Back to the Start

By She's a Star

Author's Note: There is one simple reason why it took me so long to get this up, and it's because I could not think of the name for a Divination professor before Trelawney. Ya see, originally, it was Trelawney, but then I realized that she wasn't teaching at Hogwarts during the MWPP generation. Damn new OotP canon. Gets me every time. So now it gets to be Fastrada, who was, for all you fun fact-y people, the third wife of the emperor Charlemagne, and in Pippin gets to sing a nifty song about spreading a little sunshine. I really do love that play. J And, come to think of it, you can also blame it for the lack of updates, because we've got the whole insane amount of rehearsing thing goin' on. Alas, it'll all be over by this Sunday. Sniffle. And hi, rambling over here.

And I just know that that smiley face I made earlier is going to be a J.

It's a cruel world.

Two

            "I'm worried about him," Remus said, pouring the tea. A continuous cloud of steam danced lazily from the cup until it disappeared into the air. He added a bit of cream, set it down onto the table, and then began to pour his own cup.

            "With good reason. Then again, you always were the reasonable one."

            Remus laughed a little, and finished filling the second tea cup. He gingerly lifted the cup – it was hot against his fingers – and sat down at the table as well.

            "You can't say you're not worried," he accused lightly, staring down into his tea and wondering what message the leaves at the bottom might hold. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he had to laugh inwardly at his own foolishness. This was what he'd been reduced to – a terrified fool hoping for answers from the remnants of tea.

            Still, he couldn't quite blame himself.

            "Searching for signs in the tea leaves, Moony?" Sirius asked. Remus looked up to see him grinning.

            "You know me far too well," answered Remus, offering a tired smile in return.

            "No wonder you always got O's in Divination," said Sirius in mock-disgust. "Well," he added after a moment of consideration, "that and the fact that you were secretly snogging Professor Fastrada in the Astronomy Tower."

            Remus sighed in exasperation, but didn't bother to fight an indulgent smile. "I think it can safely be said that you never grew up properly."

            "Twelve years in Azkaban'll do that to you," Sirius replied lightly. He took a sip of his tea, then said, very matter-of-factly, "I'm worried as hell."

            "At least I'm not alone on that one."

            Sirius absently brushed a lock of black hair away from his eyes. "But I know he can do it. He's meant to."

            "I have no doubt of that," Remus said truthfully. "But if the spell somehow goes wrong . . ."

            "The spell's not going to go wrong, Moony," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "You've all been working on it for, what, a year?"

            "Ten months," Remus corrected.

            "Close enough," Sirius said dismissively. "Point is, it's going to work. So quit worrying."

            He took a sip of tea.

            "You know," Remus couldn't help but say, "complete inability to make proper tea and the fifteen year old teacher-snogging humor aside, I don't know what I'd do without you, Padfoot."

            Sirius stared at him for a moment, then opened his mouth to reply when the tea kettle suddenly went off, wailing with reckless abandon.

            "What on earth?" Remus muttered under his breath, bewildered. But the tea was finished already, and he knew he hadn't heated more water, and yet it still kept wailing, louder and louder—

            Remus sat up with a start and gazed wildly around the kitchen. The tea kettle sat on the stove, shrieking. Ah, yes. He must have dozed off waiting for the water to boil. One of the disadvantages to doing things the Muggle way, he supposed. Everything took so much longer. Of course, he hadn't helped matters any by falling asleep, but he couldn't help it – as the day grew closer, a good night's sleep was becoming more and more of a rarity.

            He closed his eyes for a moment, hoping it might soothe the throbbing in his temples, and the sound immediately ceased. Puzzled, he opened them again to see Ginny Weasley setting the kettle onto a back burner.

            "Thank you, Ginny," he said, forcing a smile.

            She turned and smiled back, a bit awkwardly. "Wouldn't want the house to burn down."

            "I'd imagine not," he responded. "So, to what do I owe this visit?"

            "I . . . have to ask you something," she replied, looking very unsure of herself. Remus suspected at once that this something most likely related to Harry somehow.

            "Of course," Remus said. "Tea?"

            "Sure," she said, and remained standing. "I'll get it."

            Remus stood. "You don't have to-"

            "It's okay," she cut in. "Really."

            "All right," he said, sinking down into the chair again. "The cups are in the left cupboard."

            He watched quietly for a moment as Ginny made her way around the kitchen, then chanced to ask, "What was it you wanted to ask me?"

            "Just . . . something," Ginny said, sounding a bit embarrassed. "Do you take sugar?"

            "No, thank you," he replied, and continued to watch as she poured a liberal amount of sugar into one cup.

            "It was nice of Professor McGonagall to let you leave Hogwarts grounds when exams are drawing near," he commented placidly.

            Ginny turned around and said, with utmost earnestness, "It was. I just explained to her that I needed to ask you something very important, and she let me leave."

            Remus raised an eyebrow.

            ". . . I may or may not have told her that it had to do with studying for Defense Against the Dark Arts."

            "Ah," Remus said, smiling. "How cunning of you."

            Ginny grinned back mischievously. "I'm a Weasley. It's what we do."

            "I've come to that conclusion over the years, yes."

            Ginny came over to the table and placed one cup of tea in front of him, taking the other for herself and sipping out of it.

            "Remus," she said after a moment, almost timidly.

            "Yes?"

            "How do you . . ." she bit her lip nervously. "Well, what I mean is, if you . . . uh . . .damn. Darn," she corrected immediately after casting a worried glance at him. "Say . . . you care about someone, a lot. And they're facing mortal danger very shortly, and you want to tell them that you care, but it would be awkward beyond all belief. And in case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm talking about Harry and me," she threw in with dry smile.

            Remus smiled back. "I hadn't the slightest idea."

            Ginny giggled, then grew solemn once more. "What do I do?"

            Remus found that he didn't even need a moment to think on it. "Well, in my opinion, you should tell him somehow, in whatever way feels the most comfortable to you. If you don't, you might never . . ." He sighed, then forced what he hoped passed as a pleasant expression onto his face. "I've lost many friends, and if I were given the chance to tell them just how much they meant to me, I would. I'm not sure that I ever did enough."

            Ginny stared sadly at him, then placed a hand lightly onto his.

            "I'm sorry," she said softly.

            He smiled tiredly back at her. "Thank you."

            "Thank you, too," she said. "For the advice, I mean. And I should probably head back to school," she continued, sighing. "It only takes so long to ask how Lethifolds reproduce."

*

            Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap.

            "Could you stop that?" Hermione requested, annoyed, as Ron drummed his quill against the table.

            Ron looked up at her. "Huh?"

            It was clear that his mind was about as focused on the N.E.W.T.'s as hers was. Then again, Hermione couldn't blame him. Even though she worked her hardest not to show it, she was going out of her mind with worry.

            "Never mind," she sighed, and went back to her notes. Dates and names stared up at her in her own handwriting, and she tried not to think about how worthless it all might be in a few days' time. She had to be positive, for Harry.

            For her own sanity.

            "Your hair's falling out," Ron commented.

            Hermione looked up, alarmed. "What??"

            Her hands flew instinctively to her head, some stupid part of her expecting to find detached clumps of hair.

            "From the bun," Ron clarified, snickering a little.

            "Oh," Hermione said lamely, and notice that a few stray locks of hair were, in fact, hanging in her face rather than being pulled back. "Well, you could have just said that."

            Ron continued laughing to himself, and Hermione rolled her eyes. Honestly. He drove her crazy.

            Outside, the wind let out a despairing wail, and she shivered a little.

             "I don't imagine Harry's flying in that," she commented.

            Ron shrugged. "You never know. He might not even notice it." He sounded a bit uncomfortable. "You know how he gets sometimes."

            Hermione nodded, her concern rapidly increasing. "We should probably go outside and check on him," she told Ron, half expecting him to argue about going out in that weather.

            Instead, he stood up. "Okay."

            He surprised her sometimes.

*

            She stepped outside and the rain immediately began to whip her hair around her face, but she paid it no mind. Instead, she took a few steps forward and paused, not sure if she dared go any closer. She wasn't sure that he would care to speak to her anymore, and really, she wasn't too eager to maintain any sort of relationship with him either.

            But now . . . after what was happening the day after tomorrow . . .

            And he looked so insignificant, lying there in the grass – soaked to the bone, no doubt. She wondered what he was thinking about, or if he was thinking at all. If she were in his position, she imagined she would have simply been numb to everything by that point.

            But Harry was different. He was a hero.

            She watched him, and to her displeasure, found tears welling up in her eyes. Oh, she hoped that he didn't notice her now. Her seemingly nonstop crying had annoyed him, she was sure. Things were better with Michael – he didn't mind it so much. He listened to her when she talked about Cedric, instead of trying to pretend it had never happened.

            Things were better.

            It was a bit foolish, to come all this way and not even work up the courage to talk to him. And yet as the tears began to stream down her face, she found that she'd like nothing more than to be back in her hotel room in Hogsmeade with a warm cup of tea and a book. Something to distract her, so maybe she could pretend that everything might not change in two days' time.

            Go on, Cho, she lectured herself angrily. At least tell him good luck.

            But it wasn't the sort of thing, she decided, that someone could just say.

            So instead she impatiently brushed the tears away and stepped back into the horseless carriage.

            One last glance informed her that he hadn't moved. He was too still, and it frightened her. The last time someone she'd cared about had been too still, he'd been dead.