23. Hlp RL gt ovr SBs dth

23. Hlp RL gt ovr SBs dth

Safe back in her marble gaol, Hermione made tea while James contented himself with studying a crowded frieze circling the ceiling. It seemed to be populated with drunken men and women and cloven-hooved freaks, all running after some fat fellow on a goat.

Didn't anyone wear clothes back then? he muttered, then floated down behind her, as the pursuit theme reminded him of something. Hermione, did you know Lord Death sent someone to follow us in Knockturn Alley?

Hermione froze. "He did? Who?"

Fellow in ridiculous multi-colored robes. He sort of looked like one of those medieval clowns... what do you call'em?

"A medieval clown? You mean... a fool?"

"Right. He did look a few witches short of a coven. Erechthys clued me in about it. She knows everything that goes on in the Underworld.

"Hmm... that must be Reg. Reginald."

You know him?

"Sirius described him to me once. He helps dead poets pass over. He lives with Lord Death too. Apparently, he's an artistic sort and not exactly Sirius' favorite. You say he followed us? I didn't notice anything."

He may have been invisible to you, and you were rather preoccupied.

She frowned. "I suppose I was. Oh, James, I have to thank you for saving me there at the end."

No thanks needed. I was only making up for my earlier idiocy. I don't know what got into me, leaving you like that. The mere mention of Quidditch just drives me insane.

"But you were only trying to retrieve the scroll--"

Don't make excuses for me. All this time, since I passed over, I've just been dying to get out on the pitch again, and Sir Podmore just pushed all the right buttons.

"Don't you all... 'do sports' in the Beyond?"

We're allowed, but I can't seem to get anyone interested.

"Oh. Well, it's a good thing Professor McGonagall showed up."

To give me a well-deserved tongue-lashing. That was no coincidence. It was actually that fellow Reginald's doing.

"Really? How do you know that?"

I saw them while I was flying about. Podmore tried the old Wronski Feint on me early on, and we ended up buzzing customers in Diagonally Alley for a time. The headmistress was out shopping, and the court jester appeared to her as a mouthy street urchin. He must have got her to chase him into Knockturn Alley.

"That was clever of him. You should tell Sirius that when you see him. He really thinks Reg is no use to anyone. Say, maybe when Sirius is officially dead, you can play Quidditch with him."

He brightened. That's a thought. Uh, do you miss him much?

Hermione thought about it for a moment. "I do, rather. We worked well together even though we didn't always agree on methods. Will he be coming back to help us, do you think?"

James shrugged. It's up to him. His testing is almost over.

Hermione finished making the tea, conjured a dishful of biscuits, and sat down on her couch. "He is a hard person to figure out. When he was alive, he always seemed so self-centered and impulsive, but I know he cared for Harry. He risked his life more than once to help him. And Harry misses him terribly."

Yes. You know, there's another person who is missing Sirius a great deal more than he lets on.

"Who?"

Remus Lupin.

"I didn't realize that. He's like the last Marauder standing, isn't he?"

Yes. Did you happen to look at the next item on Dumbledore's list?

"Not yet."

It involves Moony, I mean Professor Lupin.

"I know who you mean." She smiled at him shyly. "And Sirius was Padfoot, and you were Prongs."

He beamed back at her, then turned grim. Hermione, I don't think Remus ever really came to terms with Sirius' death.

"Why do you say that?"

I heard, when he got word of it, that he never cried at all. Never said a word. Just walked away.

"You think he suppressed his grief."

James nodded. They were very close, you know. Like brothers.

"Really? I thought you and Sirius--"

"Oh, we had a kind of joking friendship, but he and Remus shared a sympathy of each other's situation, both being outcasts of a sort."

"You mean Remus being a werewolf, and Sirius being... a Gryffindor?"

"Yes, being rejected by others can generate a genuine brotherly bond. I believe the reason Sirius chose a dog as his avatar was so that he could understand lycanthropy a little better.

"It was dangerous for him, wasn't it? I mean, as a stag, you could outrun a werewolf, and a rat could hide relatively easily, but the dog would be too big, too slow. He could have gotten his throat torn out."

And Sirius couldn't be sure the bite of the wolf wouldn't change him into a lycan too.

Hermione almost choked on her tea. "What?" she sputtered.

There was no book in the library that we could find to answer that question definitively. I mean, we knew that animals are not affected by a werewolf's bite, but people in the guise of animals? We didn't know for sure.

"That was very brave... of all of you--"

James snorted. Some would call it stupid.

"I suppose. One thing's for certain: it can't be healthy for Professor Lupin to bury his sorrow like that."

He's shared it with no one so far as we know. Not even Tonks. And Sirius told me that the assignment to spy on other werewolves was Remus' own idea. I think Dumbledore must have realized he was getting too isolated. Look here. He pointed to the Headmaster's list, which was lying on the table.

Hermione deciphered the next item:"'Help RL'--that's Remus--'get over SB's death.' But don't you think Tonks would be the best person to help him?"

Take it from me, Hermione. Men don't like to open up about their... erm... relationships with other men to their girl friends. In fact, I think it might partly be Sirius' death that's kept him from asking her to marry him.

Hermione gaped at him. "Does he feel that way, do you think? That's wonderful! But why wouldn't he ask her?"

James sighed. Knowing my exasperatingly unselfish friend the way I do, he probably doesn't want to burden her with his pain. When you ask someone to spend the rest of their life with you, it means sharing a lot of things, including the bad stuff. No, someone has to get him to open up and resolve those feelings before he'll even think of proposing to Tonks. He stared at her intently.

"You mean me? But, James, I can't just go up to a teacher and start grilling him about his personal problems. And I've got to be the worst possible person for the job. Ron is always telling me I'm way too blunt--"

Blunt yes, but you're sensitive too. You care about Remus, and your innate honesty won't let him hide from the truth. That's the important thing."

~*~

The next morning, they Apparated out. Hermione still was not sure what she would say to her old Defense teacher, even after a decent night's sleep.

As they materialized, Hermione goggled. They were standing in front of Grimmauld Place. "This is where he's staying?"

James nodded. Alone.

"Brrr! That can't be healthy. How do I begin? I suppose I could interview him--"

How's that?

"Let me explain. When I was starting a self-help group for house-elves, I wrote an article about it that I sent to Witches' Weekly."

And they rejected it.

"No, they printed it in their humor section. The editor thought it was a parody. But I could tell Professor Lupin I wanted to interview him about the plight of werewolves...."

Hmm... I don't know....

"... or, I could ask him about a problem I'm having with some classwork."

Are you?

"No."

Hermione, let me clue you: honesty is always the best policy with lycans. They are in a state of permanent paranoia as it is, and all their senses are primed to detect trickery.

"All right. I'll just be myself. Erm... why is he living here, of all places?"

Apparently, there's a growing contingent of werewolves in the heart of London, and as you know, he's volunteered to spy on them.

"Yes, it's terrible."

It's a harsh responsibility my friend has taken on, Hermione. And he's so conscience-stricken at the best of times, I can't imagine what the experience is doing to him at this point.

~*~

Hermione rang the doorbell. After a few moments, her favorite Defense teacher answered. His face looked longer and thinner than ever. He was imperfectly shaved and smelled of some strong chemical odor.

"Hermione, what are you doing here?" There was apprehension in his voice. "Is Harry--are the Weasleys--is everything all right?"

"Never better," she said with forced heartiness. "They're getting ready for the wedding, you know."

His mouth sagged.

"You'll be able to come, won't you?" she chirped.

"I'll try," he mumbled, looking past her out the door. "But wait a minute, I'd better give you the test. Did you ever hurt a teacher in my presence?"

"Never! Oh... erm... there was that time I knocked Professor Snape out in the Shrieking Shack...."

"You pass. Now give me one."

"Ermmmm... who else was in the Shack that night with us?"

"Harry, Ron, Peter--as the little rat he is--and Sirius."

"Perfect," she said and hastened to explain her visit. "I wanted to see how you were, Professor. No one's heard from you in a while--"

"I've been away on Order business." He led the way upstairs and into the drawing room. "How did you know where I was?"

"Heh... where else would you be? Say, I remember this room. It looks different. Did you do something to it?"

"Didn't need to. You all cleaned it pretty thoroughly when you were last here."

I remember. The Doxies in the curtains..."

"That's right, and all those nasty little knickknacks. I did add some bookshelves, so I had to enlarge it a little."

Hermione pounced on this nicely neutral topic. "Ooo, Expansions! That's Advanced Transfiguration, isn't it?"

"Mmm-hm. Can I get you something to drink?"

"I'm fine, but perhaps you should have something. You look a little--"

"Sick?"

"No, a bit pale is all." She gave a nervous little cough. "I guess it's safe to sit on the couch."

"Yes, I often fall asleep on it at night, reading. It hasn't swallowed me up yet."

She took that as a joke and laughed. "What are you studying right now, Professor?" she asked as she sat down. She picked up a slim volume from a side table and read out the title, "Nature's Nobility, A Wizarding Geneology."

He cleared his throat. "Ehm, yes, I found myself wanting to understand the Pure-Blood mentality. It's so different from what I was brought up on."

"I'll bet this is from the library here, isn't it?"

He nodded.

Her eyes wandered about the room to the Black Family Tree and its motto: Toujours Pur. "It must have been hard--growing up with all that prejudice."

"Actually, I don't think that children like, say, Andromeda Black have a clue how warped their family's thinking is until they get out into the larger world." He picked up the book and returned it to its space on a shelf behind the couch.

"That's true," said Hermione into the silence. "What children grow up with is reality for them. Like, before I knew there was a magical world, I thought I was... well... just... weird. It must come as a shock to people like the Blacks to get to Hogwarts and find out that things are quite different from what they've been taught."

"That Muggleborns aren't all slobbering Neanderthals? I don't think they're all that surprised actually."

She slid the subject of her visit into the conversation, quite deftly she thought. "So first year went smoothly... for Sirius I mean?"

"Sirius? I do remember his mother making a bit of a fuss out of his not getting into Slytherin House."

"Did that worry him?"

"Got his back up, rather. Old Mrs. Black knew how to yank his chain."

"What did his parents think about his choice of friends?"

"It was all right for him to be seen with James. The Potter bloodline is relatively pure, but my parents were Muggle-borns." He frowned and walked to a window at the back of the room.

"Did he hate his family for it?" she called after him.

He mumbled something she couldn't quite catch.

She chattered on. "He wanted to be loyal to them, I suppose." She cast about for something else to say, but she couldn't think of anything that wouldn't sound like badgering.

She heard a creaking of floorboards and looked up. Remus was standing over her, his eyes soft. "I do remember once when James called Regulus a pauncy little twit with a silver wand up his nose," his mouth quirked at the memory, "Sirius got really mad and tried to Body-Bind him."

"So he cared about his brother--"

There came a series of loud scrabbling noises overhead.

"What's that?" Hermione asked, both irritated and relieved at the interruption. "It sounds like the ghoul in the Weasleys' attic."

"Oops, it's Buckbeak, I'm afraid. It's feeding time. This'll only take a few minutes." He strode to the door.

"Can I go with you?" she asked, jumping up. "I haven't seen Beaky in a while."

"Sure, come on along. Just let me get his daily ration." Remus pointed his wand down the stairs and spoke crisply, "Accio, bucket of rats." Hermione followed him up the next flight of steps. "Actually," he explained, "I'm just keeping him for a bit while Hagrid finishes up some work for the Order."

Buckbeak met them at the door and didn't even wait for the usual bowing and scraping, but just stuck his head out with a glad little clucking sound so Hermione could pat it.

"He looks fit," she said as she stroked his throat. "Has he been out at all?"

Remus gave Buckbeak a small rodent and pointed to a set of French doors behind the hippogriff which gave out onto a balcony. "I exercised him last night. He gave me a bit of a scare when he went into a dive over the river."

"You won't miss him when he goes then."

"Oh, but I will. He's a decent house guest actually, and not too messy. Even though, as you heard, he can make quite a racket. Keeps me from getting too..." his voice trailed off, and he stared into the distance after it.

Hermione fought to keep the conversation going. "Speaking of animals, Crookshanks doing quite well."

"Really?"

"Yes, he's become quite the ladies' man." She prattled on, "There were these two Persians in Ravenclaw that he followed around last year. Whenever he went missing, I knew just where to look." She took over tossing smelly morsels to Buckbeak while Remus Scourgified the room and Banished droppings and regurgitated animal parts. They finished feeding the feisty hippogriff and walked back downstairs.

"Did you have pets when you were a boy?" Hermione asked.

"No, the wolf was as much as my family could handle, and anyway it would have been impossible to keep a pet after I was bitten."

"What do you mean 'impossible'?"

"Animals smell the predator in me, you know, and it drives them crazy."

"Really? Then why didn't Crookshanks have a bad reaction to you?"

"That cat of yours is a very special animal. I think he instinctively recognizes good will in a person."

Hermione grimaced. "I suppose that's why he never got along with Ron."

"Ron Weasley?"

"Yes." She might have pursued the subject of Ron with this most understanding of her teachers, but the day was getting old, and she still had not helped relieve the professor of his burden of sorrow. And the last thing she wanted to do was add her own troubles to his.

They sat down in the drawing room, and Hermione Conjured a tray with all the accoutrements for an afternoon tea. The professor really did look in need of nourishment. And she needed to put their conversation back on track, however uncomfortable it made both of them. A strong cup of Darjeeling would help stiffen her backbone.

She ventured, "Sirius told us Crookshanks was the first real friend he made after he got out of Azkaban. I think that's interesting, considering that his Animagus form was a dog." She Aguamentied water into the teapot and commanded it to boil.

Remus watched her motions, apparently fascinated by his former student's deft wandwork. "Mmm-hmmm," was all he said.

She asked hesitantly, "Did you ever think that his choice of an avatar was somehow deliberate?"

He looked at her sharply. "What do you mean?"

"An attempt to know a friend better?" she said shyly.

"You mean me?"

She nodded.

"I never thought of it that way," he said slowly, "but you could be right."

"And a try at understanding the friend's troubles."

"How's that?"

"As the big black dog, Sirius could get to know the Wolf in you."

"You mean the Wolf's proclivities."

"Well, the doggy elements, you know, the playfulness, the lack of... erm... control...."

"The lack, yes," he muttered, "and the hunger."

"Yes, dogs are always wanting a treat, aren't they?" She was stirring her tea, ever faster and more haphazardly. The spoon clanked against the china, and now the liquid was slopping over the sides of the cup.

He looked at her a moment. There was something in his face, reminiscent of that night in the dark by the Whomping Willow with Harry and Sirius and Ron, just before he changed. Anger it was, or something equally wild and dangerous. He spoke slowly, his voice rising with every word. "I don't mean kibble, Hermione. But you know that, don't you?" He seized her hand and stared into her eyes. There was a slash of red in the pupils, a ragged rent that gave her a glimpse into his overheated soul. "I'm talking about the longing for blood, the feeling of raw nature in your veins, of lusts unleashed, of things you dare not do but must. Oh, gods!"

She gasped and pulled away from him. He bowed his head and whispered, "I'm sorry, I haven't talked... or thought about things like that... a long time... and for good reason obviously..."

She quickly mixed a cup of steaming hot tea, fortified with cream and sugar, and slid it over to him. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

He took the cup in his hands. "You're right, Hermione. Sirius knew me better than any anyone. I could talk to him."

"He was a good friend."

"The best. Sometimes I wish he were still here, so we could talk about... what I'm doing now...."

"Your assignment?"

He looked at her, alarmed. "How did you know about that?"

"Erm... well, actually, I don't know much about it. I just heard that you were doing something secret and important to the Order."

"Important? I wonder." He sighed and sipped his tea. "It all seems so hopeless sometimes."

"But we have to try, don't we? I mean Voldemort's got to be stopped--"

"Yes, he has, Hermione, but what we have to do to bring him to heel... it's daunting is all."

"Yes, it is. Sirius would have understood, wouldn't he?"

"I'm not so sure. He was so reckless, so without fear. Maybe he couldn't help me after all."

"You said yourself: he knew you better than anyone."

"Yes, you're right." He smiled as if remembering something. "If he were here right now, he'd probably give me a pep talk or pull one of those insane pranks of his, make me want to laugh my guts out or kill him... or both. Ah! What a waste!"

"You mean his death?"

"Yes, of course. But I was thinking more of his last year when he was cooped up here. I could have gotten to know him then... supported him... the way he did me so many times. But I kept my distance." He looked up at her sadly.

She wanted to hug him, rock him, maybe rub his back the way she would comfort a small child, but she just asked, "Why did you do that?"

He rubbed at his face. "I don't know. I think I was hoping that it would push him closer to Harry. You know. Three being a crowd and all that."

"But it didn't work out that way, did it? Sirius and Harry never connected. Or if they did, I never saw it."

"No, Sirius was too embittered by his impotence and forced idleness to respond to Harry's needs. I only hope it didn't make Harry think Sirius didn't love him."

"No," she countered gently, "it didn't at all. It just confused him for a bit."

"But now, with Sirius gone, he must have this terrible void inside...."

"Just as you do."

"What? Oh, yes, I suppose... but I'll get over it." He smiled wryly. "It helps to keep busy."

"And to pull away from your other friends?"

He laughed harshly. "You think I should try to fill the void? With Harry? I don't want to make the same mistake Sirius did, trying to turn Harry into James."

"Is that what you think he wanted to do?"

"I don't know, Hermione. Molly Weasley said it to his face once, and I found myself half agreeing with her."

"But you wouldn't let that happen to you."

"Are you so sure of that? I didn't understand how Padfoot felt back then, why he would feel the need to do project his feelings for James onto his son, but I think I do now."

She looked about her. "It must be terribly lonely for you here with your two best friends gone forever. But you do have other friends. Tonks, for instance."

He pushed his cup away and stood up. "Yes, I have her, but for how long?" He started pacing restlessly from window to window, glancing out each as if looking for spies. "It seems everything and everyone I've ever cared about has been twisted or destroyed by the Dark Lord. I don't want that to happen to her."

"That must be the way James felt about Lily--and Harry."

"Yes, he did everything he could to protect his family, but it wasn't enough." Remus threw up his hands. "Oh, what am I doing? How can I think it's possible for me to make a difference? And as for marrying and having children--I must be crazy to even think about it."

A silly grin took over Hermione's face, which, up to then, she had managed to keep calm and straight. "Is that it? Are you really thinking of asking Tonks to marry you? That's wonderful--"

He crossed to her and seized her shoulders as if he would shake her, but only his voice trembled. "No, it's not wonderful, Hermione. It's tragic, and it's wrong. I'm not going to set Tonks up like that. She deserves better than this. She deserves better than me. I want her to go away--get away from all this--"

Hermione could feel his hands clenching and unclenching, punctuating his frustration. She gave a little yelp of pain. He let go of her and turned away.

Hermione recovered quickly. She found that she was not frightened or even sad, but angry. Men! Why did they always have to play the got-to-protect-my-woman card?! "You can't make her do that!" she cried.

"Why not?"

She took a breath. She should be the gentle counsellor here. But she couldn't. She stood up and followed him. "It's not like she's some pretty little doll you can just keep in a glass case. She's a witch, a very brave, very talented witch, and she has a right to choose whether and when she'll meet the enemy."

He looked at her, agonized. "But she wants children. I don't think I can bring a child into this awful world. With a werewolf for a father--"

She shook a finger at him. "Professor, You're only a werewolf twelve nights a year. According to my Muggle arithmetic, that leaves 353 days and nights for raising a family."

"But this world--it's so corrupt, so dangerous--"

She reined in her voice and spoke slowly, as to a small child. "My dear, loving, intelligent, so-modest-you-make-me-want-to-scream professor, your friend James believed enough in this crackbrained world to love and marry and have a child. That child has already made a big difference for the better in all our lives. We need more people like that in the Magicosm to counterbalance the Malfoys and Goyles and Lestranges. And as for Tonks--well--don't you think she has a right to some say in all this?"

He looked at her for a long time. "You're right. She does."

"You'll talk to her then."

"Yes," he said grimly, "but don't plan on sending out wedding invitations just yet."