus 2000, which had fallen prey to the Whomping Willow. But the source of the new broom was unknown, and therefore suspicious. McGonagall suspected Sirius, and Remus could not deny that that seemed the most likely explanation. While many people were undoubtedly fond of Harry, few could afford to express that fondness with a gift like the Firebolt which, Remus had been informed, was the very latest in Quidditch brooms and thus terribly expensive.

Sirius could afford it, though, with the Black family fortune. But could he get access to the money? Remus wondered. And if so, how did he get his hands on the broom without being recognised? And why? Surely Sirius is smart enough think of a less complicated and expensive way to eliminate Harry, if that's his goal.

Well, there was one mystery he could solve easily. Checking to make sure his office door was shut and locked, he knelt beside the broom, put his long nose to it and sniffed all down the length of it. Yes, definitely Sirius. So he had not been the only one to get a Christmas Eve visit. He took out his wand.

Remus spent an exhausting afternoon and evening performing every test he could think of on the broom. He checked it over, inch by inch, twig by twig. Midnight came and went and still he neither ate nor slept. There had to be something here. He just had to keep looking.

But in the end he was baffled. The broom was clean. Either that or his skills and powers were failing him. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps he had not really smelled Sirius on the broom. Maybe the scent had come from his own robes which were the same ones he had been wearing the night before when he had gone down to the Shrieking Shack. Maybe it had come from the lock of hair still in his pocket.

Why would Sirius send Harry, the person he apparently loathed most in all the world and wanted dead, an expensive and untampered-with broomstick? It was yet another piece of the Sirius Black puzzle which did not fit.

He was tired. Perhaps he could not trust his nose right now. But there was another way. Again he drew his wand, tapped the broomstick and whispered, "tactus amatori." At once, softly glowing blue spots appeared all along the handle of the broom. Sirius's fingerprints were all over the damn thing!

But the blue glow was not confined to the Firebolt. His wand glowed blue where the dog had held it in its mouth. His hands glowed from being buried in the dog's fur. The glow of the tiny wooden dog and its precious keepsake was visible through the threadbare material of his robe.

Eyes unfocussed, he stood. Slowly, he drew off his robe and laid it over a chair. Then he unbuttoned his shirt and removed his trousers, folding them neatly and laying them on his desk. At last he stood naked in the center of the room.

He turned to face the scrying glass on the wall. It was not large enough to see all of himself, but he could see enough. The entire front of his body glowed, of course, from his momentary, semiconscious contact with the dog. But what made his eyes go wide were the lip-shaped marks on his face and the fact that his own mouth was glowing a bright, steady blue.

Remus spent the better part of a week working with Harry's mysterious new Firebolt. He tried every spell he could think of to look for curses and jinxes, to discover the broom's secrets. The library, even the restricted section, yielded nothing helpful despite long hours of research. At last, baffled, he gave up. There was no explanation for it.

Sirius had no wand; his had been destroyed when he was sent to Azkaban. He had no way to perform curses and jinxes himself. But, thought Remus, he's had plenty of chances to steal a wand. He could have taken mine the other morning in the Shack. At first he had thought that had been Sirius's intent, but he had later realised that all Sirius wanted was for the wand to be far enough from Remus that he could make a safe exit. Even without a wand, a man like Sirius with connections to ... those kinds of people could find someone to perform curses for him. But he had not. The Firebolt was truly clean.

Remus closed his eyes and, for the moment, let years of prejudice and suspicion fall away. His Sirius, the Sirius he had known and loved, would indeed have given Harry fine, expensive gifts like this. The gesture was not at all out of character for the man he had been -- or the man Remus had thought he had been.

Sirius had loved buying people presents. Remus had always been too embarrassed by his own lack of resources to let Sirius buy him things outright, but there had been many expensive Christmas, birthday, anniversary, and "just because I love you" gifts. The old gramophone had been one, and his second wand, the one he still used, had been another.

Of course, after Harry was born, Sirius had showered him with gifts as well. There was no exciting new toy, no state of the art baby equipment that was too good for his little godson. He would have bought Harry a broom for his first birthday if Lily and Remus had not talked him out of it. Harry was far too young for such a thing, they had told him. And besides, by the time he could use it, it would be outdated. Better to wait until he was old enough and then get him the best broom money could buy.

So instead, Sirius had taken to giving Harry rides on his flying motorbike. "Once he has a taste of flying," Sirius had said confidently shortly before Harry's first birthday, "he'll never be content to live earthbound all his days." And Harry had loved it. Remus had been there when they came back from Harry's first ride, shrieking and grinning and clapping his fat little baby hands.

Sirius had been right. After that first time, Harry had been lost. "Bike" quickly made his short list of new words, and "fie" ("fly" was too difficult for him to pronounce), and when Sirius came over to visit, Harry would reach for him and say them over and over again until Sirius relented and took him up for a ride.

Remus smiled sadly to himself. The bike had been the only expensive present he had ever gotten for Sirius. He had not finished making the payments on it until three years after Sirius had ended up in Azkaban. He probably should have sold it, he reflected, after Hagrid had returned it. But Sirius had loved it so much that Remus could not bear the thought of giving it up. Sentimental fool, he chided himself. But neither could he bear to look at it because every time he did, he remembered Sirius in his leather Muggle clothing, smiling and holding a joyful baby Harry, and the image was too much for him to bear. So the bike had been in storage many long years.

Maybe Harry would like it one day, Remus thought. Yes, it would be good for the bike to go to someone Remus loved who would love it, rather than just rusting away and falling apart. Not yet, of course, he supposed. He wouldn't understand such a gift from me right now, and besides, he's far too young. Maybe once he's left school. The sad smile returned. You were right, Sirius. The boy does love to fly. You gave him a great gift in that.

He looked at the broom again. There was nothing further he could do with it, and while part of him kept telling himself that the Firebolt could not be safe, most of him had already accepted that it was. The best thing to do in that case, he supposed, was to see that Harry got it back sooner rather than later. He could only imagine how a thirteen-year-old boy would feel to receive such a gift and then immediately have it taken from him.

"Nox," he muttered, and the room went dark. He wanted to make sure that the Lover's Touch spell had worn off completely before he went to give his report to Professor McGonagall.

On the first day of the new term, Remus could tell from Harry's glum mood in Defence Against the Dark Arts that he had not yet had his Firebolt returned to him. After class, he arranged their first Anti-Dementor lesson with the boy for the following Thursday, and that seemed to cheer Harry up a bit. He wished there were something more enjoyable he could do for Harry than teach him how not to faint from fear before those cold creatures, but this was what he needed right now, and it was something useful Remus could do for him.

He would still have to figure out a reasonable substitute for a Dementor since he would rather not subject Harry to the real thing any more than strictly necessary and Dumbledore would not allow them inside the castle. Still, he had a few days to work something out.

As he was gathering up his notes after class, he glanced toward the door and saw that Harry and his friends were standing in the corridor just outside, talking in low voices. Out of curiosity, he quietly went to stand by the door, just out of sight. Harry and his friends were not the Marauders but he felt a sudden longing for those days -- to be thirteen again -- and to hear the sorts of plans that were made when there were no adults to overhear.

It was Ron's voice he heard first. "I said I wonder what's wrong with Lupin, and you --"

"Well, isn't it obvious?" replied Hermione, and Remus's heart sank.

She had figured it out. He had known she would. Damn Severus and his bloody essay! He could trust Dumbledore to keep his secret, and the other Professors to do so out of respect for Dumbledore, but once a student knew, there was no way his secret could remain secret for long, and once it was out ....

"If you don't want to tell us, don't," Ron bit out.

"Fine!" declared Hermione, and Remus heard her ringing footsteps moving quickly off down the corridor. He breathed a sigh of temporary relief.

"She doesn't know," he heard Ron confide to Harry. "She's just trying to get us to talk to her again." And their footsteps headed off more slowly in the opposite direction.

Remus's brows drew together. He had not realised that the children were quarreling. But now that he thought about it, he realised that today in class Harry had sat between his friends, whereas it was usually Ron who sat in the middle. He hoped it was nothing serious. After all, children had fights and made up all the time. He supposed that it was his own oversensitivity on the subject, but he hated to see normally good friends fighting. Especially Harry's friends. Harry needed all the love and support his friends could provide and his family could not. Thanks to Sirius, he thought bitterly. But at least for the moment, his secret was safe.