CHAPTER TWO.
“Harry. Harry!”
“Wha-at?” He was being shaken. Confused, still half-asleep, Harry rolled over and squinted up at the face above him, weirdly lit in the moonlight. He let out a yell, and bolted upright. Strong hands held him in place.
“Calm down, Harry,” a hoarse voice whispered. “It’s all right; it’s only me, Remus Lupin. It’s all right.” The shadowy figure raised an arm. “Lumos.”
Wand light flooded Harry’s bedroom, illuminating the man in front of him. He had dark hollows under his eyes, and Harry could see new lines on his face.
“Professor Lupin? What are you doing here? The Dursleys are going to have a fit.” It wasn’t much of a greeting, but Harry was still befuddled with sleep.
“I’ve come to get you out of here,” said Lupin. “And what the Dursleys don’t know won’t hurt them.”
Harry snorted. “Uncle Vernon might be able to sleep through a lot of things, but me screaming in the middle of the night isn’t one of them.”
“Silencing charm,” said Lupin. “I put one around your room before I came in. Just in case. It’s probably best to make as little fuss as possible. Come on now Harry...” yanking the bedclothes back “...get up. We’ve got to get you out of here, and the sooner we do it the better. Where’s your suitcase?”
Pulling on some jeans, Harry pointed to the wardrobe. There were clothes and books spread over the floor of his room, and crumpled bits of parchment scattered around like confetti. “Sorry about the mess,” he offered half-heartedly.
Lupin gave him a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I think you must have inherited it from your father. He was never very tidy either. It used to drive your mother crazy.” He waved his wand, and clothes began to fly into the trunk. Harry started pulling the rest of his schoolbooks out from the hiding place under his bed.
“So where are we going?” he asked non-committally. “The Burrow?” It was hard to stop a note of hope from creeping into his voice.
Lupin was quiet for a moment, his back to Harry. “Not the Burrow, no.”
“Oh,” said Harry flatly. “Right.”
Lupin turned and twitched his wand. The books zoomed out of Harry’s hand and into the trunk. The lid snapped neatly down and locked. “I’m sorry, Harry,” he said, “but we’re going back to Grimmauld Place. Look, I know it’s not exactly ideal, but...”
“It’s fine,” said Harry tersely.
“I don’t like it either,” said Lupin.
“I said it’s fine,” Harry repeated. “After all, it’s not like I have a choice, right? The Order pops in, in the middle of the night “ where are the rest of them anyway? “ to whisk me away to my dead godfather’s house. No word of explanation, as usual, so I assume something’s happened somewhere and this is a matter of life and death. Right?”
Lupin looked at him sadly. “I’m afraid so, Harry. I don’t think that you’re in any immediate danger, but...”
“Are Ron and Hermione alright?” Harry blurted. “I heard from Ron a few days ago, but nothing from Hermione, not for weeks...” his voice died off at the set expression that had come over the face of his former professor.
“It’s alright, she’s safe. Ron too, as far as I know.” Lupin waved his wand at the suitcase, and it levitated obediently and began to follow him as he moved towards the door. “Come on now, we’ve got to go. Have you got everything? Broomstick? Owl?”
Harry snatched his Firebolt and wrapped an arm around Hedwig’s cage. The owl snapped her beak at him grumpily, annoyed by the jolting of her cage. He was sure that Lupin was trying to dodge the subject, and the thought caused a large icy pit to form in the base of his stomach. What had happened to his friends?
Awkwardly, he stumbled down the stairs and into the living room. Lit by streetlamps, strange shadows shone through the window, and there was just enough light for him to be able to see Lupin fumbling for something in his robes. Retrieving a small pouch from one of his pockets, Lupin stepped over to the window and rapped on it quietly. Harry nearly yelled for the second time that night when one of the shadows moved, and the greasy face of Mundungus Fletcher pressed against the glass, eyes twitching around the room.
“Will we be flying again?” Harry interrupted.
“No. Dumbledore’s got the Floo Control Board back on side,” said Lupin. “The Order just has some people standing guard outside until we leave.” Reaching into his pouch, he threw a small handful of powder into the fireplace, and flames roared up suddenly, illuminating the room. “Off you go Harry,” said Lupin. “Quickly now. I’ll be right behind you.”
Clutching Hedwig’s cage tightly to his chest, nearly deafened by her indignant squawking, Harry stepped into the fireplace and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Number twelve, Grimmauld Place,” he said.
He pitched into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, tripping over his broomstick as he did so. Hedwig was shrieking and beating her wings. He set her cage carefully on the table and reached in to try and soothe her. She snapped at his fingers.
“I’m sorry, girl,” said Harry. “You don’t like travelling by Floo much, do you? Can’t say I blame you.” He wiped soot from his glasses. Replacing them on his nose, he turned at a flash from the fireplace to see Lupin step gracefully from it, patting soot from his robs. “I should have let Hedwig fly,” he said self-reproachfully. “She must have got a hell of a fright, coming through like that.”
Lupin winced. “She’s certainly making enough of a racket.” He took a box from one of the cupboards and tossed a few of what looked like Owl Treats through the bars of the cage. The Treats buzzed around Hedwig’s head “ “New brand,” said Lupin, seeing Harry’s amazement “ and angrily, feathers askew, she snatched them from the air, swallowing one after another and shooting Harry some very foul looks.
“Well that’s one done, at least,” said Lupin. He was bent over, rummaging through a cupboard next to the oven. Straightening, he grabbed two glasses off the bench and motioned Harry towards the chairs at the kitchen table. “I hope you don’t mind, but I haven’t got around to wrapping it yet.”
“What?” said Harry, blankly.
Lupin looked at him oddly and sighed, sliding a bottle across the table to him. “Birthday present, Harry. It’s your birthday. Early morning, but it still counts.” It was a squat, bulbous looking bottle with a curling label.
“Ogden’s Old Firewater Whiskey,” read Harry. “Wow. Are you actually allowed to give me this?”
“Good heavens, no!” said Lupin. “You’re a bit too young, so kindly don’t let on to Minerva McGonagall that I gave it to you. She’d have my head.”
“Wow,” Harry repeated. “Ron’s always wanted to try this stuff.”
“He’ll be here tomorrow, so you can give him some yourself,” said Lupin. “There’s a whole crate of it in that cupboard, hidden behind a stack of Tupperware. Try to use it wisely, won’t you?” He gestured towards the bottle. “May I?” Cracking it open, he tipped an inch into both the glasses. “Happy birthday, Harry,” he said, clinking his glass against Harry’s.
Curious, Harry raised the glass to his lips and stuck his tongue into the amber liquid. It tasted of honey and was strangely warm, tingling and bubbling against his tongue like a soft drink. It seemed harmless enough, and so he tipped it back. Heat exploded in his throat and stomach. Fiery tendrils were reaching down into his toes, and up against his eyeballs. Through the corners of his watering eyes, Harry was sure he could see steam coming out of his ears. He choked and spluttered. Lupin reached over to whack him hard on the back, several times. His face was a mixture of worry and laughter.
“Well, yes,” he said. “It might be a good idea if you didn’t mention this to Mrs Weasley either.”
Wheezing, Harry nodded. Of all the things he needed right now, a top-of-the-lungs lecture from Mrs Weasley wasn’t one of them. Blinking back tears, he looked up to see Lupin lean back in his chair. Harry noticed that he hadn’t touched his drink, and suddenly felt less like finishing his own.
“I’m getting bloody tired of being kept in the dark, you know,” he said, and was surprised by the resentment in his voice.
“I don’t like keeping things from you either,” said Lupin heavily, studying the table. “But you were right earlier. There have been... developments. I take it that you haven’t been getting the Daily Prophet this summer?”
Harry snorted rudely. “Why would I want to read anything they’ve got to say? It was nothing but a load of rubbish last year, I’d be better off getting the Quibbler. So? What have they been writing about me now?”
A ghost of a smile crossed Lupin’s face. “Surprisingly little, actually.” The smile faded. “They’ve had other things to write about.” He glanced up sharply, and Harry felt a chill go down his spine. “You may as well know now,” Lupin continued abruptly. “There’s no sense waiting until the morning. Hermione’s here. She-”
“Here? At Grimmauld Place?” Harry interrupted. “Where is she?” He started for the door but Lupin called him back, with a low intensity in his voice that stopped Harry in his tracks.
“Don’t wake her, for Merlin’s sake! It’s taken one of Madame Pomfrey’s Sleeping Draughts to make her drop off as it is. She hasn’t been getting much rest lately.”
Harry glared at him accusingly. “You said she was fine!”
“I said she was safe!” Lupin retorted. “You know as well as I do that it’s not the same thing.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Harry demanded. He stalked back to the table and flung himself down in the chair. He took another sip of Firewhiskey, and fought to swallow without reaction. Lupin was looking at him with something very like pity, and Harry had the sudden urge to throw the glass at something, anything. “What’s wrong with Hermione?” he repeated.
“There was an attack on her house,” Lupin said abruptly. “Death Eaters. Her parents are dead.”
For a moment Harry felt nothing but shock, ringing to his fingertips. Then nausea spread through him and he doubled over, head between his legs. Anger followed, a strangely calming sensation, strangely pleasing. It stilled the spinning behind his eyes, and settled his stomach. Anger was good. Anger he could use. “Voldemort!” he choked. “Voldemort tried to kill her!”
“No, Harry.” The simple denial in Lupin’s voice cut through the clamour in Harry’s head; sent a small tendril of puzzlement through the rage inside him. He stared at Lupin, uncomprehending. His former teacher leaned towards him.
“Think, Harry. Think.” Lupin’s voice was quiet and insistent. “What is it that Voldemort wants most in the world?”
Harry’s tongue felt thick and clumsy in his mouth. “To kill me. To kill Dumbledore. To take everything over.”
“Wrong! Well, backwards at least. Voldemort’s main objective is not to kill you. He simply wants power. He knows that he’ll have to kill Dumbledore, kill you to get it, but to him you are only an obstacle. Your death will not be an end in itself. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
“I don’t know,” said Harry truthfully, after a pause. Part of his mind felt clearer somehow, reaching the way it had when he was groping towards the solution of taking Divination.
“You don’t know. Alright. When was the last time you saw the Daily Prophet?”
“What?” said Harry. “Does that really matter right now?” Lupin raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know! Um... Hogwarts. No! The train. On the train going home from Hogwarts last year. Hermione “ Hermione had a copy.”
“And do you know what it said?”
“I didn’t really read it. Hermione was telling us what was in it. Um, tips for recognising Death Eaters. People thinking their neighbours were Death Eaters and that they’d seen Voldemort in the pub. Rubbish like that.”
Lupin laughed hollowly. “That’s not rubbish, Harry. That’s Voldemort’s best and greatest weapon “ fear. It’s what’s giving him breathing room.”
“I don’t understand,” said Harry.
Lupin leaned back in his chair. “Voldemort’s not at full strength yet, we know that. We also know that he’s trying to regain that strength, as much if not more as he had in the First War. So he’s recalling old Death Eaters and sending embassies to the Giants and getting creatures like the Dementors on side. Right?” Harry nodded.
“But these things take time,” Lupin continued. “So to take the pressure off himself he’s using fear to keep the wizarding world occupied and in a panic. There’ve actually been several attacks “ not many, and never very big. Not like in the Fist War. Nothing that will over-extend him, but enough to keep everyone off-guard and disorganised. Frightened, suspicious of each other and fighting amongst ourselves, we’re doing his work for him. All Voldemort has to do is stoke the fire now and again until he’s ready to strike.”
“Like the eye of a storm,” said Harry quietly.
Lupin nodded wearily. “Like the eye of a storm.”
“So that’s why he tried to kill Hermione,” said Harry, anger rising in his voice.
“No, no. She was never the target,” said Lupin.
Harry stared at him dumbly.
“Voldemort wants to frighten people, turn them against each other. But he doesn’t want the Second War to start yet, he’s too weak. And he knows how close you and Ron and Hermione are. He knows...” Lupin’s voice trailed off sadly. “...He knows that if he had one of them murdered after you had just lost Sirius,” Harry flinched, and Lupin reached over to squeeze his shoulder briefly, “...that you would likely to be angry enough to take the Second War to him before he was ready. So he chose a lesser target, one that would still hurt. Who better than the Muggle parents of a Mudblood witch? It’s not as if there’s a shortage of suspects... The Weasleys are capable of putting up some defence against a Death Eater attack, but the Grangers...”
“I thought that they would be protected,” said Harry. “I thought the Order would be watching them.”
“We were,” said Lupin heavily. “But we thought that the danger would be to Hermione, we concentrated the protection on her. One day she went out to run an errand. Most of the guards went with her. Voldemort must have had someone watching. There was a massive attack on the house. It was quick, well-planned. The remaining guards were over-powered. They managed to give the alarm but by the time the rest of us got there it was too late.”
“How d’you know it wasn’t just an accident that Hermione wasn’t there?” said Harry.
Lupin winced. “There was a note left for her on the door.”
“What did it say?” Harry asked warily.
Lupin pushed Harry’s glass of Firewhiskey towards him. “It said: ‘Dear Hermione, I hope you like your early birthday present, love Harry’.”
Numbly Harry reached for his glass and took a large gulp. It made his eyes water and he was glad for the excuse. “She must hate me.”
“I imagine that was rather the point,” said Lupin. His voice grew stronger. “But I think you’ll find that Hermione lays the blame exactly where it belongs.” He reached over again to clap Harry on the shoulder. “Really. She wanted to stay up to see you tonight, argued about it all afternoon. Tonks nearly had to force the Sleeping Draught down her throat.”
“Right,” said Harry. “Right.” He scrubbed at his eyes, hoping against hope that Lupin wouldn’t notice. When he looked up, his former teacher was again studying the table top. “When exactly did this happen?”
“Several weeks ago. No, don’t look like that. You needn’t bother to say anything. She didn’t want you told “ or Ron, for that matter.”
“Why on earth not!” screeched Harry.
“Keep your voice down! It wouldn’t have done any good to tell you “ what could you have done? You still would have had to stay with the Dursleys - for your own protection. Yes, I know about the charm Dumbledore laid on you, and them. Besides...”
“You still should have told me,” said Harry coldly.
“It wasn’t up to me,” Lupin countered. “Hermione needed time to come to grips with it herself, and streams of badgering letters “ no matter how sympathetic “ from you and Ron, were more than she thought she could cope with. The Weasleys are telling Ron and Ginny tonight, and they’ll be here tomorrow. You can thrash it all out then. But I hope,” and Lupin’s voice grew distinctly harder, “...that the three of you will respect her right to act as she has. Don’t go ganging up on her, demanding explanations.”
“We won’t,” said Harry uncomfortably, fully aware that he and Ron might well have done just that without a warning against it. Hermione had often told them how insensitive the pair of them could be, rolling her eyes and muttering “Boys!” under her breath.
Lupin looked at him closely, his face softening in sympathy. “Perhaps you’d better go up to bed, Harry. You’re in your old room. The rest can wait until tomorrow.”
“There’s more?” said Harry, bleakly.
The lines stood out in Lupin’s young face. “There’s always more,” he said.
Harry got to the kitchen door when he looked back towards his teacher, slumping back in his chair and staring morosely into his glass.
“Um, Professor?”
“Yes, Harry?”
“The Grangers...how were they... was it-”
“Avada Kedavra, yes,” said Lupin.
“Ah,” said Harry sadly. “Right.” He closed the door behind him.