It had been nearly a week since
Christmas and still Harry and Ron
were ignoring Hermione. This was really beginning to annoy Amelia,
who had thought better of them, and she said as much to Severus
as they relaxed in the Dungeons that Thursday.

“Well, you are aware of my
opinion of the boys,” he said, reaching for the wine. He took in her
exasperated expression and quickly continued, “However, I’m sure that they’re
good sports under that rough, boyish exterior,” in a rather flat tone.

Amelia
rolled her eyes.

“It’s just a bloody broomstick,
and Hermione’s right, it could have been sent by Black.”

“Sirius Black?” he asked,
surprised, practically spitting the name.

“How many mass murderers out for
Potter’s blood can you think of?” She looked at his expression, “you don’t
count.”

Severus nodded
thoughtfully.

“I knew him, you know, Black.”

Amelia
looked at him; his outward expression hadn’t changed, but the atmosphere had
altered quite subtly – she wondered whether her talents had passed beyond
tactile with her odd friend. She made a mental note never to play poker with
this man. Severus was staring at the wall, speculatively.

“He was an intelligent bastard,”
he said, with feeling. “Always finding inventive new ways to torture those he
considered beneath him.”

“Sounds like you speak from
experience,” she said, carefully; while not wishing to pry she was well aware
that Severus seldom let his guard down this much.

“We… never saw eye to eye,” he
said quietly. “He and James Potter
found public humiliation a source of particular delight,” he continued,
bitterly.

Amelia
frowned: Remus’s description of James
Potter was a good deal kinder than Severus’s.
Taking pity on her friend, she attempted empathy.

“Everyone gets the crap kicked
out of them at school.”

“What? Oh, yes…” He appeared to
have been lost in unpleasant reminiscences. “You said Miss
Granger thought Black could
have sent the broom?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “There was
no note with it, and none of us could think of anyone he knows who would or
could do that for him. Firebolts cost the earth you know.”

“It’s the kind of rat-bastard
trick he’d think of – sending the boy something he’s bound to use, and let’s
face it, no Potter is going to pass up the opportunity to play quidditch on a
top notch broom.”

Amelia
nodded, “How would he know, though? I mean I know he’s famous, but it isn’t
common knowledge that Harry’s a quidditch nut –
or incautious enough to take up an anonymous broom.”

Severus
considered this for a moment, before musing: “Except by those inside the
school.”

The two Professors were quiet for
a moment.

“Well that’s a chilling
prospect,” said Amelia unhappily. “I mean I kind
of figured he was trying to stay nearby, but the thought of him inside the
castle…”

“Or one of our colleagues is
helping him in,” said Severus, nodding gravely.

Amelia,
who had been sipping her wine, very nearly spat it all over him.

“Who would do that?” she demanded.

Oddly, Severus
didn’t seem to be able to meet her eyes; slowly he shook his head. She was
about to press him further when they were interrupted by a tentative knock. Amelia
was secretly impressed by the speed at which the wine bottle was concealed.

“Come,” called Snape, glad of the
interruption. “Ah, Mr Zabini,
what can I do for you?”

As the young Slytherin began his
tale of woe (largely surrounding a lost essay for Professor
Sprout) Amelia
left them to it, feeling that eavesdropping on so obvious a scale would be
downright rude.

Severus watched
her go, only half listening to the hapless boy before him. Silently he thought
that if he’d voiced his suspicions their friendship would be over once again; she’d
never believe me, anyway.

0o0

The feeling of unease brought
about by Severus’s speculation followed Amelia
around like a murky cloud. She found herself snapping at students in the
corridor and growling at even the most polite intrusion into her thoughts. The
afternoon class with the fifth years was a particular disaster, Fred
and George’s usual exuberance resulting in a
detention (and a narrowly avoided hex as they sped from the classroom); it was
as if the students were deliberately playing up to her mood.

At dinner, she sat at the very
end of the staff table and avoided conversation, much to the confusion of her
colleagues. Each of them fell under her scrutiny as she tried to imagine them
passing information to a man intent on murdering one of their charges.

They only one that she could even
vaguely consider was Hagrid, who she knew would talk uninhibited after a pint
or two – but he’d never hurt Harry, and would
presumably have known Black well enough to recognise his face.

So engrossed was she in this
deconstruction of her colleagues that she entirely failed to notice Remus
approaching her as she left the Great Hall, and left him peering after her
looking rather crestfallen.

0o0o0o0

Lupin wasn’t having a
particularly good day himself, still tired and drawn from his last
transformation he was finding engaging his students trickier than usual.
Naturally, he’d assumed that Amelia’s dismissive
behaviour was a sign of the inevitable end of their relationship; although he’d
been expecting it he couldn’t shake off the deep ache of sadness that this
assumption produced.

So it was that he arrived in the
History of Magic classroom to begin Harry’s
extra Defence lessons in something of a sombre mood. Harry
seemed to be in fairly good spirits, though Lupin suspected that he was trying
to hide his nervousness behind joviality, just as his father had.

He heaved the packing case
containing the Boggart onto Professor Binns’
desk and rather nastily thought that if he left it here his old tutor wouldn’t
notice.

“What’s that?” said Harry.

“Another Boggart,” said Lupin,
stripping off his cloak. “I’ve been combing the castle ever since Tuesday, and
very luckily, I found this one lurking inside Mr
Filch’s filing cabinet. It’s the nearest
we’ll get to a real Dementor. The Boggart will turn into a Dementor when he
sees you, so we’ll be able to practise on him. I can store him in my office
when we’re not using him; there’s a cupboard under my desk he’ll like.”

“Ok,” said Harry,
trying to sound as though he wasn’t apprehensive at all and merely glad that
Lupin had found such a good substitute for a real Dementor.

Lupin smiled to himself, Harry’s
forced bravado was making him feel like he was back with the Marauders again.

“So”, he said, taking out his
wand and giving Harry an encouraging nod. “The
spell I am going to try and teach you is highly advanced magic, Harry
– well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level. It is called the Patronus Charm.”

“How does it work?” said Harry
nervously.

“Well, when it works correctly,
it conjures up a Patronus,” said Lupin, “which is a kind of anti-Dementor – a
guardian which acts as a shield between you and the Dementor.”

Watching Harry
suppress a smile, he continued. “The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a
projection of the very things that the Dementor feeds upon – hope, happiness,
the desire to survive – but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the
Dementors can’t hurt it. But I must warn you, Harry,
that the Charm might be too advanced for you. Many qualified wizards have
difficulty with it.”

“What does a Patronus look like?”
said Harry curiously.

“Each one is unique to the wizard
who conjures it.”

“And how do you conjure it?”

“With an incantation, which will
work only if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a single very happy
memory.”

He paused to allow the boy to
think, wishing that the boy could have shared some of the Marauder’s antics
with his father.

“Right,” he said, clearly trying
to sound braver than he felt.

“The incantation is this –” Lupin
cleared his throat, “expecto patronum!”

“Expecto patronum,” Harry
repeated under his breath, “expecto patronum.”

“Concentrating hard on your happy
memory?

“Oh – yeah –” said Harry.
“Expecto patrono – no – patronum – sorry – expecto patronum,
expecto patronum –”

Something whooshed suddenly out
of the end of his wand; it looked like a wisp of silvery gas.

“Did you see that?” said Harry
excitedly. “Something happened!”

“Very good,” said Lupin, smiling.
“Right then – ready to try it on a Dementor?”

“Yes,” Harry
said, gripping his wand tightly and moving into the middle of the classroom.
The silvery wisp had been promising, although currently Harry
looked as if he were trying not to be sick.

Lupin grasped the lid of the
packing case and pulled.

A Dementor rose slowly from the
box, its hooded face turned towards Harry, one
glistening, scabbed hand grasping its cloak. The lamps around the classroom
flickered and went out. The Dementor stepped from the box and started to sweep
silently towards Harry, drawing a deep, rattling
breath.

“Expecto patronum!” Harry
yelled. “Expecto patronum! Expecto –”

He realised too late that Harry
was losing consciousness; swiftly he trapped the Boggart back in the trunk and
moved to the younger wizard’s side. Harry
appeared to be gasping for air; his eyes were screwed up and his skin pale.

“Harry!”
For a fleeting moment he was afraid he’d killed his best friend’s son, but then
Harry opened his eyes. Sitting up, he looked
rather sheepish.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Are you all right?” he asked,
somewhat relieved.

“Yes…” Harry
pulled himself up on one of the desks and leant against it.

“Here –” Lupin handed him a
chocolate frog. “Eat this before we try again. I didn’t expect you to do it
first time. In fact, I would have been astounded if you had.”

“It’s getting worse,” Harry
muttered, biting the Frog’s head off. “I could hear her louder this time – and
him – Voldemort –”

Remus felt himself blanch. The
thought of Lily Evans
begging before that son of a bitch made him shudder.

“Harry,
if you don’t want to continue, I will more than understand –”

“I do!” said Harry
fiercely, stuffing the rest of the Chocolate Frog into his mouth. “I’ve got to!
What if the Dementors turn up at our match against Ravenclaw? I can’t afford to
fall off again. If we lose this game we’ve lost the Quidditch Cup!”

“All right then…” said Lupin.
“You might want to select another memory, a happy memory, I mean, to
concentrate on… that one doesn’t seem to have been strong enough…”

There was a pause while Harry
considered his choice.

“Ready?” said Lupin, gripping the
box lid.

“Ready,” said Harry,
firmly.

“Go!” said Lupin, pulling off the
lid. The room went icily cold and dark once more. The Dementor glided forwards,
drawing its rattly breath; one rotting hand was extending towards Harry
–

“Expecto patronum!” Harry
yelled. “Expecto patronum! Expecto pat–”

Again Remus rushed to Harry’s
side, full of concern.

“Harry!
Harry… wake up…”

He tapped Harry
hard on the face. This time it was a full minute before Harry
understood why he was lying on a dusty classroom floor. In the back of his
mind, Remus made another mental note to speak to the house elves about their
inability to clean floors.

“I heard my Dad,” Harry
mumbled. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard him – he tried to take on
Voldemort himself, to give my Mum time to run for it…”

Through the shock of that
statement, Remus noticed tears on the boy’s face, tears that even now he was
trying to hide. It seemed suddenly that it was impossible to breathe. He’d
always assumed that they’d died together, side by side in death as they had
been in life, though of course he’d heard from others who’d found the young
family of their ruined state.

To hear that they’d died alone,
terrified, nauseated him.

He heard his own voice ask, “You
heard James?” though it didn’t really sound like
him.

“Yeah…” Face dry, Harry
looked up. “Why – you didn’t know my Dad, did you?”

“I – I did, as a matter of fact,”
he managed. “We were friends at Hogwarts.” Privately, he reflected that it
would be just like James, so brave and sometimes
so foolish, to try to save his wife and child… and just like Lily
to try anything she could to protect her son. Her face snapped to his memory,
laughing at the antics of the Marauders in the Common Room, the two of them
trying to appear aloof as they felt good prefects should.

He swallowed.

“Listen, Harry
– perhaps we should leave it here for tonight. This charm is ridiculously
advanced… I shouldn’t have suggested you through this…”

“No!” said Harry.
He got up again. “I’ll have one more go! I’m not thinking of happy enough
things, that’s what it is… hang on…”

Again he waited. He couldn’t
imagine what it would be like to hear his friends die; over and over. He was about
to tell Harry that they should call it a night
when the boy turned back to the packing case, face set. Against his better
judgement (and perhaps to satisfy the James-like
Marauder instinct at the back of his mind), he pulled off the lid.

The Dementor rose up once more,
sucking the light and warmth from the room.

“EXPECTO
PATRONUM!” Harry
bellowed. “EXPECTO PATRONUM!
EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

To Lupin’s amazement and pride a
huge, silver shadow came bursting out of the end of Harry’s
wand, to hover between him and the Dementor… Harry
was still on his feet.

“Riddikulus!” roared Lupin,
springing forwards.

There was a loud crack, and Harry’s
cloudy Patronus vanished along with the Dementor; he sank into a chair, looking
drained.

Having subdued the now lunar
Boggart for a third time he strode over to the boy.

“Excellent! Excellent Harry,
that was definitely a start!”

“Can we have another go? Just one
more go?”

“Not now,” said Lupin firmly.
“You’ve had enough for one night. Here –”

He handed Harry
a large bar of Honeydukes’ best chocolate.

“Eat the lot, or Madam
Pomfrey will be after my blood. Same time
next week?”

“Ok,” said Harry.

Remus began to clear away the
debris of the lesson and extinguished the lamps, musing once more on his old
friends; Harry called him back to the present.

“Professor
Lupin?” he said. “If you knew my Dad, you
must’ve known Sirius Black as well.”

He turned, sharply.

“What gives you that idea?” he
said sharply.

“Nothing – I mean, I just knew
they were friends at Hogwarts too…”

Remus relaxed, the fleeting
terror of being called ‘accomplice’ leaving him.

“Yes, I knew him,” he said
shortly. “Or I thought I did. You’d better get off, Harry,
it’s getting late.”

He watched him leave the
classroom and found that he was sad not to know this fierce young boy as well
as he should. Collecting the packing trunk he set off to his own office,
haunted by the echoes of laughter, long since ended. As he stowed the Boggart
under his desk he allowed himself to wonder, briefly, what his and Harry’s
lives would have been, had circumstances been different…

He and Lily
would have taught the boy to read and be studious, of course, and he would have
had his mother’s kindness – some of which he thought that he could see in him
now. From James he would have inherited that
arrogance so little of which he seemed to possess, along with that talent for
trouble that Harry had definitely received. And
from Sirius? He paused: thinking of his old friend cost him.

Sirius would have taught him to
laugh, countless pranks with which to irritate his teachers and (the non-evil
Sirius) his bizarre sense of honour. Despite everything, Remus smirked. He’d
probably have taught him every unsavoury word under the sun by the time he was
four.

But it was pointless, really, to
think of all those lost chances now.

They’re dead, he told
himself sternly. They all are, and dreaming of them won’t change that.

Angrily, he brushed away a tear
and crossed into his bedroom; he suspected that Amelia
would be happier without him tonight. In this he was most definitely mistaken.

0o0o0o0

She’d spent a miserable half hour
bumming around her rooms, making a half-arsed attempt at tidying up before
giving in and just stomping around listlessly. As time crept forward she began
to notice her loneliness; childishly, she got ready for bed, becoming
increasingly annoyed with Remus for not coming to check on her. Surely he
must know she was upset!

Finally succumbing to her own
impatience she wrapped her blanket around her pyjamas and stormed towards
Remus’s rooms, banging on the door.

Too annoyed to wait when there
was no response, she opened the door and went in. Expecting to find her lover
selfishly marking homework or writing up a lesson plan, but instead the lamps
were out in the main room. Mildly concerned, she moved towards his bedroom. She
could see lamplight spilling out from under the door; her irritation was ebbing
away with each step. Gently, she pushed the door open and found him curled up
on the floor with an old photograph album beside him.

As he looked up at her it was
clear that he’d been crying.

He also looked confused to see
her.

Foul temper gone, she moved to
sit with him, quietly wrapping the other half of her blanket around him and
feeling thoroughly ashamed of her earlier childishness. She should have
known that he needed her.

For this part, Remus was so
certain that he had somehow fallen asleep and that Amelia
was a part of a bittersweet dream, that he hardly dared to touch her, lest he
should wake and find himself alone once more.

Not meeting his gaze, she gently
took his hand in her own, lacing their fingers together firmly.

She felt him shiver against her,
but as he didn’t try to pull away she moved to put her arm around him. He was
cold to the touch.

Wearily, he rested his head
against the shoulders of a dream.

“I was remembering them,” he
said, voice hoarse from sorrow, gesturing towards the album in front of him. Amelia
tightened her grip on his shoulder.

“I had my first tutorial with Harry
this evening, and he told me that when he’s near the Dementors he hears Lil’
dying – and James too, tonight.”

“Oh, Remus, I should have come up
earlier.” Close as they had become, she couldn’t help feeling that now she was
here she was intruding on something private.

“He faced Voldemort alone, trying
to give Lil’ and Harry time to escape – Lily
begged for her son’s life…” He took a deep breath, “and I can’t help thinking
that I could have stopped it. If I’d just seen through that bastard’s
lies!” he sobbed, dryly.

Her heart broke for this quiet,
lonely man that had found his way into her life.

“How could you have? Even
Dumbledore was fooled.” Amelia rubbed his arm in
what she hoped was a comforting fashion.

“But I shouldn’t have been!
I’d known him since I was a boy!” he cried, hotly, desperately pulling away
from her. “We stood together as brothers, so many times! And to think, while we
were planning James’s stag party or Harry’s
first birthday he was quietly selling us all out – and himself!”

Remus was on his feet now, pacing
agitatedly around the bedroom. “I would have died for him!” his voice cracked,
“I would have died…” he looked at her helplessly, hopelessly, “just for one
more hour of their company. For Harry to have
grown up loved.”

She went to him then and held him
until he stopped shaking; carefully she led him to the bed, where she sat
beside him, not letting go.

“Do you know that Harry
told me the happiest thing he could think of for our session earlier was
leaving his aunt and uncle? From his whole life… Sirius and I,” and here his
voice threatened to crack once more. “Sirius and I were appointed his guardians
– though I wasn’t officially named. If it hadn’t been for my damned condition I
could have taken them away from him.”

Amelia,
not for the first time, couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“And now, to make things worse,”
he concluded, looking up at her, weary defeat etched on his young face, “you’ve
finally realised that a life with me is no life at all.”

He reached up and stroked her
cheek, sadly. “I don’t blame you.”

If he had thought it were a dream
until now, Remus was swiftly disabused of this notion as she smacked him,
relatively gently, around the back of his head.

“Ow!”

“Well, don’t be so bloody stupid
then. I’m not going anywhere.”

He stared at her, flabbergasted,
one hand nursing his head.

“B-but at dinner –” he managed.

Amelia
looked sheepish.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that… I
was in a foul temper.”

“You mean, we’re not… finished?”

She shook her head quietly. “Not
unless that’s what you want…”

“No, far from it!” it was Remus’s
turn to look sheepish, though he also looked relieved.

“I’m glad,” she said, smiling a
little. “Now I think you’d better get ready for bed.”

About to protest and reluctant to
have her leave so soon he half stood, before she waved him back down.

“I realise that I have no right
to issue orders, but issuing them I am. You get cleaned up and I’ll fetch us
some supper.”

A little surprised (and more
surprised that he didn’t object) he nodded his assent and did what he was told
as she departed, presumably to the kitchens.

Lifting the album to the bed he
couldn’t help but imagine the responses of his old friends. To his surprise,
his earlier bitterness had left him and he allowed himself a small smile as his
mind supplied the voices of his long-time confidantes.

Behind him a half-imagined Peter
sniggered while Sirius (the non-evil one) leaned against the doorframe, arms
crossed, a smirk resting on his handsome features.

“Looks like Moony here’s on a
short leash,” he remarked, looking over to James
(who would, Remus knew, be sat in his armchair, Lily
on his lap).

His smile grew a little, and he
said, without turning, “I really like her guys, and for some reason she likes
me.”

From the doorway, Sirius scoffed
and exclaimed, “Of course she likes you Moons, you’re a Marauder!”

“Hear, hear!” cried Peter,
cheerfully.

“That I am,” he said quietly,
chuckling a little. Then he sighed, and said, “And I know that if I turn
around, you’ll be gone… I know that.” He turned then and stared sadly and
wistfully at the places where his friends should have been, empty once more.

“I know that, but I am not
resigned,” he said aloud, sadly.

“Quoting poetry?” Amelia
asked, returning with a tray of chocolate themed goodness.

“Not that I knew,” he replied,
smiling. “I thought you said supper, not a feast?” he added playfully.

“You looked like you needed it,”
she smiled, placing the tray on the bed next to the album.

He brushed a strand of hair
tenderly out of her eyes.

“Thank you,” he said, gently.

“What for?” she asked, head to
one side and pulled him into a hug. Muffled by his jumper he heard her mumble,
“daft sod.”

After a time they curled up
together on the bed with a substantial slab of chocolate cake apiece, mugs of
hot tea steaming on either side.

“What poem was it, out of
interest?” Remus asked, having swallowed a particularly good morsel of cake.

“Hmmm?” Amelia
asked, mouth full of fudge, “Oh.” She swallowed, “Just this poem by Edna St
Vincent Millay, seemed appropriate.”

“I’ve not heard of her…” he said,
drowsily.

“She’s a bit obscure; good
though.”

“How’s it go?”

“Erm, let’s see:

0

“Dirge Without Music

I am not resigned to the
shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.

So it is, and so it will be,
for so it has been, time out of mind:

Into the darkness they go, the
wise and the lovely. Crowned with lilies and with laurel they go: but I am not
resigned.

0

Lovers and thinkers, into the
earth with you.

Be one with the dull, the
indiscriminate dust.

A fragment of what you felt,
of what you knew,

A formula, a phrase remains –
but the best is lost.

0

The answers quick and keen,
the honest look, the laughter, the love –

They are gone. They are gone
to feed the roses.

Elegant and curled

Is the blossom. Fragrant is
the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.

More precious was the light in
your eyes than all the roses in the world.

0

Down, down, down into the
darkness of the grave.

Gently they go, the beautiful,
the tender, the kind;

Quietly they go, the
intelligent, the witty, the brave.

I know, but I do not approve.

And I am not resigned.”

0

She finished the poem sadly,
thinking of her own family.

Remus nodded, “Sometimes poetry
can speak more aptly than our own tired brains.”

They finished their supper
quietly, each lost in their own thoughts; then:

“Why were you in such a bad mood
earlier?”

“Oh, it was just something Severus
said.”

Protective anger coursed through
him and he reached out to her, reverting, for a moment, to his teenaged self,
and he snarled, “If that filthy, jumped up snake said anything –”

“Oy! Settle down!” Amelia
started, surprised by both his vehemence and his odd turn of phrase. “He didn’t
say anything unpleasant. Well he did, but –” she hastened to placate her lover,
who was once more bristling with anger, “it wasn’t an insult or anything like
that.”

Remus was still frowning and the
furrows in his brow deepened.

“Then what was it?” he asked, a
little confused. Amelia closed her eyes briefly,
she’d have much preferred to stay away from any subject that might cause Remus
to dwell on his friend’s betrayal.

“It’s just, we were considering
how much Black seems to know about Harry – his
habits, hobbies and so on.”

Lupin shook his head slowly, not
liking where this train of thought was heading.

“… and Severus
suggested that someone in the castle could be passing information to him. I
spent the day thinking the very worst of everyone… except you,” she finished,
shuffling closer to him.

“You do know that I’d be the most
likely candidate to fall under Severus’s suspicion, as Black’s
old friend?” he asked, all in a rush; it was as if he were afraid that he would
be unable to continue if he were to pause.

“I know that, and that would be
why he couldn’t look at me when he suggested it. But you and I both know that
you couldn’t hurt Harry,” she hesitated, a
little reluctant to continue. “…and I can feel how strongly you hate what Black
became.”

Remus agreed, quietly.

“Yes. When he betrayed us, Sirius
died – there is nothing of the man I once called brother in him how.”

0o0

As she was drifting off, safe in
Remus’s arms, she could have sworn she saw figures around the doorway and
settled in the old armchair under the window; there was the sound of distant
laughter. One of the shadows stepped closer and leaned towards her, before
pushing his glasses back up his nose and patting her lightly on the shoulder.

“Take care of him for us,” he
said and turning, took the hand of the woman behind him; together, with the two
other shadows, they left the room. Amelia
slipped into a deep and contented sleep, where her dreams were all sunshine and
stories and bright laughter.

0o0

Remus woke early with a smile on
his lips. He’d dreamed that they’d walked in a green forest, sharing laughter
and stories with his old friends; Harry and his
friends had been there, along with a few people he didn’t recognise but who Amelia
and Hermione seemed to know. Harry and Ron
had played an impromptu Quidditch match with James
and Sirius, much to the older wizards’ delight.

He looked at Amelia,
still sleeping peacefully beside him with her hand in his, and watched her
dream for a while. It occurred to him that if he should be required to produce
a Patronus at this moment it would be the best and strongest charm that he
could ever have cast.