Nothing Goes Without Change

Nothing Goes Without Change

Chapter 1: Counting things.

One hundred fifty, one hundred fifty-one, one hundred fifty-two... Sixteen-year-old Harry James Potter stared at the floor in his room at Number 4, Privet Drive, and counted the grain lines. He already knew that there were exactly three hundred fifty-one million, two hundred and twenty-seven thousand, six hundred and forty-eight of these little lines in his wood flooring, because he had done this same exercise the week before. And the week before that. And the week before that.

He was wasting his life and his time, counting these little lines, but he also knew that any other thoughts, any at all, would bring him back to where he started this summer. Sirius's graceful, curving fall, the flapping veil, the whispering voices, and the strange shuttered look in Remus's eyes. Everything led back to that night, just as all roads lead to Rome.

Harry was even seriously considering going to Stonewall High this year, because Hogwarts' esteemed halls would echo with the loneliness, the whispers, the memories. He would always have that tree out by the lake, his Firebolt, the sympathy in his housemates' faces. Nothing would ever be the same, anywhere, because anything, everything, reminded Harry of Sirius.

Poor, dead Sirius, lost in some unknown place. Sirius, whom he had been so looking forward to spending a thousand more holidays with, and a hundred more birthdays, and a billion more normal days with. But never a death day.

What sounded like a pair of motorbikes zoomed deafeningly down Privet Drive. They sped past, and their noise died down into the distance. Harry left the floor and went to his window, deciding to count birds. Fifteen minutes later, he could hear a rumbling start very quietly, then building. The motorbikes were coming back.

They weren't speeding by, but seemed to be looking for an address. They grumbled to a halt out front of the Dursleys'. Harry blanched when he saw the bright pink hair poking out from under one of the motorist's helmets. It was obviously Tonks.

Harry thought back to the last time he had sent word to the Order, or to anyone in any way connected to the Order.

"SHIT!" The last time he had sent a letter out had been a week ago. They had probably given him some lapse time, but now, here they were.

People from the Order were the last thing Harry wanted to see. He was trying his hardest to make his entire life a meditation, where he wouldn't care about anything. He was partway to succeeding, but now here Tonks and some other person, was and there was no way to avoid them.

Harry looked back out the window, and saw that the unidentified second motorist was now hidden under the eaves of the Dursleys' front stoop. A moment later, the shrill, mechanical doorbell sounded, and Vernon Dursley stomped to answer it.

Deciding that it would be best to make an appearance before whoever it was forced their way inside, Harry slipped quietly down the stairs.

Stepping out into the entryway, hidden by Vernon's bulk, Harry thought he heard Sirius's voice. But that couldn't be him, as he's... Harry stopped that thought, thinking again of how all roads lead to Rome.

He leaned a little to the left, and could just see a scruffy tuft of light brown, slightly greying hair.

"Remus?!" Harry ducked around Vernon, and stopped short, mouth wide. This was not his thirty-five year old ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, whom had always looked as though he would spend his nights reading. This was someone entirely different.

His hair, still light brown and greying, was longish and shaggy, falling lightly into his eyes. A small, platinum, half-moon-shaped stud glittered from his right nostril. His ears shone with platinum and gold in the bright afternoon sunlight. The tight, black Pride of Portree t-shirt he wore was artfully ripped and held together with safety pins and acid-green stitching. Pale, torn, graffiti-covered jeans fell to the toes of scuffed black boots. His fingerless-glove clad hands clutched a shiny black motorbike helmet.

Remus smiled slightly at Harry's bewildered stare.

"Hallo, Harry. How are you?" Then slight concern creased his face as he gave Harry a once-over.

"I... You- Erm..."

Remus raised his eyebrows and waited for Harry to become coherent.

"I'm alright." His voice came out sounding like a parrot choking to death on a walnut.

"Then... Why haven't you written?" Remus scratched his head.

"I eh," Harry's ears turned pink. "I forgot."

Remus' eyebrows scrunched together for a moment, then smoothed out as he turned to Vernon.

"Mr. Dursley, I was wondering if you might let Harry spend the weekend with me?"

Vernon twitched his mustache indignantly and turned a deep shade of puce. Then he blanched as realization hit him; this was no hoodlum, with his nose piercing and motorbike, but a full-grown wizard, who obviously preferred Harry. He seemed to deflate and nodded curtly.

Harry grinned, but the smile slid from his face when he thought of where they would most likely be headed. He turned and dragged himself upstairs and into his room. He threw some clean clothes into a bag, and descended slowly.

Remus looked rather outlandish in the Dursleys' foyer. He seemed too big, too real somehow. He seemed out of sorts and uncomfortable in the dazzlingly white room.

Anyone who spends any length of time in Grimmauld would be just as ill at ease. Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, was the most depressing place Harry'd ever been in. Including the cupboard under the stairs where he'd spent most of his life.

Remus smiled and led him out to the bikes. Tonks gave Harry a thumbs up, and called, "Wotcher, Harry!" cheerily from under her visor.

Remus strapped on his own helmet, and offered another to Harry, who took it and pulled it onto his head. It felt big and awkward, and Harry was definitely sure that he'd much, much, much rather be back in his room, counting the threads in his sheets.

Swinging his leg gracefully over the back of the bike, Remus mounted. He turned and grinned at Harry, beckoning him on. Harry tightened the straps on both his bag and his helmet, took a deep breath and clambered on.

Remus started it up, revved the engine, and suddenly, they were off. Harry found himself seizing Remus' waist tightly and squeezing his eyes shut. I'm fine with riding fast moving objects when I'm the one steering...