Title: Swept Away
Author: Duckchick
Rating: PG
Summary: It's Christmas Eve morning, and Ginny is enjoying some time alone. That is, until Draco shows up to ruin her solitude. When his insults go too far, Ginny decides to give him a flying lesson he'll never forget!
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Email: duckchick@charter.net
Pairings: Draco/Ginny
Warnings: Lots of fluff!
Author's Note: The fact that this story takes place on Christmas Eve morning is the only thing Christmas-y about it. I had wanted to write something wonderful and warm, but my stories tend to write themselves, and this is what came out. I hope you enjoy it! Please read and review! Also, there's a picture I found that inspired my description of Ginny's outfit in this scene. It's by Archica, and you can view more of her HP art at http://clinically-cynical.com/magicalscribbles/
More of her anime art can be found at http://clinically-cynical.com/
I wrote this fic last year for a fic contest, so lots of the background info and characterisation doesn't take OotP into account.
Ginny Weasley walked along the shore of the lake and blew into her hands. The Christmas Eve morning was cold and brisk, and snow was beginning to fall. She'd awoke at dawn, surprisingly, and had impulsively decided to take a walk onto the grounds. She was glad she did, as the peace and stillness worked a calming and melancholy magic on her soul.
She tugged up at her leg warmers. Another impulsive decision had been to throw on her short pink skirt and gray sweater. Not too bright of her, considering the state of the weather, but it was one of Ginny's favorite outfits. Never mind that they were old and threadbare. Her hand shot out to catch her pink knit beret as it attempted to fly off of her head with a particularly strong gush of wind. It was also old, but it matched her skirt, and it was one of the few really cute outfits she owned.
Ginny smiled as she walked, looking around at the bare trees and leaden sky. The only sound was that of the wind blowing around her, and the soft splashing from the lake as the giant squid lazily skimmed the surface. It was nice to have a few moments alone. Having come from a big family, solitude was something she had barely known. She had been fortunate in having had her own room, if you could call it a room, but she had almost never been alone. Closing her eyes, she allowed the relative silence to seep into her soul, feeling a quickening of her pulse and tightness in her chest at the beauty of the feeling. Not a soul disturbed the peace, and even the falling snow served as a silencer, muffling her own steps.
But it was also freezing. Ginny found that her fingers, legs, and ears were beginning to hurt, so she turned her steps back towards the castle, anticipating a mug of hot cocoa. Another strong gust of wind made her quicken her steps as she felt the very moisture of her skin being leeched out by the chapping weather. As she began to trot, she wondered if Harry or Ron was awake. Hermione would most likely be, as she'd mentioned needing extra studying time for Ancient Runes. Knowing 'Mione, that meant she'd spend the whole day with her head in the text book! The image made Ginny laugh. They were accepting her, finally. Letting her sit with them at meal times and including her in almost everything they did, including Hogsmeade visits. It thrilled Ginny to finally be seen as a bit more than Ron's little sister by them, though that attitude hadn't completely disappeared. It might never disappear, she thought glumly. And as long as Harry continued to see her that way, he'd never love her the way she loved him.
Ginny's smile disappeared, replaced by a sigh. Harry and Cho had just broken up, and Ginny really felt badly for them both. Harry had spent the last week walking around tight lipped and irritable, refusing to talk about it to anyone except Ron. Ginny had seen Cho come out of the bathroom several times with red eyes, and when Cho saw Harry her expression seemed caught between sadness and fury. Obviously this had been painful to both, but Ginny didn't actually know what caused it, though she suspected Harry's tendency to lock himself away from others might have had something to do with it. He had affection aplenty for those he loved, and he'd freely given his heart to Cho. But his secrets, his dreams and nightmares, were things he kept to himself. Ginny was sure he thought no one else could handle those parts of him. He would never be able to make a relationship work until he could trust others to know him completely. Ron did, as did Hermione, and they were flashing neon signs to the fact that it was possible to open himself up and not be hurt. But Harry only wanted others to be happy, and saw his inner demons as deterents to contentment.
She shook her head, trying to rid herself of these sad thoughts. It was Christmas Eve, a time to be thankful for everyone you loved and cared about. Harry would be alright, and so would Cho. It would just take a little Christmas cheer and cider. Cider! Just thinking of the warm drink made her long for it. She was quite chilly, and in need of something to toast her back to normal. She smiled once more as she looked at the entrance of the school. The doors were wrapped in boughs of evergreen pine, and the falling snow gave it an added festive touch. Inside there were the never melting ice sculptures of snowflakes floating through the Great Hall, warm snow falling, and the twelve trees decorated in fairy lights and tinsel. Her particular favorite had multi-coloured fairy lights and silver tinsel paired with glowing glass ornaments of blue, red, and green, and a real fairy sitting atop it. Ginny loved staring at that one because it reminded her of the Christmas tree at home.
She was lost in thought, and consequently didn't hear the broom flying above her. It wasn't until a snowball fell onto her head from above, causing her to scream in fright and the sudden shock of cold, that she knew she wasn't alone. Angrily brushing the snow off of her, she looked up to see a grinning Draco Malfoy regarding her.
"Morning Weasley," he drawled, "A bit cold for you to be walking about in that outfit isn't it?"
"Bastard!" She yelled, grabbing her beret from the ground, "So you decide to make it worse by throwing snow on me?"
"Well, you seem to be enjoying the weather dressed like that." He laughed, "I just thought I'd bring it home to you in a more personal way!"
She glared up at her most hated enemy, refusing to acknowledge the beauty of his face as his cheeks grew red from the wind, contrasting to his pale hair and storm gray eyes. "A more personal way? Malfoy, the only way you know how to get personal is when Pansy Parkinson is servicing' you in Filch's broom closet!"
"How did you find-" Draco's eyes widened, but his expression quickly smoothed back into its natural sneer, "Jealous, Weasley? Sorry, but I don't do Raggedy Ann dolls."
Ginny sputtered with rage, trying desperately to think of something scathing to say. He eyed her legs again, "You know, I might be able to talk myself into an exception for you."
"Go to hell!" she screamed and began marching back towards the castle. Draco watched her go with a malicious grin. Score one for Malfoy, he thought gleefully. But why let her get away? She was definitely a fun target, and he was enjoying the morning immensely in spite of the fact that flying in this weather usually turned him into a living ice cube. Rocking forward on his broom, he shot after her.
"Going to tell Ronnikins on me?" he hooted when he was directly above her again.
"Be careful, Malfoy," she snapped, "Santa doesn't bring presents to naughty boys!"
"What?" he yelled incredulously, bringing his broom down in front of her to block her path, "Don't tell me you still believe that rubbish!"
Ginny rolled her eyes, "Of course not, you twit! It was just an expression!"
"Of ignorance?" he sneered.
"Of my opinion of you!" she seethed.
"Oh, that really breaks my heart," he chuckled, "You don't want to see me cry now, do you?"
"Actually," she sneered back, startling him, "I'd adore seeing you roasted in a pudding!"
He pursed his lips, "Don't hold your breath, Weasley."
"Why don't you hold yours?" she asked sweetly, right before she placed both hands on his chest and shoved hard. Draco flew off the broom and landed in the snow. The shock of the cold snow on his already half frozen body made him cry out. He sat up so quickly his head spun, causing him to sputter and sway as he tried to regain his bearings. Blinking quickly, he looked over at Ginny
--Just in time to see her hop on his broom and fly off.
"Hey!" he shouted, standing up and racing after her. It was no use, she was flying over the lake now and doing rapid mid-air rolls. He stood staring at her, mouth open and eyes wide with incredulity. The stupid tart had stolen his broom!
Ginny, meanwhile, was having the time of her life. Oh sure, she was rapidly turning into a human icicle, but the thrill of flying Malfoy's Nimbus more than made up for her discomfort. The broom raced around with the slightest shifting of her body, and the smoothness of the ride made it exciting. She suddenly wanted to play Quidditch. She took the broom into a vertical climb, relishing the feel of leaving the world behind her. Then, when the lake was a puddle beneath her, she dropped into a spectacular dive, aiming right for the north end of the lake. Which was where Malfoy should be.
Faster and faster she went, tears streaming from her eyes and freezing against her temples and hairline. Her legs grew numb, and her hands stopped tingling. She was pushing things, she knew, and might end up having to go to the infirmary with a severe case of frost bite. But at the moment she didn't care. All that mattered was the rushing wind, the thrill of flight, and getting even with Malfoy. She could finally see him, a small black clad figure waving frantically at her. She grinned evilly and swooped straight for him.
Draco saw her speeding towards him and realized she was going much too fast to stop in time. He froze as she flew nearer and nearer. When she was only ten yards from the ground, and him, he let out a cry and rolled to the ground, throwing his hands over his head for protection. A split second later he heard a tremendous screech, then silence. He lay still for several seconds, wondering if Ginny had splattered all over the ground. He didn't like that image at all, and began to tremble slightly. What should he do?
Soft laughter broke in on his fearful wonderings, and he looked up in shock. There was Ginny, her feet on the broom, but kneeling demurely and looking at him with amusement. She was alive! Draco jumped to his feet, staring at both her and his broom, amazed to find both whole and intact.
"What the hell were you doing?" he asked blankly, not knowing what else to say.
"That," Ginny replied, "is called The Wronski Feint. I've noticed you can't do it, so I thought I'd give a demonstration."
"I'm trying to learn it!" he said defensively, more to be heard saying something than out of any real anger. He was still too shocked at what she'd done to think straight. Ginny laughed again and stood straight up on the broom. It was then he noticed her black lace up boots, which had been almost invisible against her gray leg warmers. The tops of her thighs were enticingly displayed this way. The boots kept her perfectly balanced on the brooms thin handle, and she leaned forward slightly to look him straight in the eye, a smile playing around her lips.
"Nice broom, Malfoy, thanks for letting me fly it." She said cheerily, and without taking her eyes from his leaped to the ground in front of him, blowing him a kiss as she flounced off.
Draco stared after her, feeling numb for a few moments longer. Then a slow smile curved his lips. Looks like I will make an exception for her, he thought smugly. It wasn't every day you met a girl like Ginny Weasley. He'd been watching her since the start of the semester, and had been impressed with how she'd blossomed over the summer. He also liked her newfound spark, so much more interesting than the little mousy fan girl who used to follow Potter around, hoping he'd notice her. Today she proved she had spirit, determination, courage, and sass. All of his doubts melted away in a moment. He'd made up his mind, she was going to be his.
Swinging his broom over his shoulder, he trotted off after her.
If We Could Only See--Chapter 17
Author: rockygirl
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The long night continues, and Draco finds that circumstances have handed him strange allies indeed. He's willing to endure them, however, if he can make sense of the insanity his life has become, including his hated rival's godfather, Sirius Black. But even as his deeper questions are answered, more pop up to take their place, and Draco begins to see that things which seemed to be set in stone are actually as transient as the wind. Meanwhile Caleb and Ginny defy Sirius's order to flee in favor of finding a real means of escape. But when the vampires return and catch them, the only real question to ask is: Can they run fast enough?
Disclaimer: JKR is Queen and owns everything!
Ginny finished rolling out the carpet and glared at Caleb, who was smiling apologetically at her. That is, until he looked at the carpet.
"I'm not sure about this, Ginny," he frowned, raising a hand to rub his chest, "I've never flown one of these things before, have you?"
"No," she replied shortly, "but it's our only chance. We can't keep waiting around while Sirius gathers information. He's doing what he's supposed to, but we're supposed to be back at Hogwarts."
"Good point, my dear," Caleb drawled, "but if neither of us can fly this woven sack of strings then I'm afraid we're going to have to wait on his Royal Gryffness."
Ginny shot a glare at the impudent young Slytherin as she knelt onto the carpet. "Do you have to crack jokes all of the time?" she retorted.
"Only when I'm awake," he grinned.
"Hmph!"
Caleb's lack of encouragement made Ginny fume, but his wit had yet to miss the mark for her. Consequently, she found herself angrier at the fact that she was having to bite back a smile at his statement than at anything he was actually doing. Or not doing, as the case may be. She bit her lips hard and tossed her tangled hair as Morgan, whom Ginny had almost forgotten, cocked her head and stared at them.
"The first thing we'll want to try is a basic levitation spell," she said in clipped tones, ignoring the werewolf, "from there we'll try to see if we can jinx it into doing something."
"Oh, that should work very well," Caleb rolled his eyes. Morgan whoffed slightly, suddenly standing and trotting over to Ginny, who glared at the ground in response.
"Do you have a better idea?" she snapped, raising her eyes to Caleb.
"Yes, I do. Let's get ourselves to that drafty old barn and wait for Mr. Black and our dear Malfoy to return. It'll be a sight safer than trying to fly something we've never flown before."
"Why don't I kick you where you've never been kicked before," Ginny growled, scowling. Caleb threw his head back and laughed while Morgan yipped, an almost amused sound.
"Heavens, Miss Weasley, I had no idea your wit was so sharp! I'll have to ask Draco next time I see-"
"Are you going to help me or not?" she interrupted, standing abruptly and turning from him so he wouldn't see the tell tale flush on her face.
"Of course I am, fair damsel," he replied with a smile. "I dare not refuse such a determined young woman. I've heard rumor of your Bat Bogey Hex, it's something of a legend!"
Ginny pursed her lips slightly, obviously trying not to smile as she shook her head. She just couldn't seem to stay angry with the impetuous Anderson.
"All right then, Wingardium Leviosa," she commanded, pointing her wand at the carpet.
It rose about four feet off the ground and Ginny grinned at Caleb, hope flaring in her heart. Grabbing his hand, she stepped onto the carpet and dragged him with her, though he seemed reluctant.
"What's wrong with you?" she laughed, her spirits lifting as the carpet continued to hover. "We're halfway there."
"Maybe we are, but maybe we aren't," Caleb replied gloomily as he eyed the carpet suspiciously. "We're levitating, now how do we fly?"
"Well, let's use a basic flying charm," she said, lifting her wand again.
"No, let me try this one." Caleb grabbed her wrist, a grin on his face. "I know a few incantations that might do the trick."
"So do I," she said with a touch of impatience. Caleb's grin only widened.
"I'm willing to bet I know a few more than you do. Let me try it out, alright? Besides, how else am I supposed to feel like your rescuer?"
"You're impossible," Ginny observed, her lips pursing.
"All part of my irresistible charm; now stand back."
Ginny stepped off the carpet and caught Morgan staring at her. With a slight glare she turned her back on the werewolf and focused on Caleb's effort.
"Volare," he whispered. "Come to me, Winds of the Four Corners!"
Ginny felt a breeze stir her hair, but wondered if that was part of the spell. Then she wondered if they should be standing on the levitating carpet in case it tried to leave without them.
"Asportare, into the sky and beyond!"
The breeze had strengthened noticeably, and Ginny turned wide eyes on Caleb, impressed. She didn't know what particular spell he was using, but wasn't surprised that he had a few tricks up his sleeve. He was a Slytherin, after all.
Very suddenly she saw Draco's face in her mind, smirking with superiority, his eyes burning with some nameless emotion. His hair wasn't as sleek as normal, and his skin seemed a bit dusty. Not the tidy Draco she knew from school, and she felt a ripple of warmth spread through her. Slytherin...
A withered leaf smacked into her face, bringing her attention back to the moment. The wind was now blowing hard and Caleb was watching the carpet intently. It had risen another foot, but was otherwise hovering as before. With a slight shake Ginny banished her disturbing thoughts and stepped towards it.
"What now?" she cried over the wind.
"Now we get on and test it. I've never actually tried this spell, it's the base spell for racing brooms. Might be a bit tricky to handle."
"Only one way to find out," she shrugged and clambered on. Caleb followed, walking to one end of the carpet and pointing his wand forward. The wind increased, whipping their hair around them. Then Ginny felt the carpet move. Her heart leaped forward.
"Yes!" she screamed, leaping on Caleb to hug him. With an appreciative grin Caleb tried to wrap his arms around her, but she laughingly pushed him off before he could.
"Concentrate!" she commanded.
"Yes, ma'am!" Caleb extended his wand out and up. The carpet moved forward again, but Ginny didn't feel it rising. She was about to comment on this when a loud bark and a dark shape leaping onto the carpet next to her made her jump and gasp.
"Was wondering what she'd do," Caleb shouted, looking down at Morgan with a not-quite-friendly eye. Ginny opened her mouth to suggest they push her back off when another shape dropped from the tree branches onto the carpet next to her. Before she could do more than jump in fright, the figure snapped forward and grabbed her, spinning her around to pin her arms from behind.
"Caleb!" she screamed, struggling and kicking to get free. Caleb was looking at her with wide eyes, his face drained of color. That was when Ginny saw Relah emerge from the shadows and run straight at Caleb. Before she could scream out a warning a hand slammed over her mouth, causing Ginny to squirm and whimper in pain. By the time she was able to look again Relah had the young Slytherin in a headlock, his face turning purple as he struggled to free himself from her crushing grip.
"Stay still or I'll kill you this moment," a voice hissed furiously in Ginny's ear. It was the Celt, and Ginny immediately went limp, her memory of almost being suffocated by him suddenly fresh in her mind.
"Now, where is Malfoy?" he whispered in a softer, but no less furious, tone. Ginny shook her head, indicating she didn't know. But the Celt wouldn't accept this.
"Relah," he said in an icy voice, "if she refuses to answer my question in a way I find acceptable, crush the boy's skull."
Ginny felt her heart stop for a moment, her whole body going numb at the pronouncement. The Celt slowly removed his hand from Ginny's mouth, then used it to pin her arms more securely. Relah was wearing an eager grin, looking at Ginny as if she hoped she would lie.
She wants to kill us, Ginny thought miserably, certain that the female would kill Caleb regardless of her answer. And she wouldn't be punished either, because Draco was their objective.
"Miss Weasley, where is Draco Malfoy?"
Ginny opened her mouth to answer, but hesitated in her response. She couldn't be sure they'd accept that she didn't know. She needed to stall for time!
"He was here," she began slowly, "and his leg was broken. But"
"Yes, his leg was broken," Relah interrupted, frowning. "How was it mended? And how did you two get your wands?"
"Iwell, that's a bit complicated. You see"
"Laighlinne, didn't you have their wands?" Relah broke in again, looking at her leader in puzzlement.
"I gave them to Samson for safekeeping," the Celt replied.
"That oaf?" Relah spat. "He's useful, Laighlinne, but he's dead stupid! He either dropped them or"
"Enough!" Laighlinne roared, pushing Ginny forward, no longer trapping her but keeping a death grip on her arm. "The boy can't be far and we need to find him. I'm going to ask you just once more where he's gone, Miss Weasley, and if you don't answer me I'll kill the both of you right here!"
Ginny pulled herself weakly away, wanting to get free of the Celt but knowing she wouldn't succeed. She felt her heart pounding faster than she'd ever thought possible, and the numbness returned. This is it, she thought, we're dead. The tears threatened to return, but Ginny was sick of crying. If this was to be her end, she wasn't going to die on her knees, so to speak.
"I don't know where he is," she cried, "Someone came andand mended his leg. Then he took Draco with him. That's all I know!"
"You lie," Relah snapped, dragging Caleb forward as she walked towards Ginny, "You know where he's gone, and"
Relah stopped speaking, lifting her face and inhaling deeply.
"Someone has been here," the Celt said softly, looking first at Ginny, then at Caleb. "Who was it?"
"We can track them," Relah said suddenly. "Let's just kill them and go."
Laighlinne opened his mouth to reply, but before he could a dark shape suddenly leapt out of the bushes next to them, attacking him. Both he and Ginny, who was still caught in his iron grip, tumbled to the ground.
Relah screamed his name and ran to them, releasing Caleb. The young Slytherin wasted no time. Diving for his wand, he began to run for the cover of the trees. The Celt released Ginny at the same moment, and as Caleb ran past Ginny called his name but the young man didn't stop.
Damn you Slytherins! she thought furiously, lifting herself from the ground and running after him without looking back. As she reached the edge of the clearing Ginny heard a yelp of pain and half turned to look back, but she couldn't see anything. It was probably Morgan, Ginny thought, feeling a blind panic threatening to overwhelm her again. Forcing herself to run faster, she tore after Anderson with all the speed she could muster.
*************
Draco walked quickly beside the silent Black, his mind whirling with too much information. The spy had not been whom he'd expected, and the information he'd received had blasted all of his ill formed suspicions to dust. He knew more than he had an hour ago, but his understanding of things was even less. What was going on?
"We need to hurry," Sirius interrupted his chaotic thoughts, "if our source is right, Ginny and your friend will be sitting ducks in that barn."
"If they went there at all," Draco mumbled, quickening his pace.
"What?" Sirius frowned.
"You know her," Draco replied irritably, "anything could distract her and pull her off in another direction. For all we know she could be trying to walk back to Hogwarts!"
"I highly doubt that," Sirius pursed his lips, "She isn't that stupid."
"No, but she's that brave," Draco growled. "Which is almost the same thing," he added in an undertone.
"Do, please, try to keep your whining to a minimum," Sirius bit out coldly, "It's irritating."
"So's your presence," Draco snapped, "but you don't hear me complaining."
"Oh yes I do, about everything. Do me a favor and untwist your knickers, all right?"
"I'm not wearing knickers," the younger man mumbled sullenly. Sirius wrinkled his nose.
"I didn't need to know that," he said with mild disgust. Draco shrugged and continued walking. His head was bowed and his eyes unfocused, and Sirius thought he seemed to be bearing a great weight on his shoulders.
Must be terrible, being a rich boy with too many connections, he thought with a touch of amused irony. The boy had fallen victim to a scheme to discredit his father, and Sirius felt a bit sorry for him. Still, rich boys occasionally needed a good kick in their perspective. It tended to bring on a measure of maturity.
He looked over at Draco slyly, whose frown had taken on a slightly petulant air, and smirked.
Sometimes it brought maturity, but the amount was pretty variable. From the looks of things it might do no good here. Sirius's smirk widened as he thought of Lucius Malfoy.
Couldn't blame the boy, really, for a familial defect. He hurriedly repressed a snicker.
"What are you laughing at?" Draco immediately pounced on an excuse to be angry.
"Nothing," Sirius replied smoothly. "We'd better hurry."
"Why? They're probably hiding in a tree or something." Draco looked around with mild interest.
"What?" Sirius was really feeling the urge to belt the young Slytherin.
"Like I said, she's liable to do anything. And it will be the last thing you'll expect."
Sirius's frown deepened as he stared at Draco. "You seem to think you have her down pat," he said with false smoothness.
Draco stiffened slightly, "It doesn't take much to know a Weasley," he said dismissively, "they adore appearing the rebels."
"Ah," Sirius's brow smoothed. "That's no way to talk about a girl who's saved your scrawny neck and defended you rather vigorously."
"And I'm not ungrateful," Draco replied, a small amount of sarcasm in his voice, "but she's certainly lived up to my expectations. Reminds me of her brother."
"And I think she'd be honored to hear you say that," Sirius snapped.
Draco sneered nastily, "Must be that Gryffindor pride."
Sirius's fist curled, "Yes, quite unlike that Slytherin cunning which waits to see who's winning before deciding what to do."
"At least we're on the winning side," Draco smirked, feeling his gut grow icy.
"At what cost?" Black responded instantly. Draco fell silent as they continued to hurry towards the barn. Cost was nothing, only power mattered. To have power over friends and enemies alike, power to make them crawl on their bellies to youthat was what mattered. Cost wasn't a consideration because the end result would far outstrip what one paid.
The words had never felt so hollow to Draco before, especially now that he was running for his life from people who were supposed to be allied to his family. Did his father go through this often? Was power really worth having to constantly fight off those who were eager to take it from you?
"I've already had this argument," he said through clenched teeth, "and I'm in no mood to rehash it."
"Did you?" Sirius asked with interest, "How badly did you lose? I'm betting you argued with Ginny."
"No, actually, I argued with the other Slytherin," Draco replied sarcastically, "and I didn't lose."
"Funny, how I hear so many of you say that," Black smirked, "yet you can listen to your parents for hours as they spout the most ridiculous rhetoric imaginable, so I guess it comes down to Slytherins being selectively blind and deaf. I suppose it's no wonder none of you lose an argument!"
Draco said nothing, preferring instead to slow his pace so he could fall behind Black and not have to look at him. He refused to give the older man the satisfaction of knowing he'd hit on a sore point.
Dead teenage boys whose lives had been snuffed out for no better reason than the hunger of bloodthirsty creatures, human beings looked upon as nothing more than cattle to be slaughtered when it was time to feast. But did that count? At least at least the boy's death had served an understandable purpose. But wasn't the cleansing of the wizarding populace a noble and worthy cause? He'd been taught his whole life that it was, that Halfbloods and Mudbloods fouled their race, sunk the honor and prestige of the old, established ruling families and the wizarding community in general. But then why did they happen? Why were magical children born to Muggles in the first place? It couldn't be a simple accident of nature, as his father so often dismissed it as. There were too many of them. And why were Pureblood families becoming more rare? Why did the accident of being born outside the wizarding world mean you were unworthy to join it? Why did the absence of magic from your being make you unworthy to live?
Why had he always accepted that these things were so, never once questioning their logic or sense?
He shook his head, not wanting to reflect on these deep and disturbing considerations which called into question everything he'd held as truth. Instead he thought of the moment the spy had stepped from the shadows of the trees. He'd been a small, slender male who moved with an almost effeminate grace, speaking rapidly and succinctly, and allowing no questions. The heads of the vampire nation were still willing to cooperate with the Ministry, and had planted a spy directly in with a group of organized rebels who'd joined up with Voldemort's forces. That particular spy had been in contact with the one Draco and Sirius had met earlier (who was actually just the middleman obtaining information), and confirmed that a member of the Inner Circle itself was moving to destroy the Malfoy family. The first moves had been designed to show up the Malfoys as weak, which prompted the false explosion attack on Draco at Hogwarts. Draco had tried to protest that the explanation made no sense, as attacking him would hardly discredit his father, but the snooty vampire had waved him into silence, insisting that this was the only information he had about the attacks at school. He did, however, have more on the attacks against Lucius and Narcissa. Draco had been shocked into silence at these words.
"My parents were attacked?" he'd whispered.
"Not exactly," the skinny vampire replied, "Lucius Malfoy hasn't been directly attacked, but the family business interests have been interrupted, or interfered with. I don't know how. Your mother, on the other hand, has been attacked twice. Once as she was leaving a theater performance in London, which was thwarted by Nigel Parkinson. The second attack happened last Tuesday. Malfoy Mansion was breached, and your mother only escaped by taking refuge in one of the secret rooms in the wine cellar, I'm told."
Draco had stared, his head whirling with images of his mother being chased through the labyrinthine halls of Malfoy Mansion by cloaked figures. The secret rooms would have been perfect, as they only opened if you used the correct passwords, and the passwords were known only to the three Malfoys. Fury began to boil through him. How, how had the intruders gained entrance to Malfoy Mansion? It was one of the most impenetrable dwellings in the entire wizarding world! Someone had to have breached the trust of his father, a close friend or a servant. The thought made Draco tremble with anger, and after a few moments he'd foolishly jumped forward and tried to grab the vampire to demand more information. The creature had pushed Draco away with one hand, sending him flying into some thorny bushes. Draco scowled with remembered humiliation. Black had helped him up and they'd taken their leave directly. Draco had no idea what they themselves had spoken of.
"Wait," Sirius raised a hand to stop Draco from advancing any further. Irritated, the young blond shot a glare at the older man.
"What? Do you hear the flapping of wings?" Draco asked sarcastically.
"And if I do?" Sirius retorted in a distracted voice, his face tilted towards the sky.
Then I'll run, Draco thought irritably. He was particularly ruffled about his own choice of words. After all, vampires fly by all sorts of means, or so he'd been taught. What if they were descending this moment?
Then Black will tell me to run, then we'll get caught, and finally we'll die, he mused, wondering if death would be such a bad idea compared to all this running and fright and intrigue.
Then he heard a scream.
Draco stiffened, his attention flying in the direction the scream had come. It was Ginny. She wasn't here at the barn! Sirius grabbed the cloth of Draco's robes and began to run. "Come on!"
Draco didn't need to be told twice. He began to tear ahead of Black, a cold feeling in the pit of his belly. The stupid vampires had caught her, and both she and Caleb were dead if he wasn't there with them.
"Slow down, Malfoy," he heard Black hiss loudly from behind, "we don't know who else is there!"
But this only spurred Draco to run faster. If reinforcements had arrived then their focus would be to find him, and their interest in keeping his friends alive would vanish
Did I just call them my friends? a detached voice in his mind wondered. But he had no time to consider this at all; he had to get back to the clearing since the idiots obviously hadn't left it. He privately vowed then to strangle them both.
"Malfoy!" Black hissed louder, and from further away. A small part of Draco rejoiced in leaving the insufferable fugitive behind. Maybe now he'd get some peace from the bastard's constant goading.
Right at that moment, as Draco hit top speed, he slammed into a solid object face first, knocking the wind out of him. He felt himself hang in the air for a moment, bright stars exploding in his vision, then felt his body fly backwards and slam into the ground. What little oxygen he'd had left escaped him, and he felt the world start to recede and grow dark.
Title: Ode to a Phoenix
Author Name: Emily Anne
Author email: Persephone_uk@hotmail.com
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sirius may have kept his mind in Azkaban, but it wasn't easy. One night, the hope he so desperately clings to starts to slip away and the constant threat of insanity starts to seep in.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Very loosely inspired by the John Keats poem, 'Ode to a Nightingale,' this rather trippy vignette was the first HP fic I ever wrote. I posted it many months ago on ff.net, but this is a slightly revised version. It is, however, no less odd. Be aware that the language is extremely (and deliberately) heightened throughout this.
Is this death?
I was once so full of life I never gave a thought to the absence of it, but I think this may be death that comes for me now. A dull monotony seeps through the cracks in the walls and into my head, lying heavy on my heart, threatening to envelope me, lulling me into an easy, painless void. How I wish I could sink down ... down ...
But every time I do, they come back.
I was told Dementors have no sound, but that was a lie. They carry voices with them everywhere they go and they put them inside my head ... they do, they put them inside my head ... voices screaming; cries that won't let me go. They claw at me, pounding in my ears, flashing before my eyes, invading my mouth and choking my throat. I try screaming to silence them, but it never works. They never leave me. Even in the few precious moments of quiet I know they're there, waiting to maul me once more.
But not tonight.
Tonight the voices are forced into an awed silence when I hear the song of a phoenix come to rescue me. It is the most beautiful sound I have ever heard. I can see her ... that benevolent bird with her crimson grandeur circling overhead. The merciless winds of the North Sea are assaulting her with all their might but she just keeps on singing, utterly unscathed. That melodious voice warms the air and turns all the grey to gold.
The ache inside me is lifted when I hear that voice. She has come for me! I always knew she would. She has come to take me back to the other world. Somewhere, I know, there is a forest clearing filled with sunlight and I can hear the laughter. James, Lily, Remus and Peter - yes, even Peter! - they are all waiting for me, faces flushed, running barefoot through the dewy grass, goblets of frothy Butterbeer and sweet pumpkin juice strewn across the ground. They are all fifteen again, as am I.
Yes, she has come to take me back to that secret summer place of youth and vivacity. That unseen forest clearing where we were hidden from our real lives, where we were untouched by death or despair and where betrayal was a word we had never heard. We could forget about that constant shadow that hung over us. There was no danger there; no old men shaking their sorrowful heads or young men dying before their time. No yesterday, no tomorrow, just the hope and peace of now.
Phoenix! I know you are there! Come hold me safe in your wings and cry your tears of joy to heal my wounds. Shield me from the cold and lead me out of hell into heaven. It is so bright in that Arcadia that I will need you to protect me, for my eyes are not used to light.
Here, there is no light, not even the light of the moon by which I used to run wild and free. Is the moon still there? It has been so long since I saw it I wonder sometimes. Phoenix, will you show me the moon? Fly me up to where I can touch the brightest star in the sky so my friends will see it and know I am alive. Let it be a full moon tonight so that when I have found them we can go on another great adventure and everything will be as it should be.
Please, Phoenix, I know you are there! Why won't you come for me?
Was I right? Am I dead? Is that why you won't come? You, Phoenix, will never die. Man or beast could rip you apart and tear your soul from your breast and still you would rise, stronger and more resplendent than ever before.
You, Phoenix, were there before the beginning of time and you will be there beyond the end of eternity, while I will still be here, trapped in the fortress of my mind. You have seen the children born and the old men die. You have seen the kings crowned and the battles won and lost. You were there when the ancient oak was but a sapling. You have watched the age-revealing moss grow. You have seen life.
Phoenix, please! I beg of you! Your song fills my ears, tantalising me, torturing me, reminding me that there is a world of Elysian fields that will not accept me. Have you come here to deceive me, Phoenix? Do you, wisest and kindest of creatures, do you hate me like the others? Have you come to punish me too?
Then leave me! You, with your death-defying grace, leave me! I cannot die with you here. I can only dream of a life I am not allowed to live. With you here I can feel the prick of the thorns, but I cannot smell the roses. I can feel the burn of the sun, but not appreciate its warmth. I can hear the trickle of the stream but not taste its cool freshness.
Leave me!
Leave me in the darkness to which I have been damned! I have tried to forget that other world where once I knew what it was to smile and laugh; where hope was not just a word with no meaning. So hard have I tried to forget, and nearly succeeded, too ... until you came tonight, singing your soft-throated melody, pulling me back to the world but not taking me to it.
Leave me, now! I cannot stand the envy of your freedom. The voices grow restless. They yearn to scream and wail, louder and sharper than ever before. The laughter that I heard in that forest clearing now becomes a cursed death rattle; the softness of your feathers becomes a fist thumping into me; a knife cutting my flesh.
Phoenix ... have you gone? Did you come to me in a dream? I cannot see your gentle radiance, nor hear your aria of Eden, but somehow I know you are there. When will you come for me, come to set me free, fly me away so that we might rise from the ashes together?
Nothing. She is gone.
When will you come for me, Phoenix?
Title: Christmas on the Dai Llewellyn Ward
Author name: Emily Anne
Author email: persephone_uk@hotmail.com
Summary: Lupin strolled away from the bed and over to the werewolf, who had no visitors and was looking rather wistfully at the crowd around Mr Weasley Its the happiest day of the year, and the bleakest time of his life, until a complete stranger reaches out to him.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Bran knew it was rude of him to stare. He tried to pretend he was really interested in his hospital Christmas dinner, with it's lovely over-cooked vegetables and delicious dry turkey, and not feeling bitter that that redheaded idiot who claimed he was friends with a werewolf (yeah, right, who'd want to be friends with a werewolf?) had ten people visiting him, while he himself hadn't even got a card from his mum and dad.
The idiot -Arthur, or whatever his name was - starting telling his wife about that half-witted idea he and that Augustus boy had had about using some Muggle remedy on his wounds, and the three older boys hurried out of the ward as she rounded on him. The four teenagers stayed where they were, but looked a bit apprehensive suddenly, and the middle-aged man in the shabby coat walked away from Arthur's bed and, for some reason, went over to Bran.
"Merry Christmas," the man said, smiling warmly.
"Thank you. Same to you," Bran said, attempting to sit up straight in his bed and giving up when the sudden movement made the pain in his arm throb ever harder.
The man pointed to one of the chairs by the bed. "Mind if I sit down?"
"Feel free."
"I'm Remus, by the way," he said as he sat down. "Remus Lupin." He held out his hand.
"Bran Mallory," Bran said. "Sorry, I can't..." he indicated his right arm, which was covered in bandages.
Remus lowered his hand and smiled. "It's all right. Looks like a nasty wound. Is it still painful?"
"Yeah," Bran replied, looking away from Remus and back towards Arthur's bed. "So, are you lot all family?"
"In a manner of speaking," Remus answered, looking over to where the four teenagers were suddenly rushing out of the room. "The redheads are, of course, and the rest of us have managed to latch ourselves onto them."
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT'S THE GENERAL IDEA?"
They both jumped as Arthur's wife started bellowing at her husband. Remus looked as though he was trying not to laugh as he stood up and pulled the flowery curtains around the bed rail. Instantly the privacy charm kicked in and all the noise outside was subdued.
"Sorry to shut out the decorations," Remus said.
"It's all right, they were driving me mad anyway. There's only so many times I can hear that clockwork elf sing, Have Yourself a Healthy Little Christmas before I shove my Brussel Sprouts up its nose."
Remus chuckled and strolled casually back to his seat. "So, what are you in for?"
"Like the sign says - Serious Bites," Bran said, trying not to sound too evasive.
Remus nodded sagely. There was a moment of silence before he looked Bran right in the eye and said, "You must have been in here a while if you were bitten by a werewolf. The last full moon was nearly three weeks ago."
Any joy Bran may have felt at having someone - even a total stranger - pay him some attention on Christmas day was instantly extinguished. He'd actually been gullible enough to think Remus was just being friendly, spreading a bit of festive cheer by making small talk with a poor, lonely man.
"Great," he said, tearing his eyes away from Remus, who he was now sure had only come over to mock him. "I'm not even out of hospital yet and already a complete stranger knows my business."
"Sorry."
"Why did you even bother asking?" Bran spat, still not looking back at Remus. "I bet you've all been gossiping about me, haven't you? Ooh, there's a werewolf in the hospital! How horrible and evil and nasty!"
"Not at all," Remus said, his voice irritatingly calm. "Arthur's wife mentioned it to me because she thought I might be interested."
Bran stared straight ahead at the curtains.
"Arthur told you he knows a werewolf, didn't he?"
He started to count the flowers.
"That he's friends with one?"
One pink ... one blue ... one yellow.
"Well, that's me."
It took a moment for Bran to register what Remus had just said. When he was sure he had really heard what his ears seemed to be telling his brain he thought he'd heard, there was really only one thing he could think of to say.
"Oh."
He looked back and Remus smiled at him again, not a pitying, patronising smile like those he'd been getting from the healers, but one of understanding.
"Your arm really does look painful."
"You should have seen it three weeks ago. I was bleeding so much they didn't know whether I was going to survive or not. Don't know why they bothered trying to save me."
"Don't talk like that."
"Look," Bran said irritably, "if you've just come over here to spout more trite platitudes at me, you're wasting your breath. I've heard it and I'm not interested." He turned away from Remus once more and began prodding with his fork at his now cold stuffing.
"Let me guess," Remus said, easing back into his chair. "The Healers have been telling you that everything will be fine, it's not as painful as you think, you'll be able to handle it, and you'll have no problems leading a normal life."
"Sums it up."
"They're lying."
Bran still didn't look at him, but he stopped playing with his food and actually listened now.
Remus leaned forward again. "Everything will most certainly not be fine, it's more painful than you can imagine, there will be times when you won't be able to handle it and your life is going to be anything but normal from now on."
"I think I liked their version better."
"You'll probably find that a lot of people hate you now," Remus continued, unperturbed. "Most people don't understand lycanthropy. I still come across people who think I'll pass it onto them by shaking their hand. Everyone knows werewolves are violent and dangerous and yet they can't equate that with that fact that you can only become a werewolf if you are bitten by one at the full moon, and bitten hard enough that blood is drawn, enough blood to get the disease inside you."
Bran swallowed hard a few times, trying to choke down the lump that was forming in his throat.
"You'll find that a lot of people are afraid of you," Remus went on, his voice getting softer. "You'll catch people staring at you, wondering if you're going to attack them at any moment. I've met people who think that the wolf is the real me and this human face is just a disguise, that I'm constantly overcome with blood lust and I'm liable to attack them at any moment. It's just ignorance."
Bran stared at the ceiling. The lump in his throat was now accompanied by a burning in his cheeks. He wished they, and Remus, would just go away.
But Remus pressed on still.
"There'll also be people who say that they don't care what you are now, that they know you're still you, no matter what happens at the full moon, but sometimes you'll find that even they won't touch you or that they'll always find an excuse to leave your company before the moon rises, no matter what time of the month it is."
"If you're trying to cheer me up, you're not doing a very good job," Bran said, surprising even himself at how hard his voice sounded.
"I'm just trying to be honest with you."
"Yeah, well don't bother, all right?" he snapped, turning to look at Remus finally. "I'm not interested in joining your little wolfy club."
"Tough."
"Excuse me?"
"I said, 'tough'. You don't have a choice in the matter. This isn't something that's just going to disappear if you ignore it. Like it or not, you are a werewolf now, and unless some pioneer comes along with a miracle cure, you're going to be a werewolf for the rest of your life. The sooner you accept that, the better."
They stared at each other, Bran scowling, Remus gentle but steely.
Bran jerked his head away in disgust and stared once more at the falsely cheerful curtains. He balled the fingers on his good hand into a tight fist. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Remus casually leaning back in his chair, flicking through a magazine Bran had left on his bedside cabinet. If he hadn't been lying in a hospital bed, covered in bandages, Bran felt that he would have very much liked to hit this man. How dare he just come over here and start interfering like this? How dare he have the gall to be all righteous? How dare he assume that Bran wanted anyone to be honest with him? He just wanted to be left alone.
He stole a quick glance at Remus, who was now picking at a loose thread on his shabby overcoat. Remus' eyes flickered upwards and met Bran's for a second or two. He smiled, but Bran snapped his head away again. After a minute or so he chanced another look back. Remus was still looking at him, still smiling in that annoyingly serene way.
But in that moment Bran realised something else. There was no fear or judgement in Remus' eyes. When the Healers had come to talk to him their words had been kind and understanding, their voices deceptively mild, but they hadn't been able to disguise the fact that they were afraid of him now, that they thought he was less of a person because he had this disease inside him, and that they believed he would have been better off dead.
"When did you..." Bran began. "I mean, how long have you..."
"Been a werewolf?" Remus finished for him. "I was six when I was bitten."
"Six?" Bran said, so suddenly that he nearly upset the tray on his lap. "Bloody hell, that's harsh."
"Indeed. There was no Wolfsbane Potion in those days either, so my parents just had to lock me up every full moon."
"Yeah, the Healers have been telling me about that stuff. Does it really help?"
Remus nodded. "Very much so. It's possibly the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted - and I include manure flavoured Bertie Botts Beans in that - but it does help. It doesn't alleviate the pain of the transformations but you keep your mind, that's the main thing. It's quite nice really, in the middle of winter, to just curl up by the fire, covered in fur, and go to sleep, a harmless wolf."
"They told me I wouldn't be able to get it free on the W.H.S, though."
"No. They've been sneaky, you see, and defined the potion as being treatment for werewolves rather than humans with lycanthropy. Because werewolves are classified as 'beasts' the health service won't pay for the potion. We have to buy it privately, and it's ... not cheap."
"No, I didn't imagine it would be."
"You can make it yourself, of course, if you're any good at making potions. Are you any good?"
"I did it at N.E.W.T - got an O."
"Well, there you go, you're all set!"
Remus grinned at him and Bran couldn't help giving him a half-smile in return.
He shifted his dinner tray, which was becoming uncomfortably heavy on his legs, a little further down the bed. Remus jumped up from his seat, picked the tray up, and set it down on top of the magazines on the bedside cabinet.
"Thanks. Is that what you do, then?" Bran said, as Remus sat down again. "Make the potion yourself?"
"I've attempted it a couple of times, but I was always a bit rubbish at potions, to be honest. However, an ex-colleague of mine, who's an excellent potions maker, was kind enough to make a batch for me recently, and a friend of mine just bought me a year's supply of it as part of my Christmas present."
Bran raised his eyebrows. "Wow. Good friend."
"Yeah, he is," Remus said, a wistful smile playing across his face.
"Hang on," Bran said, furrowing his brows. "You just said 'ex-colleague'. Do you..."
"No, I don't have a job," Remus admitted. "Finding and keeping a full time job is nigh on impossible when your name is on the Werewolf Register."
"Oh, God, the Register." He had forgotten all about that. The infamous Werewolf Register, open to the public, available in every wizarding library, detailing every living lycanthrope in Britain. "I'll have to go on it, won't I?"
"It's the law," Remus said, though from his tone of voice Bran suspected he thought it shouldn't be.
"Anyone can see that Register. Anyone could see my name on it."
Remus shifted in his seat, leaned forward again, and looked at Bran very seriously. "Mr Mallory ... don't lie to anyone about what you are. People will always find out eventually. You'll just end up providing ammunition for those who'll reject you because of it, because they'll think you're ashamed, and hurting those who'll accept you despite it because they'll think you didn't trust them."
Bran didn't say anything. He felt utterly wretched and worse than ever. Not that he was feeling particularly wonderful before. What a great Christmas this was.
"So, are you married?" Remus said, with the air of someone trying to awkwardly change the subject.
"No."
"Girlfriend?"
"No."
"Boyfriend?"
"I live on my own."
"What about your parents? Have you, er ... have you told your family about this?"
"No."
"Well you probably should. I know it's scary, but they might surprise-"
"One of the Healers told them for me," Bran said, cutting him off. He gave Remus a depreciating smile. "They haven't been to see me."
"I'm so sorry." He sounded like he really meant it, which actually made Bran feel a bit better.
"I'm not surprised," he admitted. "They think Dolores Umbridge had the right idea. You should have heard my dad when that segregation law was passed." Bran puffed out his cheeks and put on a pompous-sounding voice. "It's about bloody time someone did something about this. It's all getting out of hand, werewolves working in the ministry and teaching children, it's ridiculous! They should all be locked up!" He smiled humourlessly as he looked down at his battered arm. "Thing is I never thought to disagree with him," he said very quietly. There was a moment of silence, with neither of them quite sure what to do, before Bran turned back to Remus and said, "I take it your parents were fine and dandy about it? Organising werewolf pride marches and storming the Ministry, campaigning for better rights for their son?"
"Not quite," Remus said, without a trace of a smile. "They generally tried to keep it a secret. Most of their efforts were spent trying to find a cure rather than helping me live with it. I hardly ever see them now, to be honest. They haven't disowned me or anything, but as I'm sure you can understand they never wanted their son to be a werewolf. Who would? They write to me quite often, but I suppose it's just easier for them to not have to see me ... not have to look at me and be instantly reminded of what I am."
"What do you mean? You don't look like a wolf," Bran said, a slight panic rising in his voice. "Am I going to start looking like a wolf? Am I going to get a hairy back or have to start shaving my palms?"
"No, no, nothing like that," Remus said soothingly. "It's more ..." he looked down at his robes. "Well, I'm pretty scruffy aren't I? It's fairly obvious to look at me that I have no money and that's because have no job and that's because no-one will employ a werewolf. Also ... well, how old would you say I am?"
Bran shrugged, then immediately wished he hadn't because it made his arm hurt again. "No idea."
"Go on, just have a guess. Be honest, how old would you say I am, roughly?"
Bran looked at him questioningly. Grey hair, lined face, terrible dark circles under his eyes ... yet he must look older than he really was, or wouldn't have asked the question. Bran decided to give him an age range that was something younger than he actually looked, just to be polite. "Mid-forties, I suppose."
Remus smiled. "I'm thirty-six."
Bran felt a hot blush creeping across his face. "Are you winding me up?"
"No, I really am only thirty-six."
"Oh. Well, when I say you look old, I mean not old, just-"
"Good rule of thumb, Mr Mallory - if you're in a hole, stop digging," Remus said, a good-natured grin on his face. "It's all right. I wouldn't have asked if I hadn't been expecting an answer like that. Being a werewolf takes it out of you. You'll find yourself getting ill very easily, particularly around the full moon. And the transformations themselves ... well, you don't want to see the scars I've got."
Bran must have looked thoroughly miserable again, because Remus leaned forward once more, resting his elbows on the edge of the bed and spoke to him in a very soft undertone.
"I know I'm painting a pretty bleak picture of being a werewolf here, but it's not all bad."
Bran raised an eyebrow at him, not bothering to hide his scepticism.
"Really, it's not!" Remus insisted. "This will probably bring out the worst in a lot of people. You should be prepared to lose many of those who you thought cared about you. But for all the people who turn their backs on you now, you'll also find that there are those who really don't care what happens to you at the full moon, who know that you're just a person, the same as anyone else. You'll find people who will defend against all comers."
Bran didn't believe a word of that, and his expression must have shown it. Remus just continued to smile knowingly at him.
"You'll see what I mean. The first time you see someone getting righteous and indignant on your behalf..." he trailed off and that same wistful look he'd had earlier, when talking about his friend, reappeared. "My friends used to do it when we were at school. If ever someone made a disparaging remark about werewolves or started ranting about 'filthy half-breeds' or what have you, my friends would hex them into next week. Of course, as they were the only ones who actually knew what I was, everyone else just thought they were a bit loopy." He nodded his head briefly in the direction of Arthur's bed. "You saw those kids out there just now? One of them graffitied his copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them on my behalf. Where it says 'Werewolf' he added an 's' onto the end and then wrote, 'aren't all bad.' I thought it would be churlish of me to point out that he really should have crossed out the 'f' and changed it to a 'v-e', but I don't think grammatical accuracy was really the point."
"As lovely as that sounds, Mr Lupin, you'd still give anything for it to have never happened, wouldn't you? If you could go back in time and make it so that you were never bitten ... you'd do it."
Remus sighed deeply, looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said, "Honestly? You're going to think I'm mad, but no, I wouldn't. I mean, if a Healer came in here now shouting, 'Eureka! We've found a cure!' I'd take it in a heartbeat. But to change things so that I was never a werewolf in the first place ... no, that I wouldn't do. I don't expect you to understand that, though. I was only six when I was bitten, I don't remember a time when I wasn't a werewolf. If it had never happened, I wouldn't be me. Perhaps I'd have a job, decent clothes, boyish good looks, but those are just surface things. I'd be a completely different person. I wonder sometimes whether I'd be like the majority of wizards out there and hate and fear werewolves? My parents didn't know anything about lycanthropy before I was bitten, if I'd been raised ignorant of it would I accept it at all? And my friends ... I know the value of true friendship but I doubt that would hold true if I wasn't a werewolf.
"No-one asks for their life to change, Mr Mallory, but yours has, whether you like it or not. You can either be afraid and ashamed of what you are now, or you can accept it and try and make the best of it. And believe me, there is good capable of coming from this."
Bran didn't want to look at him. He wanted so badly to believe what Remus was saying - he did believe it - and he was afraid that if he looked into his eyes he'd see that his words were just empty, pretty lies.
At that moment the curtains twitched and a face popped around them tentatively.
"I'm sorry to interrupt..."
"It's all right, Molly," Remus said, rising from his seat. "How's Arthur?"
Molly made a noise that sounded startlingly like a tiger about to attack someone. "He's lucky he's in hospital or I might kill him. Stitches! I ask you! Anyway, we're going to find the children. If you want to stay here for a bit..."
"It's all right, don't let me keep you," Bran said.
"I'll be out in a moment, Molly," Remus said.
Molly glanced quickly at Bran, smiled at him politely, then scurried away again.
Remus didn't sit down again, but he turned back to Bran for a moment. "Have you ever read Hairy Snout, Human Heart?" he asked.
"Er, I can't say that I have, actually."
"You should do, it's a good book. I could lend you my copy if you like. It's held together with sellotape 'cause I've read it so many times, but you're still welcome to borrow it. I could bring it for you next time I visit Arthur."
"Okay. Thanks."
Remus hovered for a moment by the gap in the curtains. "There's nothing I can say that will make this all better, and nothing that will really prepare you for what's about to happen to you," he said slowly, as though choosing his words very carefully. "But if you ever need to talk to anyone, I'll be happy to help. Just send me an owl. It might be nice to have someone who understands."
Bran wasn't sure which of them Remus meant it would be nice for, but he nodded anyway.
"Well ... good luck. Take care," Remus said, and he nodded slightly before turning to go.
"You too. Remus ..."
Remus looked back. Bran hesitated ... he wanted to thank him for everything he'd said ... thank him for making him realise that even if he couldn't have a normal life, he could at least have a good one if he wanted ... thank him for making the effort to talk to him in the first place, but he couldn't quite find the right words.
"Merry Christmas," he said.
"Merry Christmas, Bran."