Chapter Chapter 66: Homecoming
The first time he travelled across the decades, Harry had been flung backwards and lost consciousness when his head collided with Hermione's. That was preferable to being fully awake and aware of what was happening. If he had any sort of expectations about what the spell to return them home would be like, he would have anticipated it being rather like travelling via Portkey, since that's essentially what they were doing; only they were jumping through time instead of space.
How wrong he would have been.
A white-hot pain coursed through him, worse than any of the times his scar had pained him and more wide-spread. Every cell in his body burned as if he were being consumed by dragon's fire; he could feel each one trying to rend itself apart as the spell hit. Then, all at once, it stopped.
He lay in darkness, face pressed against frigid stone, fingernails digging into the ancient mortar as the echoes of the pain rippled through him, dim versions of the scorching agony but still enough to dredge bile up his throat. He was desperate to know if it worked, if they were in their right time, but it hurt too much to open his eyes. It hurt to breathe.
"Harry?" he heard Hermione gasp, and he could hear how much effort it took to speak. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. You okay?"
"I don't know."
It felt like his eyelids might tear as he dared to open his eyes. White spots flit across his vision, making it virtually impossible for him to see where they were. Some minutes passed before the spots cleared. He recognised the solid grey walls and wide flagstones of the entrance hall. Their location was different, but there was no way to know if any time had passed.
"Think it worked?" he asked in a thin whine as he attempted to move.
"Can we wait to find out?" she asked. "It hurts too much."
"Good plan."
The entrance hall held no clocks to mark the time or paintings where figures might pass through and be asked for the hour. It was impossible to know how long they stayed on the cool stones, but Harry was fairly certain an hour or more passed before he dared a second attempt at sitting up. It hurt, but the pain was bearable, more an ache than a sharp stab.
With a groan, he forced himself to his feet.
"Already?" Hermione complained but sat up with a groan of her own. She studied the hall, hunting down what clues she could in the inky blackness before observing, "It's early. Around three, maybe."
Harry had long ago given up trying to figure out how she knew the things she knew, but that didn't stop him making his own cursory glance around the entrance hall. He saw nothing to indicate the time of night, just darkness.
"Think Dumbledore will be awake?"
"Only one was to find out." The girl offered a slow shrug that left her cringing. Her first step was unsteady. Her second was no better. She swayed unsteadily on her feet before looking back at him. "A little help, Harry?"
"Right," he mumbled and made his way to her side. She slid her arm over his shoulder, squeezing him tightly. The physical contact helped; knowing he was solid enough for her to cling to reminded him that his cells had not been rent apart, that he was whole and stable. His arm went to her waist, offering her the same reminder.
"Let's go," she said, her voice stronger than it had sounded moments earlier.
Step by arduous step, they made their way from the entrance hall into the right hand corridor and on toward the headmaster's office. Harry had never before been aware of just how far the man's quarters were from the more common areas of the castle. Even when he had been thin and weak following his summer holiday mourning Sirius, he had not found the walk so difficult.
His brain stumbled as he remembered Sirius. The ache in his heart making the lingering pain in his muscles seem nothing at all. Months they had lived together, played and flirted. Veritaserum had pulled the truth from him, and he had told Sirius precisely when and how he would die. Surely, he had been clever enough to leave that information intact and in his brain. Surely, he had found a way to cut around it, to use it to his advantage. He must still be alive.
Without realising, Harry's feet began to move a bit faster, pulling his body and Hermione through the corridors and up staircases at a pace that only increased the closer they came to the headmaster's office. By the time the gargoyle was in sight, the boy was practically running.
He skidded to a stop with the awareness that he didn't know the current password.
"You're late," the gargoyle griped as it leapt aside. "Two weeks we've been waiting for you."
"Oh, uh, sorry?" Harry offered.
"Two weeks? That's going to be difficult to explain. I do hope they've thought of something." Hermione continued to mutter to herself as she climbed up the rotating stairs. Harry followed, silent in his certainty that Sirius had found a way to evade death this time around. He was clever, a genius even. If anyone could manage, it was him.
"Ah, Miss Granger, Mr Potter, I was beginning to worry." Dumbledore smiled at them from behind his half-moon spectacles, his eyes no less bright than they had been last they saw one another, though the rest of his body was markedly older. Harry found it difficult to believe he hadn't noted the differences immediately upon seeing that younger version of the man; Hermione had. "I trust the counter spell has not left any lingering damage."
"It doesn't appear so, professor," Hermione replied, though it was clear she was still experiencing some aches from the journey back.
"Some time with Madam Pomfrey should sort out any of the more unpleasant after-effects," he assured her.
"About the after-effects," Harry said, uncertain he wanted to hear the man's reply. "Have we—Has anything—Did we—" He stopped as he realised that Dumbledore had lived the past twenty years with the results of their meddling; he couldn't possibly know what might have changed. Finally, he asked the question he was so desperate to have answered. "Is Sirius dead?"
The man took a moment to step around his desk. He laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Harry knew the answer. "He passed this summer."
"Department of Mysteries, Bellatrix LeStrange," he said, his voice distant.
"I'm afraid so, Harry. Your parents, too, some years ago."
"Didn't change a damn thing," he muttered, turning from the man and stumbling from the office.
How could it be the same? How could he still be dead? Harry had told him everything, the date and time and place down to the exact door he had stepped through to reach that ghostly veil. He had left nothing out. The Veritaserum wouldn't have let him edit events even if he had wanted to, and he hadn't wanted to. He had wanted Sirius to know all there was to know so that he might change things, survive. He knew by the sick working its way up his throat and the icy chill taking over his body that he had convinced himself that his meddling had been a success. It was a stupid, childish thing to do.
He ought to have learned by now that he never got the happy ending he wanted.
His parents were still dead so was his godfather and boyfriend. He was alone in a cold world without that armour he had once had to protect himself; Sirius had removed it piece by piece and left him with nothing. When he left, he had been sickly, alone and broken. Turns out very little had changed, despite what he had previously thought.
He threw himself down on the floor under the Fat Lady's empty frame, uncertain exactly how he had managed to find the way when his eyes hadn't noticed a single way marker. He let the cold of the stones seep through his clothes, unwilling to move. Even if the Fat Lady had been where she belonged, he didn't know the words to get in, and the warmth of the common room was the last thing he wanted right now.
"Harry."
The boy didn't stir at the voice. "What are you doing here?"
"Rotating guard duty down in the entrance hall. You managed to slip in between shifts," Lupin explained, his voice quiet enough that he almost couldn't hear the difference age and time had had on the man. Then he sighed, and any hopes he had of Remus still being Remus were lost. "Harry, I'm sorry."
"You should have stopped him," Harry said, glaring his anger at the man folding his long legs to sit beside him.
Lupin sighed and nodded his understanding. "I'm sorry, Harry. Even knowing what would happen, I couldn't stop him. He loved you. You know that. He would have done anything for you, no matter how dangerous or daft."
Even knowing the words were kindly meant, Harry couldn't keep the bitter bile from rising in his throat. "It's my fault."
"Let's not start that again," the man warned. "Sirius made his choices. He was a brilliant man, but we both know how bloody pigheaded he could be. If it meant saving you, he'd gladly have jumped before any number of curses."
"But he forgot me on purpose." He sounded like a lost child and hated it.
"It doesn't mean he didn't love you. He just loved you differently."
Regardless of what Lupin said, the old guilt was twisting in his stomach again, painting the world in dismal shades of black.
"And what about me, Remus?" Hermione questioned, making the man jump. He had apparently been focused so intently on Harry he hadn't heard the girl's approach. "Do you love me any different?"
The man kept his eyes locked on the stone floor as he answered. "What do you want me to say, Hermione? We were teenagers. I loved you like I'd never loved anything." His shoulders slumped as the weight of truth fell on him. Harry had never seen his former professor look so worn down. The twin traumas of Sirius's passing and the summer full moons had not had him looking as tired and defeated as he did now.
Hermione may have noticed but that did not stop her from pressing the man further. "Loved?"
"I've had twenty years to settle that passion and come to terms with the reality of us. You were right when you said we shouldn't have gotten involved; I shouldn't have pushed you. I knew my kind don't live long. I never thought I would live past thirty-five. I never thought you'd be forced to come back to this." His hand gestured to the hair thick with grey, the worn clothes, the face interrupted by scars and creases.
"So, you thought…"
"I thought you would be coming back to a grave, not a tired man too old and poor to be of any use to you. I'm sorry, Hermione. I wasn't thinking."
Hermione's face gave nothing away as she stepped closer. "You weren't thinking," she repeated slowly. "No, you clearly weren't if you thought it was better for me to come home to find you dead, if you wanted to leave me to mourn alone. I love you, and all you can say is you're sorry? You stupid, selfish little boy!" Her hand flew out and slapped him hard across the face.
She spun around and stomped back down the stairs, tears running down her cheeks and jaw clenched tight in anger.
"That could have gone a bit better," Remus admitted as he rubbed his reddening cheek. "Could have gone a lot worse, too." His attempt at humour fell as did his sad smile when look up and found Harry looming over him.
"Fix it," he warned darkly. "Or I will break your legs."
"Weren't you meant to say that back when I started dating her?"
"I'm not playing around. Do you know how many spells I picked up in the Restricted Section? What I did to Alfie Quintain will look like heaven if you don't fix this."
Harry glared at him once more before he left to find Hermione