PART 4: Something of His

At the appointed time three days later, Harry presented himself in Professor Dumbledore’s office. His instructors had grumbled when he told them he had to leave for an unspecified period of time (Snape took five points from Gryffindor for “Mr Potter’s truancy”), but the hardest part had been sneaking away from Ron and Hermione without telling them what he was up to. The note he left on Ron’s pillow, “Have to bolt for a bit; talk to you when I get back,” was no sort of explanation. But Remus’s mission had to remain a secret, and every time Harry tried to lie to Ron, he ended up turning a hideous mix of embarrassed red and nauseated green, making him look like a hung-over Christmas wreath. And so, secrecy it had been.

“Welcome, Harry,” Dumbledore greeted him, in a much better mood than he had been the last time Harry saw him. He held out a small glob of his fuzzy yellow candies. “Lemon drop?”

Harry’s stomach rebelled. “I, uh, I’d best not, sir, if I’m traveling by Floo Powder.”

Dumbledore tried to feed one of the candies to Fawkes, who would have none of it. “Are you ready, then?”

Harry shrugged. “As much as I will ever be, sir.”

Nodding, Dumbledore came around the desk, folding his hands into the sleeves of his midnight blue robes. He looked as though he wanted to impart something vital to his student. “Harry—“ He shook his head. “There’s nothing I could say that would change anything, make this easier for you. This is a war, and many terrible, terrible things must happen before all has ended. I wish I could spare you, but…no. The time to shelter you has passed. Good luck, Harry Potter. And, Merlin grant you safety. This is all I can offer you, now.”

Harry swallowed. “Thank you, Professor. You’ve already done so much for me; I wouldn’t ask for anything more.”

“I wish I had more to offer, whether you ask it or no.” He reached into the jar on the mantelpiece and grabbed a large pinch of Floo Powder. “Good bye, Harry.”

“Good bye, sir.” As the flames in the fireplace blazed a bright and sickening green, he took a deep, steadying breath and declared, “Diagon Alley!”

Harry hated traveling by Floo Powder. Just hated it. He felt as though he was going to lose either his brain through his ears or his lunch through his mouth. And it made him so dizzy.

He hit the ground hard, coughing and gagging. But by the time he had finished wiping the soot off his sleeves, he was smiling. He had done it. It was a beautiful fall afternoon in Diagon Alley; he had arrived without Hermione or Ron having any idea what he was up to; and he had two hours before he had to meet Remus. Plenty of time. With a bounce in his step, Harry headed towards Ollivander’s Wand Shop.

As Harry entered the shop, the small wizard bounded up to him. “Mr Potter! Welcome!”

Harry smiled shyly. Mr Ollivander had been one of the first people he’d met in the wizarding world, and he still held him somewhat in awe. “Hello, Mr Ollivander.”

Ollivander looked him over. “Goodness, you’ve grown. Fifth year, are you?”

“Sixth.”

“How the time does fly.” The small man shook his head. “And the wand; holly and phoenix feather, twelve inches. It hasn’t given you trouble, has it?”

Well, he’d been forced to use it to duel Lord Voldemort, but that was hardly the wand’s fault. “No, no problems. I have a friend, you see, and there was an accident – a run-in with a Rumplestiltskin imp—“

“Horrid creatures.” Ollivander shuddered. “The wand was destroyed?”

“Utterly. His birthday isn’t far off, and I thought I might replace the wand for him.”

Mr Ollivander’s face split into a wide grin. “Truly, Mr Potter, a wand is one of the greatest gifts one wizard can give another – though I dare say I’m biased, aren’t I? Now, then, if you’ll just bring the gentleman inside, we can begin the search.”

Harry’s spirits plummeted. How could he have forgotten? The wand chooses the wizard, not the other way around. Without Ron, how could he hope to find the right wand? “He, ah, he isn’t here. It...it was meant to be a surprise, you see…” He waited for Ollivander to say that he couldn’t help him.

But he’d also forgotten that Mr Ollivander thrived on challenge. “A surprise. Yes, I understand. A fascinating dilemma. Let me think...maybe...yes! I have it! If you have something of his with you, perhaps a resonance can be established.”

Harry’s spirits popped up again. What a brilliant idea! And Harry just happened to have – nothing. He had nothing of Ron’s with him. Even the long red hairs that always clung to the front of Harry’s robes were gone, knocked loose by the Floo journey. He sighed. The one really good idea he’d had in months, and he’d botched it from the first step. He opened his mouth to tell Mr Ollivander to forget the whole thing.

Then his eyes sparked, and his feet nearly left the floor in his excitement. “Me!” he exclaimed. “I’m something of his!”

Mr Ollivander was a consummate businessman. This fervent declaration didn’t even earn Harry a raised eyebrow. Ollivander looked him over and then nodded briskly. “Yes, that could work. Stand right here with your arms out – like so.” He positioned Harry’s arms slightly out from his side and bustled off to begin the procedure.

Ollivander’s enthusiasm was contagious; Harry waited eagerly as the small wizard appeared at his side with a wand in hand. “A lovely one. Hazel wood and mermaid hair, fourteen inches.” He ran it along the length of Harry’s arm. Nothing happened, but Harry hadn’t expected it to. Wand selection was an arduous process. He wasn’t worried.

An hour and forty minutes later, he was extremely worried. The piles of wands on the floor beside him reached nearly to his waist; his arms were about to fall off; and he might just be late for his meeting after all. None of the wands had so much as twitched.

Harry also noticed that, as he swept from one side of the shop to the other, bringing more wands for Harry to try, Ollivander’s eyes would often flick to the back room, and he would shake his head and mutter something to himself. Something that sounded, whenever Harry caught a snip of it, like, “Absolutely not.”

At last, Harry could stand no more. “I’d like to try the wand in the back room, Mr Ollivander, if I may.”

Ollivander jumped back. “Mr Potter, I don’t—“

“I’ve seen you looking back there. Whatever it is, it’s all right.”

“No, Mr Potter,” Ollivander said, sighing. “It is not all right. Wait here, please.” He disappeared behind the curtain that separated the shop’s two rooms and reappeared a moment later with a wand box in hand.

Harry was disappointed. After all the consternation it had caused, he had expected more than an ordinary wand.

And then Ollivander opened the box and pulled back a piece of brown velveteen, and Harry realized that, whatever this wand was, it was anything but ordinary.

“It’s beautiful,” said Harry, awe tingeing his voice. It was of a light colored wood, long and slender, with graceful designs carved along its length. And it seemed, somehow, to hum with an energy Harry had never before encountered in a wand.

“Ash, eleven and three-quarters inches.” As Mr Ollivander lifted the wand from its box, Harry raised his arms obediently. But instead of passing the wand down his sleeves, he placed this one directly over Harry’s heart.

A shower of twined gold and silver sparks shot instantly from the wand’s tip. Harry clasped his hands together in delight. “That’s the one, then! It’s perfect!”

The revelation depressed Mr Ollivander terribly. “I feared as much.” He looked at Harry, who felt a chill rush through him at the distress in the silver eyes. “Two weeks ago, Mr Potter, a young man came into my shop whom I had not seen in many years. I would have loved to sit and talk with him, but he said he could not stay, as he had left his dog unattended outside the shop.”

Harry blinked fast. From the look Mr Ollivander was giving him, he could almost imagine the man was talking about – but, no, he couldn’t possibly. Could he?

“I also sensed,” the wizard continued, “that this young man was in no mood for small talk. He presented this piece of velveteen to me and said, ‘Have this made into a wand at once, Mr Ollivander. I fear someone will need it soon.’ I opened the velveteen and discovered a single hippogriff feather. I suspect you know the hippogriff to which it belonged.”

Harry’s heart threw itself off-rhythm for a few beats. Buckbeak.

“I do not know the extent of your knowledge of hippogriffs, Mr Potter, but they only lose feathers—“

“When they’re ill or frightened,” Harry finished.

“I do not think that this one is ill.” Harry and Ollivander stared at each other. “I made this wand myself,” Ollivander continued, a shiver in his voice and an intensity in his eyes that Harry couldn’t bear for much longer. “I made it in a week, in a frenzy, and my apprentices were not allowed to touch it. It has been finished for less than three days.” He shook his head. “If this is, indeed, the wand your friend was intended to have – and it seems clear that it is – then I fear for your friend.”

Gods, Harry thought. Ron. What in Merlin’s name is am I getting you into? “I – I’d like to pay for the wand now, Mr Ollivander,” he whispered.

Unfazed by Harry’s abruptness, Mr Ollivander nodded and returned the wand to its box. He put it into a small bag, and Harry paid nine Galleons for it and left the store, turning his steps towards the Leaky Cauldron. He would arrive with barely a minute to spare.

As he walked, he tried to convince himself that the chill he felt was simply a shift of the wind. But he didn’t believe it.

*

PART 5: Snuffles and the Professor

Remus Lupin clearly belonged to the “hide in plain sight” school of concealment. He didn’t signal when Harry came through the door of the Leaky Cauldron, but it didn’t take more than ten seconds for Harry to spot him sitting at a table against the wall. He grinned as he crossed the room, spotting the large dark form beneath the table. “Hullo, Professor.”

Remus smiled, though his eyes were tinged with sadness, and hugged Harry. “Hello. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.” He didn’t add that he had hoped Harry wasn’t coming.

“Got a bit caught up.” Harry sat across from his old professor. Sticking his head beneath the table, he said, “Afternoon, Snuffles.” His godfather licked his face. Smiling ruefully, Harry sat up again and wiped his glasses on the sleeve of his robe. “Does that often, does he?”

Some of the pain fell out of Remus’s smile. “It is one of his favorite tricks, yes.” He pushed a mug of butterbeer across the table towards Harry. “I took the liberty.”

Harry grinned appreciatively and took a long sip. “Ah. Thank you.” He regarded Remus. The man looked better than the last time Harry saw him, leaving Hogwarts in disgrace and tortured with worry about Sirius. His robes were still old and patched, but his hair was thicker, his eyes brighter, and his posture less defeated. Harry knew a large part of the transformation was thanks to the dog under the table. “How...” Harry stopped. He couldn’t very well ask Remus how “work” was – work was highly classified and extremely dangerous. “...are you?” he asked apologetically.

“Exhausted but hopeful. You?”

“Exhausted and hopeless,” Harry returned, smiling. “Do the Hogwarts professors get together and plot how best to torture us?”

Remus laughed and took a drink of his butterbeer. “All but Severus. He doesn’t need help in that department.”

Harry chuckled. It felt wicked, sitting here with a wanted criminal under the table, gossiping about respected members of the wizarding community. He never wanted it to end. But Remus hadn’t called him all this way for gossip. “So, what brings you to Diagon Alley?” There. That sounded harmless enough.

Sighing heavily, Remus pushed his tankard to the right, then pulled it back to the left by the handle. He stared at the table, almost as though he could stare through it. “Spies of the Order have discovered the location of one of the highest-ranking cells of Voldemort’s supporters,” he said finally.

Harry sat up and gasped. “A cell? Good gods! That’s—“

Remus nodded. “One of the greatest discoveries the Order has made since the war began. Can you imagine what it would mean to have their information on our side?”

Harry could, but just barely. Typically, Voldemort’s cells were comprised of three to four big shots like Pettigrew or Malfoy and ten to twelve lower echelon Death Eaters. To have them on the Order’s side – or at least, to have their information in the Order’s hands – would supply a tactical advantage of a magnitude Harry couldn’t get his mind around. Still, how did Remus propose to accomplish such a thing? It was one thing to find the cell, one thing even to kill its members, and quite another to convince a dozen of Voldemort’s most loyal servants to betray him. “How are you planning to get this information?” he asked in a voice tinted with awe.

Remus couldn’t fail to notice that Harry said “you,” rather than “we.” Despite the number of times Voldemort and his followers attacked Harry and his friends, Harry didn’t tend to think of the war as his to fight. “Are you familiar with a spell called the Mesmer Infedelis?” Harry nearly choked on his drink. “Sorry,” Remus apologized.

“Mesmer Infedelis? That’s—“

“A spell used to help...persuade people away from certain modes of thought,” Remus said mildly.

Now there was a mouthful of euphemism. The Mesmer Infedelis, as Harry understood it, was a complex and dangerous spell used to counteract the effects of brainwashing. “It’s only been successfully performed four times in recorded wizarding history,” Harry said, dredging up a long-buried statistic from his History of Magic lessons.

“Five.” Remus leaned back and sipped his butterbeer calmly.

“Four,” countered Harry, shaking his head. “Hermione looked it up once, and the book said – oh.” Abruptly, Harry fell silent and stared at his former teacher in awe.

“Hermione’s book must be out of date.”

Wizarding books didn’t get out of date. They updated themselves when the need arose. Harry blinked, knowing Remus must mean the same thing he meant when he said that books stating there were only seven Animagi this century were “out of date.” “You did it!” Harry gasped. “The Marauders. You performed the Mesmer Infidelis successfully!”

“Shhhh!” Remus leaned across the table and put his hand over Harry’s mouth. “You’ll give us away.” When Harry offered a muffled apology, Remus removed his hand and sat back again. “But, yes. Two summers after we graduated from Hogwarts, just before your parents were married.”

“Why? On whom? What happened?” Harry demanded, but Remus laughed softly and waved off the question.

“It was...it was simply necessary, and so we did it. I think the only reason we succeeded was that we had no idea how difficult it was supposed to be.”

Harry longed to prod further, to find out what sort of circumstances caused the Mesmer Infidelis to become “simply necessary,” but he recognized the look in Remus’s eyes and knew he’d get nothing further. “And now you want to do it again,” Harry said as understanding broke over him. “You want to reassemble a party as close to the Marauders as you can and use it on the cell.”

Sometimes talking with Harry made Remus feel as though James and Lily weren’t really gone after all. “What do you think?” he asked. No need to dance around it further, now that Harry had the idea.

“It’ll be dangerous, I imagine.”

“More than any of us can imagine.”

Harry stared at a point beyond Remus’s head for a moment, then he nodded slowly. “I’ll do it.”

“You don’t have to,” Remus insisted. “Just because I called you—“

“No,” Harry said firmly. “Voldemort killed my parents.” It was almost a mantra by now, but sometimes Harry was surprised by the knowledge. “Whatever’s being done to stop him, I want to be a part of it.”

“Very well, then, Harry,” Remus said and squeezed the young man’s hands. “We’ll set firmer plans once we have our fourth.”

“You’ll be wanting Ron, I suppose,” Harry mused.

Remus’s eyes widened. “Indeed we do not,” he said.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “No?”

“Harry, the idea is to create conditions that resemble the original ones as closely as possible. You were the obvious choice to replace your father, but Ron...he’s far more intelligent than Peter ever was, and, well...” Remus coughed. “Peter and your father weren’t, er, romantically involved.”

Harry grimaced. “Goodness, I hope not!” That was one of the more disturbing images he’d had in some time. “Who were you thinking of?”

“Neville Longbottom.”

Grinning, Harry shook his head. “It’s been a long time since you were at Hogwarts; Neville’s not the boy you remember. The memory problems the Ministry created when they performed the Obliviate spell on him have stared to fade. He put on a growth spurt last summer, too. Grew right out of his clumsiness. Now he’s taller than Ron and, well, built. He’s turning quite a few heads at Hogwarts.”

Remus crossed his arms. “Hmm. Is that so? Sorry I had to miss that.” There was a warning growl from beneath the table. “All right, then,” Remus said, ignoring it, “Neville’s out, then. One of the Creevey brothers, perhaps?”

“I think it’s got to be Ron,” Harry insisted.

“Harry, I’m taking an enormous risk involving students in this endeavor. I thought of Neville because I knew his grandmother would approve – of this, if nothing else.” He smiled, thinking of the vast number of things of which the formidable Dame Longbottom did not approve. Then his eyes hardened, and his smile vanished. “One thing I will not risk is a situation where I would have to face Molly Weasley after something had happened to her youngest son.”

They both shuddered at the thought of having to face Ron’s mother under those conditions, but Harry held firm. “I don’t think we have a choice. May I show you something?” When Remus shrugged and nodded, Harry pulled out the wand box. “Three days ago, Ron and I were attacked by a Rumplestiltskin imp.”

Remus had to chuckle. “Yet another trait of the father that lives on in the son. Aurum transformare was one of Lily’s favorite spells, but James was absolutely hopeless at it. We took to bringing umbrellas every time he had to do it so we wouldn’t have imp pieces raining on us.”

Harry smiled. “Ron’s wand broke in the storm. Before I came here, I went to Mr Ollivander’s shop to buy him a new one, as a surprise. This is the one that turned out to be for him.” He opened the box, and Remus gaped much as he had done when he saw the workmanship.

“Harry, that may be the most beautiful wand I’ve ever seen. What is it?”

“Ash, eleven and three-quarters inches. Hippogriff feather.”

“Hippogriff...” Remus reached out and touched the wand tentatively. “The feather I brought to Ollivander.”

“He’s scared, Remus, and I have to say I’m starting to feel the same. Something’s going on, and it’s clear that someone means Ron and me to be a part of it.” Harry felt a weight settle on his thigh. He knew Sirius only wanted to comfort him, and it worked, but he was always somewhat disturbed when his godfather acted – well, when he acted so much like a dog.

Remus finished his butterbeer and simply looked at Harry for a moment, at a loss. Then he slid out of his chair. “I think, Harry, that Snuffles and I need a moment to contemplate this unexpected turn of events,” he said formally.

“I understand,” Harry said just as formally, rising. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Thank you.” Remus leaned over and hugged him. “We won’t be long.” He peered under the table. “Snuffles, heel!”

No other dog in the world would make such an indignant sound at such a simple command. Then again, no other dog in the world was Sirius Black. Chuckling, Harry returned to his chair and watched the closest thing he had left to parents disappear up the stairs to the room they had taken. He leaned back in his chair and reconciled himself to waiting – however long it took.

*

PART 6: Snuffles and the Professor Hash It Out

Up in the room he had taken, Remus bolted the door and pressed his forehead against the cool wood. “I don’t like it, Siri. Not one bit.” When he received no answer, he turned to find the large black dog still regarding him from the middle of the room. The dog cocked his head. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Sirius, can’t you behave for once?”

Giving himself a shake, Padfoot transformed back into Sirius. “I am behaving,” he insisted, earning a glare from Remus. "I thought it best to wait until the door was truly closed before I started shifting myself about."

“What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to get word to Dumbledore that he should send Ron Weasley to meet us here as soon as possible.”

“No!” Remus took a step into the room towards Sirius. “That is the last thing we’re going to do.” He dropped his head into his hands. “We can’t bring Ron into this, Sirius. It wouldn’t be fair to him.”

“It’s not fair to any of us, Moony,” Sirius said, closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms around Remus. “That’s what war is – one hideously unjust thing after another. But he’s got the wand – or will have, as soon as Harry gives it to him. There’s no mistaking a sign like that.”

“A sign.” Remus snorted and wriggled out of Sirius’s embrace. “What kind of sign pulls a boy like that into a mission like this?”

“He’s meant to be a part of the circle, just as Harry is.” Sirius’s eyes narrowed as he watched his mate stalk around the cramped room.

“But who means him to?” Remus turned suddenly, and at once Sirius understood his concern. “How can we be sure that Voldemort hasn’t orchestrated the entire thing?”

With a sigh, Sirius collapsed onto the bed. “We can’t.” He flopped down on his back, hand resting on his stomach, regarding Remus from a slightly tilted vantage point. He supposed he should be ashamed of wanting to shag the man senseless when he was clearly in the middle of a crisis. Then he sat up slowly. “Maybe this is the way it has to be.”

Remus turned from the window and looked over at him. “What do you mean, ‘has to be’?”

Sirius pulled his black hair back from his forehead and held it there as though trying to hold in his scattered thoughts. “Maybe what we need for the success of this spell isn’t four people who are exactly like the four people who did it the last time. I mean, it’d been done four times before that, and I wouldn’t imagine the people in any of those instances were anything like us.” He frowned, sensing his argument slipping away from him. Remus was the far better Arithmancitian. “Perhaps what’s wanted is an overall energy. We’ve been looking for someone to replace Pete, but maybe that’s the wrong approach.”

Remus leaned his weight on his right leg, letting his left hip jut forward. Crossing his arms over his chest, he glared at Sirius and practically dared him to continue. “The wrong approach?”

Sirius sighed. Completing this line of thought was going to be damnably difficult with Remus looking like that. “You and I aren’t the same now as we were then. And Harry, as much as he’s like Jamie, isn’t the same. So maybe choosing someone who’s like Pete would throw the calibration off too much, while Ron will balance it out.”

Remus actually looked like he was considering it, for a minute. “An interesting theory, Padfoot,” he began, and Sirius felt a little spark of pride kindle in his chest. “But who the hell would know something like that, hmmm?” Remus’s tone hadn’t changed at all, but the look in his eyes was a spray of cold water to Sirius's little spark of pride. “Who would know who was part of the spell the first time, and that we were attempting it again, and who we had in mind as replacements?”

“Severus?” Sirius asked weakly, knowing that joking with Remus was a bad idea right now but unable to stop himself.

“Don’t laugh this off, Sirius!” Remus smacked the end table. “This is Ron’s life.”

“This is also our lives,” Sirius spat, jumping off the bed. “Yours and mine and Harry’s and Hermione’s and Neville’s and even Snape’s, because if the Order doesn’t gain some victories soon we’re going to lose this war.”

“I know that.” The fight seeped out of Remus. “I wish I could believe we were going to have a victory.”

“There’s something larger than ourselves at work here, Remus,” Sirius said quietly, taking the other man’s hands in his. “Surely you sense that. Some force very much wanted for Ron to have that wand, and for him to be a part of our quest.”

Remus nodded sadly. “I’ve felt it. I just wish I could be sure that force wasn’t Voldemort’s doing.” He sighed and pulled his hands from Sirius’s. “Shall we go tell him we accept, then?”

Sirius smiled. “In a minute.” He put his hands on Remus’s shoulders and drew the other man in. “This first.”

There was no small bit of fear and desperation in that kiss. Sirius reassured Remus as best he could, but they understood all too well that, until the war was over, there would be no more guarantees.

A thundering rumble shook the building. Sirius pitched forward into Remus, who caught him easily. “What the hell was that?”

Remus shook his head and righted his spluttering partner. “I don’t know, but-“ He was cut off by another rumble. This time both men put their hands out to catch pieces of furniture as anchors, and Remus turned to the window.

“Moony?” Sirius continued to cling warily to a bedpost. “What is it? Can you see anything?”

Another shudder rocked them, and Remus turned slowly towards Sirius, his face pale. “There appears to be a river troll loose in Diagon Alley.”