Disclaimer: The fine tapestry of plot and characters belongs to J.K. Rowling. I am merely pulling threads at will and weaving my own design in counterpoint to hers.
Chapter 68
Search
The lunacy lurking just out of sight in Bellatrix’s mind was slowly announcing its arrival. Her eyes darted back and forth between her three pursuers, conflicting emotions shifting like kaleidoscopic images across her face. Harry primed himself for the attack he knew was coming, not daring to take his eyes off her regardless of how much he yearned to search the nursery for other signs of the final attack that must have taken place here.
He had only a split second to cast a Protego charm before the first jet of red issued from Bellatrix’s wand. Jumping to her feet in dismay when he blocked her, she issued a disorganized barrage that just bounced off the shield bubble Ginny established. The virulence of her attack was evidenced by ominous sizzles and popping noises from the debris littering the floor.
Harry’s attempt to disarm Bellatrix nearly collided with the ropes Tonks commanded in an effort to restrain her. Both fell short of their target as Bella casually repelled them. Ginny cast a jelly-legs jinx toward Bella’s knees, but the woman deftly moved aside just in time, leaving a small smoking spot on the shredded carpet where she had been standing.
Bella’s momentary distraction gave Harry a second to glance briefly towards the ceiling. He didn’t have long to digest all the details, but it seemed as if a long hole had been sheered through the shingles themselves. The wooden beams had been laid bare like the skeleton of some great beast and were now rotting from years of exposure to the elements. Huge gaps in the crumbling stucco revealed where it had been blasted by force as well as where it was being systematically attacked by mildew.
He returned his attention to the madwoman before him just in time to duck out of the path of a green jet of light. Instead, the spell rebounded off Ginny’s wand and buried itself into the wall behind Bella. Harry barely had time to admire the extraordinary precision Ginny employed when he felt the floor shudder ominously beneath his feet. Unconsciously, he backed up a few steps closer to the door.
Seizing on his retreat, Bellatrix unleashed a volley of spells that peppered the three of them mercilessly. Were it not for the shield bubble Ginny was diligently re-establishing with practically every breath as well as quick dodging on his part, many of those spells would have hit home. As it was, he heard a short gasp from Tonks as she was caught from practically two directions at once, a huge rent appearing in the sleeve of her blouse.
Tonks’ shock was enough to send Bella into gales of maniacal laughter as she paced back and forth like a caged lioness in the small confines of the room. But coolness under pressure was a trait that had been honed into the Auror squad and Tonks effortlessly landed a retaliatory spell right at Bella’s feet. Cackling derisively, Bella hopped back to avoid the main barrage, but not before a single spark managed to ignite the hem of her trailing skirt. Artfully, she blew what seemed like a kiss towards the fabric, quelling the tiny blaze almost immediately.
When she looked up at them again, Bella’s face assumed a rictus so savage and hateful that every last shred of humanity had been stripped from her. In a blur of movement, she hurled spell after spell in their direction, hardly taking time to aim properly.
Taking advantage of her previous distraction, though, Harry and company had established an interlocking ring of shield bubbles that bolstered and enhanced one another. Consequently, Bella’s ferociousness was repelled with added vigor into the walls and ceiling of the room.
Without warning, the walls swayed as if caught in a gale-force wind, the floor trembling as if assaulted by a giant’s footsteps. Without a second’s hesitation, Harry sent a wordless Sectumsempra towards the remains of the rooftop, swirling around to catch Ginny and Tonks with his next breath. His arm closed reassuringly around Ginny’s waist but somehow his other hand slipped from Tonks’ arm as he Disapparated.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the far wall start to buckle as the sound of Ginny’s Reducio spell echoed in his brain.
He floated effortlessly on the tide. His body was colder than he preferred, but it was a pleasant enough sensation if he ignored the relentless burning in his right foot. He yearned to paddle out into the boundless ocean in search of a warm eddy in which to regain his strength, but instinctively recognized he didn’t have the stamina. Instead, he searched the strip of horizon he could see over the undulating water, hunting feverishly for a scrap of land on which to beach his battered body.
Every time he allowed himself to drift closer to the shoreline, however, he recoiled from the sight of deadly stone pillars and huge boulders. Some of the larger flat rocks might be more accommodating if the rising tide didn’t threaten to wash him away with each cycle. Had he been uninjured, he might have chosen to simply wait for the tide to ebb once more before attempting landfall, but he could already feel the mobility being leached from his lower right side. Left untended, he had no doubt such impairment would move inexorably up his body until he was fully incapacitated.
He was not ready to accept the mantle of death; he had left too many things unfinished, too many projects that were only just now opening their fickle doors to him. His brain urged him to fight as his body yearned to succumb to the infinite floating sensation promising warmth and sunlight at its final destination. He struggled to maintain a shred of sanity, a bit of his humanity unblemished, as he searched for some solution to his immediate dilemma.
With a jolt, he realized his weakened foot was not allowing him to swim evenly and he had drifted off-course. He was perilously close to a massive headland of pockmarked stone, the next wave threatening to bash him mercilessly against the unyielding rock. The dark mass loomed closer and closer until he began to distinguish individual details: the rickety bird nests perched high enough to avoid the tide, the individual fissures where the subterranean plates had shifted without warning, the small stacked shelves that had been worn away by eons of hammering by the sea.
He swam in the other direction with the last reserves of his energy, yet he felt the weightless heave of the ocean as it reeled him in. With indescribable relief, he sensed the breaker explode over his head and the soft pull of the tide dragging his helpless form into the deeper waters once again.
Were his eyes playing tricks on him, or did he see some deep black shadows in the beachhead that might signify hollow pockets? Any small outcropping where he might drag his worn body? A place where he might rest a bit before resuming his tireless hunt?
He knew he had only one last chance; his endurance was almost totally drained. If he didn’t allow the next big wave to deposit him within reach of a sheltering space, he would be unable to resist the water smashing him into the unforgiving rock. Deliberately, he positioned himself in the path of the cresting wave, keeping the largest of the dark openings in sight. It was as if he were riding a deadly roller coaster to its very peak, and then in the inevitable freefall, his shoulders were thrust painfully onto a small outcropping.
He fought to find handholds and then footholds to force his body deeper into the stone and further away from the raging ocean. When he finally reached the back of the primitive cave, he collapsed with weariness. The burning sensation in his foot was a renewed agony without the gentle caress of the salt water to soothe it.
Before he allowed himself to close his eyes in relief, he reminded himself that the tide was still rising. This might turn out to be a temporary shelter at best.
Before Harry had time to fully register that he had landed painfully on the marble squares of the entrance hall, he was feverishly searching for Tonks. He saw her tumble into a heap, colliding with Neville in the main drawing room. Shacklebolt’s attention was diverted towards the unexpected rumbling from upstairs and his back was partially turned away. In a crumbled pile between them was the stunned and gagged figure of Yaxley.
“GET AWAY!” Harry yelled. “YOU’RE STILL TOO CLOSE!”
He grabbed Tonks and Neville and literally shoved their disoriented bodies in the direction of the entrance hall. Ginny steadied them as they stumbled half-blindly in her direction.
Kingsley whipped around at the shouts and quickly responded by grabbing Yaxley firmly by one bound ankle and Disapparating neatly into the empty billiard room beyond. Harry barely had time to launch himself bodily through the doorframe and into the entrance hall before he was assaulted by the vibrations of crashing timber. Instinctively, he huddled next to Ginny as he watched the far wall crack from top to bottom in one massive stroke.
As if in slow motion, the upstairs portion of the wall dissolved like so much wet tissue before their eyes. The upper story floor sagged to form a funnel of sorts, allowing the matchstick contents of Harry’s nursery to pour like rolled oats onto the faded sofas below. Even after the tumultuous roar had quieted and the billowing dust had largely settled, it took Harry a few moments before he felt it was safe to investigate.
Almost immediately, he called for Kingsley and Neville to assist him with an overturned sideboard. It would have been too tricky to simply apply a Locomotor charm without the contents emptying out on his head. As Neville strained to maintain the doors closed, Harry and Shacklebolt held the drawers shut with their bodies while they struggled to right its massive wooden frame. In the end, only Ginny’s quick wand work kept it from toppling heavily onto its back as she levitated it to a relatively clear spot before the great hearth.
After tossing aside shards of lumber and plaster, they finally uncovered the still form of Bellatrix, almost completely covered in white dust as if her body had been rolled in flour.
Neville immediately fired a Petrificus Totalus spell in her direction, although it was probably unnecessary.
“Never hurts to be on the safe side, Neville,” Tonks reassured him as she gingerly walked over and placed her fingers on Bella’s neck.
After a few moments, she looked back at them and shook her head sadly, her eyes glistening with moisture. Harry watched in rapt attention as she brushed back some of Bellatrix’s thick raven hair and gently kissed the fallen woman’s forehead before rising.
“Goodbye, Auntie,” Tonks breathed in a barely audible whisper. “I’m so sorry our family never learned to get along.”
As Shacklebolt encased Tonks in his muscular arms and drew her away from the body, Harry was finally able to get an unimpeded view of Bella’s lifeless form. He couldn’t resist inching forward for a closer look. Was it just the way in which the body had fallen, or had her finger been inches away from pressing the Dark Mark tattoo on her forearm? Had they avoided the calamity of her calling forth Voldemort and his henchmen by so narrow a margin?
There were a thousand more things he would have liked to ask her, but there was little chance his visit to Godric’s Hollow would turn out to be the voyage of discovery he had originally envisioned. Questions that had lain dormant in Harry’s heart for most of his life clamored for attention, but it was clear most could only be addressed by Pettigrew, if at all. And there was no guarantee he would ever get the chance to interrogate Pettigrew, not if Lupin had taken him where he suspected. But if burying his curiosity was the price for having Lupin back, Harry bargained, he was more than willing to put all his issues aside.
As they eased themselves around the corner of the jutting cliff face, Ron announced from the lead position that the trail widened onto a shelf. His confident hands eased Hermione’s dripping form until she was standing just behind him. With fingers rubbed raw from the porous rock, they endeavored to untie the short rope holding them together, but saturation in salt water had made the knots especially resistant. In desperation, Hermione finally intoned a Diffindo spell to simply sever the rope in half.
The trail was not wide enough for them to walk abreast, but if Ron leaned back against the cliffl as he was doing now, she could bypass him without having to step into thin air. Nervously, she grabbed his body for balance anyway as she worked her way around. The path before her had been cut in a series of shelves on the face of the cliff. Whether it had been just from the natural erosion caused by constant wave action or been assisted by man, it was impossible to tell. The most gratifying part was that it gradually rose higher, leading them away from the constant wash of seawater that had made the first part of the trail so arduous.
As soon as they were beyond the reach of the crashing breakers, they took a moment to invoke a quick-dry spell to wring the worst of the moisture from their clothes. Hermione’s corduroys were still a bit clammy in the seat, but she didn’t relish the thought of asking Ron to aim his wand at the necessary angle. With a shrug, she decided they would dry soon enough on their own with the heat of her climbing.
The riotous cry of the gulls alerted them of nests on the heights of the promontory. To Hermione, their cries were a song of hope, announcing to the world that it was possible to survive in such an inhospitable locale.
The dark clouds scuttling over the horizon came as a shock. Only minutes before, the sky had been like alabaster. They hurried up the cliff face, looking for a small hollow to provide them a bit a shelter in case of rain.
At Ron’s insistence, Hermione summoned the rucksack she had left hidden among the boulders on the far cliff. It would have ruined most of the contents if it had been as thoroughly immersed in seawater as the two of them. Not everything could just be dried magically to return it to its original condition. Not even their clothes, she thought stoically; it would take multiple washings to rid them of the salt residue that would stiffen uncomfortably upon drying.
They found an alcove just deep enough for the two of them by the time the first large raindrops started to fall. Although they had spied a number of other dark smudges in the next segment of the trail which might prove promising, they would have to wait until the storm passed. Ron handed the rucksack to Hermione to use as a backrest as she drew her legs in closer to make room for his lanky form.
With an unintelligible cry, Ron caught sight of something among the rocks below. Hermione held his legs in precaution as he eased his way closer to the lip for a better look. How he could look straight down from such a height without the accompanying dizziness and a healthy dose of fear was something she would never understand. Albeit, it was a quality that had served him well at Quidditch.
“Is it possible to summon something if you don’t know exactly what it is?” Ron asked as he impatiently tossed his dampening hair from his forehead.
“I’ve never had the occasion to try,” Hermione answered candidly. “But I suppose if you describe it as best you can, it might just work.”
“You make it sound like all I have to do is convince the thing that I’m talking to it, like one would a stranger,” Ron scoffed.
“I’m not certain magic works that way,” Hermione conceded. “But, unless you have a better idea….”
“Right…. Accio, nondescript thing I see floating in the water… .Accio, brown object among the rocks…..Accio, round bobbing object that keeps dodging out of my grasp…”
“I admit you have my curiosity piqued,” Hermione observed wryly. “Can you describe what the object is made of or what exactly drew your attention to it?”
“Accio, brown wooden object… No, that’s not right…. Accio, brown object made of fabric….Accio, brown metal--”
“Metal would sink, Ron. Try to think of things that float, like a cork.”
“Accio, brown cork item….Accio, brown glass item….Accio, brown leather item…”
With an exuberant whoop of triumph, Ron held up a medium brown shoe. As he allowed the last of the seawater to trickle out, Hermione noticed that half of the laces had been broken off and that it had been scuffed so deeply in various places that the leather had been totally sheered off.
“Does it look familiar to you?” Ron asked anxiously.
“I can’t really say,” Hermione admitted. “It’s such an ordinary looking man’s oxford -- it could belong to anyone.”
“I think Remus has a pair like this,” Ron gulped.
“But he also has a whole slew of loafers since Tonks told him that’s what she prefers.”
“She did?”
“Yes,” Hermione replied with mounting dread. “I just have no idea what shoes he was wearing today. I never really noticed.”
“What about Pettigrew? Neither of us got a look at him at all,” Ron commiserated.
“I did notice Remus’ suit, though,” Hermione volunteered. “It was like he’d dug it out of the back of his closet. After all these months of wearing the custom stitched ones Ted Tonks had passed along to him…”
“I suppose Tonks told you that also.”
“Actually, Remus did when I complimented him on his taste.” Not to mention how much each of those suits must have cost originally, she added inwardly, although she had never mentioned that to Lupin.
“So, if he digs out his oldest clothes, then it would follow he would don old shoes as well,” Ron reasoned. “This looks like it’s been resoled at least twice and the heel is about due to be replaced as well.”
At Hermione’s skeptical look, Ron affirmed, “Trust me, you may recognize a designer suit when you see one, but my family has always been experts on shoe refurbishing.”
“So? A shabby, reworked shoe could still point to Wormtail,” she argued.
“You’re probably right,” Ron admitted with a sigh. “It really doesn’t tell us much of anything, does it?”
“Only that they were here and somebody, somehow, slid into the ocean!” Hermione groaned as the true implications of their discovery engulfed her.
“Please don’t upset yourself all over again,” Ron whispered as he held her close. “If I remember correctly from all those detective stories Mum used to read when we were children--”
“Muggle detective stories?” Hermione offered tentatively.
“What else? Mum practically had Ginny wanting to visit all the neighbors and see what secrets she could rake up like Miss Marple… That is, until Ginny found out Miss Marple was an old maid with a frumpy wardrobe. Then the shine wore off really quickly.”
Hermione giggled in spite of herself and tenderly kissed the corner of Ron’s wry grin. “What did your Mum learn from her perusal of great Muggle detectives?”
“That as gruesome as it may sound, you can’t count on someone being dead without a body.”
“There were so many things she could have clarified,” Neville bemoaned, looking down at Bella’s broken corpse. “So many different ways in which I envisioned avenging my parents.”
Understanding instinctively, Harry placed a comforting arm around Neville’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Neville,” he offered in a soothing tone. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think she would’ve told you anything you wanted to hear. You would’ve just been another morsel for her to skewer with her barbed tongue.”
“You’re probably right, Harry.” Neville sighed. “Thanks.”
Wordlessly, they all congregated in the barren room that had once housed the billiard table, survivors drawn inexorably together by their shared experiences. Harry wandered aimlessly over to the French doors leading out onto the arbored patio. He wiped one of the dusty panes with his cuff to get a better look. Although unkempt, it was not that different from what he had imagined. True to their name, wildflowers had overtaken a portion of the narrow planter that separated the lichen-covered stones from the sheltering brick wall. He wondered if the riotous blooms had attracted the dragonflies in Lupin’s memory. No wait, they had been fireflies at dusk, that’s what Lupin had said.
The sensation that the man himself was standing at his shoulder, describing the scene as he had done in the Pensieve, was so pervasive Harry felt his stomach tumble to the floor. He leaned his back against the doorframe to keep from sliding to the ground as his eyes feverishly sought comfort in the presence of the others around him.
Tonks looked up from passing out bottled water and snacks, immediately catching the stricken look on Harry’s face. She handed her rucksack to Shacklebolt and started to cross the room in Harry’s direction. As she drew abreast of Ginny, she handed her a large chunk of Honeyduke’s chocolate. Harry could see the telltale sparkle of the deep golden foil as Ginny unwrapped it with a smile, thanking Tonks as she took a generous bite.
Just like Lupin had handed him chocolate on all the occasions when he’d been overcome by dementors. When the demons of his existence had threatened to overpower him, it was always Lupin who drew him back into the fold with a kind word, a friendly hug, a bit of chocolate.
Harry felt the despair wash over him, the inescapable sensation that the Death Eaters had once again robbed him of that which made life bearable. Where were Ron and Hermione? They, too, had pulled him out of scrapes too numerous to mention. He had sent the best candidates he knew to retrieve Lupin. How could they not have succeeded? His knees started to buckle, but he no longer had the will to stop them as he started to slide to the floor.
He felt surprisingly strong hands catch him by the shoulders and push him against the paneling to halt his momentum. Tonks’ face was inches from his as she whispered, “All is not lost, you must believe me.” Absently, she brushed an errant tear from his cheek before drawing him outside onto the patio.
“You need to know this before you give in to your deepest fears… Harry, please listen to me,” Tonks pleaded.
Harry just stood there numbly, feeling totally lost. The sheltering branches of the mighty oak provided him no consolation for the emptiness he felt inside.
“You have to believe me; Remus is not dead,” she insisted, her bright pink locks stirring lightly in the warm breeze.
“I’d like to think so, too, Tonks, but--” The last of his words were lost in a sob he couldn’t contain.
“You’re wrong if you think I’m just hanging on to blind faith.”
“But how, Tonks? Such things aren’t possible.” How he longed for a child’s gullibility again so her words could offer him solace.
“They are more than you know,” she attested firmly. “See this bracelet on my wrist?” She held up the elaborate silver wedding cuff so it caught the sun before Harry’s face. “This is more than just a token of my love for Remus. It actually binds us together. Didn’t you study twin magical objects in your lessons?”
“I did,” Harry stammered. “But I couldn’t find much information. Seems they fell out of vogue a few decades ago.”
“As long as this cuff remains intact,” Tonks explained, “it’s a clear indication that Remus is still alive. He may be clinging to life by his fingertips, but he’s still alive. If either one of us should die, the other one’s cuff will immediately snap open. In addition to marrying us, the shaman taught us that marriages end at death. Survivors are not allowed to cling to the memory of their deceased spouses as an excuse to avoid rejoining the community around them. It’s a custom that so joyously embraced life that Remus and I accepted it as our own.”
In those simple words, Harry heard the echo of Lily’s sentiments as Lupin had recounted them to him so many months ago. He longed to latch onto the lifeline Tonks was offering, but he was so very afraid.
“Harry, don’t you believe me?” she asked, drawing back so he would have to look at her directly.
“I want to, Tonks. Oh, dear spirits, I so want to!”
“Then take a deep breath and look at me when I tell you this.” She waited for him to comply. “Do you think I could lie to you about something so important? Do you think I’m capable of making up such a story just to raise false hopes?… I tell you, Harry, I don’t have it in me… Don’t you think I love him at least as much as you do?”
The sincerity of Tonks’ words somehow eased the aching bands in his chest. Wordlessly, he tightened his arms around her and kissed her face in thanks. Looking up, Harry found Ginny standing in the doorway with the most helpless expression on her face.
“I’m sorry, Harry,” Ginny offered in apology. “I couldn’t help overhearing.”
“It’s all right, Gin,” Harry answered as he swept her up in his other arm as he walked back inside. “You know I don’t keep any secrets from you.”
He could hear their voices long before they drew abreast of his haven. Such familiar echoes from his past, yet he could not recall their names in his fevered mind. He so wanted to call out to them, tell them he was lying here…injured. But once again, words failed him.
He knew he would have to return to human form before his thoughts could rearrange themselves properly. He’d gotten used to the disconcerting feeling every Animagus must conquer: the sensation that he would wander forever lost in the primal thoughts of the animal world. It wasn’t like the total immersion of the werewolf transformation where no shred of an individual’s will could override the animal urges. But it was hardly like becoming a talking animal, either.
With as much stringent logic as he could muster, he examined his limited options. The conclusion was that he would have but a single chance, regardless of which avenue he selected. It was doubtful he would have enough strength to return to his Animagus form if he were unable to draw the attention of …the boy and girl… Their names slithered out of reach as his mind strained to remember them once again.
But what realistic chance did he have of surviving in his animal form even if it allowed him to float away on the rising tide? If he couldn’t swim, it was only a matter of time before he would perish. The fiery sensation of vipers chewing at his skin had intensified until it covered most of his right side. He moved experimentally to convince himself he still had full range of motion; but he knew it was just a matter of time before the infestation ate its way more deeply into his weakened body.
With his last shred of energy, he allowed the transformation to flow from the tip of his head to the ends of his fingers and, then slowly, down his leg muscles to his toes. The instant it reached his right foot, though, the unspeakable agony that consumed him was so overwhelming he yelled out involuntarily, a cry of such tortured anguish even the garrulous gulls were momentarily silenced.
“Did you hear that?” cried the boy, Ron, that was his name.
“It could have been anyone, anything!” Hermione cautioned; she was always the more methodical of the two. “It hardly sounded human.”
He yearned to call out to them, letting the sound of his voice guide them to him, but he knew his raspy throat would give out long before then. He’d had nothing to drink since breakfast and the long hours in the ocean had only helped to sharpen his thirst. If only he’d had the foresight to pack one of Tonks’ water bottles in his coat pocket, but that was only done by athletic jerks like Stevens, or so he used to think. Granted one could always conjure water with the Aguamenti charm, but without a container to put it in…. Well, he’d managed to box himself in every direction, hadn’t he?
He waited until the voices got nearer, then with all his might, he yelled, “RON, HERMIONE, I’m over here! Please--” His voice gave out utterly. His choked whispers were inaudible, even to him.
“I heard it, Ron,” Hermione insisted. “It was him!”
“How could you tell over this wind?” Ron argued. “It just swept the words away. All I heard was ‘Ron’.”
“And I clearly heard ‘Hermione’,” she shot back fervently. “Molly always claimed you had selective hearing.”
“Leave my mum out of this!” Ron countered sulkily.
Well, at least they were looking for him, he sighed. He just needed to hold on a little longer.
Harry was chomping on a large chunk of Honeyduke’s chocolate as he urged the others to follow him across the arbored patio and into the south wing.
“Kingsley, help me out here,” he requested amicably, matching strides with the elegant black man. “Wasn’t Godric’s Hollow supposed to be a trap of some kind?”
“That’s what our most reliable sources said,” Shacklebolt acknowledged. “Something doesn’t seem right to you, either?”
“Three Death Eaters, even presided over by a psychotic queen, doesn’t seem like much of a trap,” Harry whispered. “I think there’s something we’re missing, some little tidbit we’ve overlooked.”
Shacklebolt nodded curtly to indicate Harry’s reasoning was sound. “Any ideas?” he asked hopefully.
“Not a one,” Harry admitted. “That’s why I thought a bit of reconnaissance might be in order.”
“Don’t get too far afield,” Shacklebolt cautioned. “Perhaps I should send a Patronus message to Aberforth and see if they have any leads.”
Leaving Shacklebolt to his immediate task, Harry attempted to catch up with the others who were just opening the next set of French doors with a well-placed Alohamora charm. Harry’s heart skipped a few beats when he heard Tonks gasp as she boldly entered. Only when he’d dashed to her side, wand drawn, did he conclude that her voice was filled with awe.
“Didn’t Remus say anything about this room?” Tonks asked reverently.
“Just that my father often liked to play the piano while the rest of them lounged on the arbored patio. I assumed it must have been located in an adjacent room.”
“You need to come look at this piano, Harry,” Ginny marveled. “Tonks has actually been rendered speechless “ although, I’m sure it’s just temporary.”
The burning pain in his right leg intensified as he tried to prop his head against the wall. Just like a thousand rabid pirahanas chewing on his leg, he thought wryly, or just one stab from Pettigrew’s accursed silver hand.
The futility of his chivalrous attempt at helping Pettigrew climb back up the cliff face should have been apparent to him. If he’d truly been intent on saving his own life, Pettigrew could have assumed his rat form and easily scurried back up the muddy track on four, small feet weighing considerably less than his human body. He could have even escaped through the cracks and fissures that were rampant throughout the escarpment. He could have been miles away by now, hiding is some warm hay pile on a nearby farm, maybe even returned to his human form and hoisting a pint at the local pub.
But instead, Pettigrew had lain dormant like a deadly virus, holding on by sheer will to a tumble of mud which could not have supported his full weight for very long. Waiting for gullible old Remus to lean over so he could exact his revenge. It didn’t matter that he would likely be forfeiting his own life in the process. Granted, sheer survival instinct had taken over at one point as he’d fiendishly tried to crawl his way past Lupin’s body to reach the summit. It was only when Pettigrew realized Lupin had released his last handhold, when he wrongly concluded that like himself, Remus was willing to sacrifice his life to kill another, that his true panic had set in.
Even as Lupin had begun the Animagus transformation in mid-air, knowing his survival demanded he assume turtle shape before he was pulled under by the churning tide, Pettigrew sought to exact his final retribution. He had clung tenaciously to Lupin’s legs, trying to keep the transformation at bay. Kicking like a madman, Lupin managed to dislodge Pettigrew until he was only clutching one leg, then just one foot as the transformation was completed with hardly a second to spare.
Just as he felt the exhilarating first stream of salt water through his flippers, Lupin had nearly succumbed to the agony of Pettigrew driving his silver fingers past leatherly skin and deep into the sinew. Only later, convinced that he’d been attacked by a killer shark, did Lupin find the entire silver arm still attached to his foot, but the rest of Pettigrew was gone. With a roar of agony, he had briefly resumed human shape just to sever the hand with a mighty Diffindo charm “ a tricky balancing act that had nearly caused him to drown and had left him sputtering salt water.
Initially, it helped him swim better without the additional drag. But the silver fingertips had been too deeply imbedded in his flesh to try to remove them himself, not without also amputating his own foot in the process. It was hard to believe four little pellets, each barely larger than a silver Sickle, could cause him such torment.
As his labored breathing made his entire frame tremble, Lupin’s brain called for surcease and slipped into unconsciousness. Relying on autonomic responses to minimize pain, his body resumed its turtle form so the agony was at least bearable.
The dusty green slipcover lay crumbled like the discarded peel of an enormous fruit. Tonks was running her hands lovingly over the shiny black contours of a grand piano, its lacquer so brilliant it was almost blinding. Along its entire surface was a collection of photographs which had been laid flat to allow for the cover. As Ginny stood them up carefully, Harry was faced with an amalgamation of what his family’s life had once been like. The images from the photo album paled in comparison; clearly the most recent favorites were granted preferential status on the piano. The everyday happiness his parents had shared with Sirius and Lupin was present in every snapshot as Harry’s first year was chronicled like a loving tapestry.
Neville and Shacklebolt were exploring the far side of the cavernous room. Drawing back the dark velvet drapes that blocked the daylight, they discovered another series of double doors looking out on the back lawn. Their tracks through the powdery dust revealed the golden hue of the varnished wood beneath.
“Just look at the dimensions of this room!” Tonks practically swooned in delight as she twirled around slowly to burn every detail into her memory. “It’s like a grand rehearsal hall from the Imperial Russian court “ or so the Czarina’s overblown descriptions always led me to believe. I didn’t know such places actually existed.”
For a brief moment, Harry thought back on the intensive dance instruction Tonks had provided him in the Room of Requirement. She had made him practice the basic waltz step alone; reminding him to concentrate not on his movements so much, but to allow the music to seep into his soul. Urging him to practice in perfect solitude so he could shed all his inhibitions; until finally, his movements became the only possible distillation of the overwhelming emotions washing over him. Only when the steps had become instinctive had she consented to partner him, creating a triumphant fusion that had whirled them both breathlessly around the room.
He could see that she, too, was thinking of similar moments, wishing she were free to abandon herself to sudden inspiration. He had seen what she was capable of in moments of solitude. She had been a frenzied dryad dancing in the privacy of a woodland glade, all impossible leaps and dizzying swirls, seeking to satisfy no one but herself. Harry had been momentarily embarrassed he’d interrupted what was so obviously a private ritual; she had shrugged it off with a laugh, admitting it was just her daily workout routine.
“This must have been the sight of some grand wizarding parties during your grandparents’ time!” Ginny sighed as she, too, succumbed to the spell.
Harry smiled to see her so entranced. Clearly the Potter estate had been built to the specifications of a bygone era, a golden age of glittering parties and great wizards. An era that Dumbledore, Slughorn and probably even McGonagall still remembered, but seemed like a fairy tale to the rest of them. By the brief tour Lupin had given him, he knew his parents had embraced a much simpler lifestyle, rich beyond measure in the closeness of their friends and the simple joys of everyday life.
“I gather Remus and Sirius must’ve had quarters on the upper floor of this wing,” Shacklebolt commented, effectively bringing Harry back to the moment. “But I didn’t find any back stairs.”
“Remus said those areas were accessible from the main staircase in the entrance hall,” Harry supplied. “I’m not so sure that area’s very sound, though.”
Shacklebolt concurred. “What about the other wing?” he asked.
Briefly, Harry outlined what scant details Remus had provided.
“I would assume it’s symmetrical to this wing,” Ginny offered as she was drawn into their conversation. “Do you still have that rough map, Harry?”
Harry cleared some of the photos from the piano and smoothed the rumbled parchment scrap so they could all see. With a few quick pencil strokes, Ginny added the hallway she envisioned as connecting the dining room with the other wing. She sized up the proportions of the music room and then quickly sketched the other wing, adding the walled patio Neville described on the north end.
As she completed her last stroke, the magic Shacklebolt had channeled into the map shimmered to the surface for an instant. Then like a malignant bloodstain that can never be fully erased, the red dots rose from the depth of the parchment: a dozen or more, lying in wait in the boarded up north wing.
Harry Potter and the Hero's Lament by L A Moody
Chapter Notes: Ron comforts Hermione as miles away Tonks gives Harry a reason to not despair.