Interlude Two
Three days past the week deadline, Lily decided to tell Harry the truth. The pitying looks she'd been receiving from most of the Minister's visitors had finally worn her down, and she had snapped at Cornelius Fudge, telling him exactly what she thought of his oh so well meant condolences. He would try to make her life miserable for it, but she couldn't care. Not now. At the moment, additional misery was a relative concept.
When she had informed Dumbledore of her plans, he had offered to accompany her to Hogwarts, claiming he had business with the Headmaster. So at four o'clock, when the Minister's office officially closed for the day, Lily Potter and Albus Dumbledore Flooed to Hogwarts. Just stepping into the fire made her heart thud with dread, but Lily had made her choice. Harry deserved to know, and he was eleven. Parents could hide horrible truths from three-year-olds, but Harry was a Hogwarts student now, and he knew what war was. He also knew his father's role in this one, and always had.
It's now or never. Climbing out of the headmaster's fireplace, Lily was greeted with a hug and Dumbledore a solemn handshake.
"I don't suppose you've heard anything?" Remus asked. The look on his face made it plain that he already knew the answer but needed confirmation. For a moment, the solemn blue eyes met Lily's, and their thoughts were identical. Anything but this.
"Arabella's still doing everything she can, but it's been ten days..." She took a deep breath. Best to get the words out before breaking down. "Harry needs to know the truth," Lily said softly, sitting down in a chair and resisting the urge to bury her head in her hands. Harry needed her to be strong.
"He should be in his dormitories. I can go get him," Remus said gently, squeezing her shoulder. Never before had she been so thankful for this quiet friend of James', who her classmates had once thought off, but Lily knew to be one of the world's best men. "There's tea if either of you would like some."
"Thank you, Remus. However, when you return from fetching young Mr. Potter, I do think you and I need to take a walk," Dumbledore stated calmly. Seating himself next to Lily, Dumbledore poured himself a cup of tea. His appearance was calm, but she could see the difference in his eyes-there was something deeply concerned behind the crystal blue and calm façade, something that made Lily shiver. Remus obviously saw it, too, but he nodded and left.
--oo--
Gryffindor Tower had been unnaturally silent ever since the article had been run in the Daily Prophet. Even Fred and George Weasley had been subdued, playing only one prank on their brother Percy for pestering them. The rest of the Misfits, however, had simply been there for Harry, offering silent support when words weren't necessary. He was grateful for it, really, even though he knew he was bad at showing it.
The first year boys' dormitory was especially quiet. Harry sat on his bed flipping through the photo album his parents had given him on his eleventh birthday so that he would always have something to remind him of them nearby. He refused to cry though, because eleven-year-old boys didn't cry. Besides, his father was still alive. Everything would be okay as long as his father wasn't dead.
The door opened and his fellow first year Neville Longbottom came in to the room, dropping his book bag at the end of his own bed.
"'Lo, Harry," Neville said softly, dumping his school robes on the floor and pulling on a sweater.
"How do you do it, Neville?" Harry asked suddenly, photo album carefully put aside.
"How do I do what?" Neville asked, confused.
"Pretend like everything's okay? Your dad's there, too. He's been there a lot longer than mine. But you... you just act like everything is fine, and that he's going to send you a letter tomorrow morning at breakfast that will make you laugh so hard you'll spray Hermione with pumpkin juice. How can you act like that?" Harry asked, despair mixed with desperation lacing his voice. The emotions made his tone higher pitched than usual, but he couldn't care, even if it would have made Malfoy laugh. Neville was quiet for a moment.
"I don't really know. I just do, because I know my dad would want me to. He was doing his job. Mum, Gran, and I have always known what the risks were. And I know that Mrs. Figg is working really hard on trying to find a way to get him out of there. Most of the time it's easy enough to pretend that he's just on some secret mission and can't write to us," Neville replied, trying to sound casual, but the pain was just as evident in his voice. So was the strain that Harry had never noticed before. How did I miss that?
"Everyone keeps giving me these looks like he's dead. I hate it!" Harry snapped, unable to help himself.
"I know. But you get used to it after a while, and Professor Snape never does. It's kind of funny, isn't it? He just keeps treating you the same, even if it is horrible. At least he's not acting like we're made of glass or something." Neville knew it wasn't helping much, but he understood how Harry felt and clearly wanted to do what he could.
There was silence again before someone knocked on the door and it opened. Both boys jumped up when they saw the headmaster standing at their door, vividly aware of how messy their room was.
"Professor Lupin, has something happened?" Neither boy wanted to consider why the headmaster had personally come to their room, and a million terrible things floated through both their minds. Two in particular.
"No, nothing happened," Remus said softly. "Your mother is here, Harry. She needs to speak with you." He paused, then Harry could see the 'Professor Lupin' face return. "I apologize for disturbing you, Mr. Longbottom," he said calmly.
Neville, on the other hand, collapsed down on his bed, face pale. Harry had always thought him nervous, or maybe even a little dense, but he understood the other boy. For the first time. For today, at least, his fears hadn't come true. He could hope a little longer-even when it hurt to hope. Harry waved a little to his friend before following the headmaster out of the Tower, trying to ignore the curious and sympathetic stares coming from every direction.
"It's something bad, isn't it," Harry stated softly, noticing the pained look on the face of his father's friend.
"Your mother will explain it to you, Harry. From there, you can decide for yourself," Professor Lupin replied. The remainder of the walk was silent, but the stares continued.
--oo--
Remus watched the older wizard carefully as they wound their way through corridor after corridor, seemingly moving with the same aimless nonchalance only children could possess. Children and Dumbledore, that is, he thought to himself, smiling slightly despite the situation. The thought helped a little to lift the heavy weight off his heart, and Remus was immediately grateful for Dumbledore's presence. No matter what the Minister's purpose in coming was, this one lighter moment made everything worth it.
Finally, as they strolled though a deserted hallway, Dumbledore spoke.
"I would not be here, Remus, if I did not think coming was of the utmost importance," the old man said softly. "Even Lily...Lily does not need me here. But you do."
Remus started. "Me?"
"Yes. And so does Hogwarts." Blue eyes-worriedly not twinkling-drifted around, seemingly taking in everything: every painting on the wall, every bit of dust on furniture, every chip of old paint. "Now, more than ever."
There was an odd moment of silence, but somehow, Remus could not interpret the words to mean that Dumbledore would stay. He could not; they both knew that-and despite the wistful edge in his voice, both knew he did not want to. Minerva McGonagall's death had ripped the soul out of him, ending in driving him away from the thing he loved most. In the end, her murder had made Dumbledore want to wrap himself, his life, around something else...and that something else had been the world. He loved Hogwarts, of course, and always would...but the school no longer held the same place in his life. Hogwarts would always rule his heart, but the former headmaster could never stay. Still, the melancholy acceptance in his voice frightened Remus.
"Albus?"
"Yes, Remus?" There was no hesitation before the reply, but something sad filled Dumbledore's eyes.
He kept his voice soft. "Why have you come?"
"I already answered that, dear boy." A shadow of the old twinkle sparked but faded just as quickly; Remus immediately understood that it was forced. Fear threatened to make his heart pound faster-nothing disturbed Dumbledore like this—but he kept the emotion ruthlessly in check.
"No, you didn't," the headmaster replied evenly, trying to smile slightly. "And I'm hardly a boy."
"Compared to me?" Finally, the old man's smile was real. He chuckled. "Everyone is."
"You're sad."
"Sad?"
Remus shot him a significant look. "Yes."
"So I am," Dumbledore sighed. "But perhaps not for the reasons you believe. Still...Hogwarts does need you, and it is high time I stopped avoiding the subject, isn't it?"
"We're going somewhere."
"Somewhere and everywhere," his predecessor confirmed. "But nowhere important."
Interest sparked, Remus followed.
--oo--
Harry was startled to see the Minister of Magic sitting in the headmaster's office with his mother, but he shook his hand and greeted him before both men left. He hadn't thought much of that at first, but suddenly Harry wished that Remus had stayed—being alone with his mother, with her drawn face and tired eyes, was frightening.
"Something happened, Harry. Your father..." His mother had to stop a moment to choke back a sob. But then her face schooled down into nothingness, the heartbroken expression fading away. Unfortunately, her sudden self control frightened him more than that one sob ever could, even though tears still shone in her eyes.
"What about Dad? Remus said nothing happened. What's going on, Mum?" Harry was near frantic, and his mother on the verge of tears wasn't helping him any. A long moment of silence passed before Lily took a deep breath and continued.
"Your father and Mrs. Figg had a plan, to try and get people out of Azkaban. Someone was going to get caught on purpose." Harry felt the color drain out of his face and he sat down abruptly in the chair next to his mother, unable to force his legs to support him. "Your father volunteered. He was only supposed to be gone seven days, and then he'd have a wand and a Port Key that were transfigured for him, and he'd come back."
"But he's not back," Harry stated, his voice dead.
"No, he's not. We don't know what happened, but Mrs. Figg thinks that somehow, Voldemort found out about the wand and the Port Key." The tears were threatening again, but Lily held them back.
"So now Dad's stuck there, all because of some stupid plan. And now they're going to kill him." He wanted to shout, wanted to scream. Especially at his mother.
"Harry... at this point, death might be a mercy for him." Her voice was soft, and she pulled Harry into a tight embrace as he stubbornly tried not to cry. It's not fair! He tried to shove her back, but she held on tight.
Then the dam broke. Tears fell, eleven years old or not. He didn't care. "Why'd it have to be him? Why?" Harry finally broke down and shouted, managing to pull away from his mother.
"Who else would you have do it, Harry? Mrs. Longbottom, so Neville would lose both his parents? Or maybe Ron's older brother? Do you think your father could have let anyone else do it, knowing the risks?" He didn't dare look at her face, but Harry could hear the tension in his mother's voice. Immediately, the anger faded from Harry, leaving him feeling empty and lost.
"But why'd he have to do it? It's not fair." Tears were streaming down both their faces now, and Harry let his mother hug him as they both cried together. What else was there to do?
"I know, Harry, but it's what your father would have wanted. And we'll find some way to get him back. We'll figure something out," Lily stated softly, clearly trying to sound confident for his sake. Harry, however, knew differently. He could hear her wishing that she could believe those words, wishing they were true. "Your father is strong. He's going to be okay."
--oo--
Darkness.
Screaming.
Pain.
James' face contorted. "I can't—"
Voldemort's soft laughter. Bone chilling. Spine tingling. Entirely too soft.
"James..." Another voice, barely recognizable. "Don't..."
Remus snapped into consciousness, staring up at Dumbledore. For a long time, he could only blink, feeling wet and cold and frightened and unable to move—but then the older wizard helped him to his feet, and Remus managed to shake himself out of it. "Did I fall?" he finally managed to rasp.
His throat was raw and dry. Had he been screaming?
"Not at all," Dumbledore replied seriously. His voice shook a bit. "Not at all."
"What's wrong?" Remus snapped. Breath caught in his throat.
"The Font held you far longer than I expected," the other replied slowly. "I never imagined such a thing could happen, but the Font seemed...almost desperate."
"Desperate?"
Remus shivered. He was naked, he suddenly realized, and freezing cold. A glance downward showed him that the rainbow of colors in the Font was still swirling, swirling, twisting and turning. The power looked warm and inviting, almost comforting, but then he remembered the visions. Dumbledore had warned him—hadn't he?—but nothing had prepared Remus for the sheer power of the images flashing through his mind. James' face simply would not fade away.
"Leave him alone!"
Laughter.
Dementors everywhere. Bellatrix Lestrange leading someone—James?—through them by the hand. James was pale and heartbroken looking, sickly miserable—
"As if you were the only thing the Font ever wanted," Dumbledore whispered, breaking through the vision. He also looked startled, but shook his head vehemently. "But I am sure I am just imagining it."
"If you're not?" Remus had to ask.
"I am," the other replied firmly. "I am."
--oo--
Frank sat quietly, tracing his fingers against the stone floor for want of something better to do. The screams had changed, somehow, over the past week-never before had he heard the oldest prisoner (for they somehow all knew he was the longest lasting of them all) scream that way. Never with such heartbreak, or with such pain.
One learned to differentiate between the screams after a while; they were, after all, just an extension of a prisoner's voice. That was always how they knew when someone new had arrived, and someone new had. This one, however, frightened Frank more than the others, because he thought he already recognized the new, yet rare, set of screams. He knew this one. Had for years. The pitch was just so, the volume just right... This was a friend. A fellow Auror. A hero.
He'd known immediately what James had to be there for, and had known immediately when his mission had failed. That wasn't because Frank knew James so well that he could read his mind, it was just that he knew how Aurors worked, and he could hear the broken quality to the cries now, no matter how rarely they were uttered.
"Tell me I'm wrong," he whispered to the universe, well aware of the fact that the universe wouldn't listen. It never did.
There was, of course, no response, but that was standard operating procedure for Azkaban. After so long, he should have been accustomed to the quiet, to the loneliness, but he supposed one could never be. Not with the nightmares that arrived every night.
Even with those nightmares, however, there was hope. Hope that the Wizarding world wouldn't leave its greatest hero to rot, wouldn't let James Potter suffer any longer. They needed him, and everyone knew it, especially Voldemort. So when that day came, Frank would be ready to do what he could and help in any way possible. Maybe the Aurors would even succeed this time, would even manage to rescue that oldest prisoner who no one recognized at all.
Screams again, from the old one. Quiet and pained now, and somehow not broken.
Was that James' voice in the background?
Authors' Note: Be proud, folks! We managed to get this one up in about a month. That may just be a record for us! Sadly, life has picked up again with two of us in school and the third floating around with the Navy. Things should really start to pick up soon though, so hang in there! And always, please review. It makes us happy and we get much joy out of the things you say to us.