Tales from the River House
Fever Dream

By copperbadge

Previous Russian Literature Fever Dream Bullfinch's Mythology The Birds, the Bees and the Snakes A Lesson in Hiding Next

FEVER DREAM

Remus Lupin once read that a werewolf was one of the most efficient sentient machines ever to exist. For something which could read, philosophise, consider its own soul and use spoken language, it was also disease resistant, with a metabolism that didn't quit and an enviable capacity for healing. Werewolves could go without air for three days before their brains shut down, survive ten without water and indefinitely without food, though of course there came a point where weakness set in and they died of thirst or inability to operate their own lungs. They felt cold, but did not die from it until their blood froze solid -- and their blood had a lower freezing point than humans'.

Still, they were susceptible to certain things -- for one, self-mutilation in wolf-shape. There was also Lycanthropic Degenerative Neuropathy, the great fear of a werewolf's life, in which blindness and hallucination led to incurable neurological decay and madness. No one bothered to study it. One less werewolf, after all. The general cure was a pistol and a chambered silver bullet.

There were also certain forms of diseases, specifically magical influenzas, that affected them -- maladies called the three-hour-bug in humans because they were there and gone so fast, but which, because of their own speedy metabolisms, kept up with a werewolf for days.

A few months after Sirius fell through the veil and shortly after Harry's arrival -- sullen, angry, and apathetic -- at Grimmauld Place, Remus fell ill, which was something of a relief to him, as it meant he wouldn't be asked to comfort Harry. He was the logical choice; he had known Sirius the longest, and Molly felt comforting Harry would help him struggle through his own mourning. Harry hated him, though, and Remus was glad of any excuse to be out of the boy's furious presence. He, after all, had held Harry back; had not protected Sirius as a friend ought; had failed to be the great Defence Against the Dark Arts master which Harry remembered from two years before.

He drifted, mostly, conscious enough to know where he was, fevered just enough for his perceptions to be slightly distorted. Molly brought him meals and a soothing potion that made it possible to sleep; he felt he could taste the bitterness with which Severus must have brewed it. He still took it though, at least at night, and it kept him from kicking the covers away and wandering the house, unable to be still.

It was late afternoon, though, and he was slipping in and out of sleep, and the dreams that came with it...

He woke with a start to find himself standing in an unfamiliar room, brightly lit by the afternoon sun. He rubbed his eyes blearily, but he felt alert and awake -- perhaps he'd been walking in his sleep when the fever broke.

This didn't look like Grimmauld Place, though. There were bookshelves along the walls, filled with texts and odd knicknacks, broken by the presence of two dressers, with the usual spare-change-and-cologne detritus on them. Drawings hung on the walls where the bookshelves weren't, some by a childish hand, some clearly purchased prints.

The bed was large, simply made, and covered with a green-patterned quilt which was rumpled beneath a sleeping body --

"Sirius," he breathed softly. God, he'd died. He'd died and there was an afterlife and Sirius was here waiting for him. He knew that broad back, the smooth black hair the way Sirius used to wear it, cropped short --

Sirius was holding someone in his arms, and Remus felt the usual twinge of disappointment. Not me, not ever me, the litany went in his head, replacing the usual chorus lately, he's dead, he's gone now.

He circled the bed, wondering if Sirius was awake, but he was struck instead by something else...

He's holding me.

Himself, a little less careworn by years, less grey in his hair, fewer lines on his face and a different pattern of scars, but undoubtedly him. Shivering, eyes closed, face flushed. Feverish.

He crouched at the edge of the bed until he was on eye-level with the other Remus, and put out a tentative hand.

Brown eyes snapped open, and regarded him warily, pupils slightly more dilated than they ought to be.

"You," the bed-Remus croaked hoarsely. "Who are you?"

"It's me, Moony," Sirius mumbled against his neck. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"I'm sorry, I don't know how I got here," Remus said, softly, to his other-self on the bed. Sirius didn't appear to hear him.

"You're me," bed-Remus mumbled.

"Hush, you're delirious," Sirius said.

"Somehow," Remus agreed.

"I'm ill. Dreaming."

"That's right, Moony. It's okay, I'm here."

Remus' heart seized up, when he saw Sirius plant a kiss on the side of the other Remus' neck, wrap his arm around his waist more tightly, fingers spread intimately over his belly.

"Boggart -- spirit -- incubus -- " the fevered Remus continued. "You're not real."

"I am real," Sirius protested affectionately. "You're just a bit sick, that's all. Try to sleep."

"Why're you here?" Bed-Remus demanded of him. Remus shook his head.

"I don't know," he said, at the same time Sirius said "Because I love you."

The other Remus closed his eyes and seemed to melt back into the warmth of the man holding him. Remus watched in a certain amount of agony -- his Sirius was dead, his Sirius had never said that, his Sirius couldn't hold him through his illness.

"Where's Harry?" Bed-Remus asked after a moment, and Sirius murmured reassuringly to him. Remus moved away, around the bed and towards the door, wondering if Harry was here in this strange place -- and if that meant Harry was dead also.

He turned in the hallway towards a faint sound and found another door; putting his ear to it he could hear childish humming, and every horror film he'd seen as a boy (his Muggle mother had adored the cinema) came back to him. Haunting, ghostly humming --

He turned the knob, however, and opened the door; on the other side was a brightly decorated child's room, lined with bookshelves as the other had been, though there appeared to be more books in piles on the floor, bedside table, desk, bed --

At the desk under the window was a small, thin boy, nine or ten at the most, doing sums out of a textbook. He was humming to himself as he did them and a snake, coiled nearby, was idly swaying in time to the wordless noise. The boy turned when the door opened, and Remus stared at him in shock.

It was Harry, but not Harry as he'd ever seen him -- too young to be even thirteen, though the bright green eyes and the dark scar on his forehead were the same. James' face. Lily's eyes. He had never even seen James when James was this young, but who else could it be?

"Hi Remus," Harry said nonchalantly, and turned back to mark his place in the book. He held out his hand to the snake, which slithered up under his shirt-sleeve and wrapped itself around his neck. "Are you better?"

"Hi...hello Harry," Remus said uncertainly. "I...I'm not sure."

Harry shrugged. "I'm almost done with my maths homework, will you read it when I'm finished?"

"Er...yes, if you like," Remus answered. "Harry -- "

"Do you want lunch? Sirius forgot breakfast," Harry said, slipping off the chair. "I made some eggs but they tasted funny, so I threw them out."

"Wise boy," Remus murmured bewilderedly, as Harry brushed past him into the hallway. He followed the boy into a kitchen near the front of the house, slightly messy but fairly well-organised, with a pan -- clearly from Harry's failed eggs -- soaking in the sink.

"You want cheese toasties?" Harry asked, standing on his toes to reach a loaf of bread in a cupboard. Remus reached past him and took it down, setting it on the counter. Harry took out eight slices -- "We'll make one for Sirius, he didn't eat at all since yesterday," -- and began to butter them placidly, handing a block of cheese from the Muggle fridge to Remus, who found a knife in one of the drawers and cut enough slices for four sandwiches. Apparently Harry ate two.

Harry lifted the lid on a contraption Remus recognised as a waffle iron, with the irons inverted to make a griddle, and placed the sandwiches on it carefully, closing the lid and plugging it in.

"I'm glad you're better," he said, resting his hands on the counter and his chin on his hands to watch the toasties cook, through the narrow gap between the two griddle-irons. "Sirius said if you weren't better by tomorrow, charm or not he was going to leave me with Bethany and go fetch a Healer from St. Mungo's."

"Bethany?" Remus asked. Harry gave him a grin, but did not explain.

"She says next time I come to see her we're going to make peanut-butter cookies," he said. "Last time she told me she thinks you and Sirius are Pagans and she always has to watch me on the full moon because you go out to do sacred-arcane-rites-of-power at Rhos Y Beddau. She says that's why Sirius is always running off the kids who go up there to smoke and stuff."

Remus murmured something neutral, and Harry lifted the lid of the iron, wrinkling his nose. "Few more minutes. Are we Pagans, Remus?"

Remus shook his head. "No, I...I doubt it..."

"When I get to be a wizard, can I do sacred-arcane-rites-of-power?"

Harry turned his face up, questioningly, and Remus looked down at him, still confused but very pleased to see Harry so talkative, so cheerful.

"I imagine you could," he muttered.

"Can you get the plates?" Harry said, gesturing to a cupboard, and Remus took down three plates. Harry left the counter and went to the fridge, pouring two glasses of milk and one of orange juice into tumblers procured from another cupboard. He checked the food again and deftly tweaked the toasties, now a golden brown, onto the plates. He took the milk-glasses and tucked them into the crook of one arm along with two of the plates. Remus was automatically reaching for the orange juice and the third plate, when Sirius appeared in the doorway.

Remus felt himself stumble a little against the counter, but there was a peculiar sensation that he was leaving his body for a moment --

"Harry, who are you talking to in here?" Sirius asked, as Remus gasped for breath, feeling like he was dissolving.

"Remus," Harry answered, with a nod of his head -- and then stared at where Remus had been standing, but was now slowly drifting away.

***

In the sunlit kitchen, Sirius looked at Harry, concerned for a moment. "What do you mean, Harry? Remus is in bed."

"He was just here," Harry said. "He got the plates down for me."

He held out one of the sandwiches, which Sirius took absently, and set the tumblers back on the table. "He came and got me in my room."

"Harry, tell me honestly, no pretending."

"I'm not pretending," Harry said indignantly. "I'm almost ten, you know, I'm not a child."

"I know, Harry, but this is serious. If you saw a ghost, or some kind of spirit -- "

"He wasn't a ghost. He sliced the cheese for me and everything. I'm not making it up!" Harry insisted. Sirius took a thoughtful bite of his sandwich.

"Did he say anything to you?" he asked.

"I guess. He said hi, and that he'd look at my homework when it was done. When you came in he just disappeared."

"He left?"

"No. He disappeared. Like dissolving in the air."

Sirius reached up into one of the high cupboards and fumbled for a moment before bringing down a velvet-wrapped object. He unrolled it slowly, revealing his and Remus' wands -- charmed not to function unless they were in danger. He gave his an experimental flick. Nothing happened.

"I think you'd better spend the rest of the day with us," Sirius said, gathering up the juice and the other sandwich. "Come on, you can do your homework in our room. I'm sure Remus would like some orange juice."

Harry shrugged and helped carry the food into the bedroom his godfather and Remus shared. Remus was asleep, breath rattling a little in his throat; Harry climbed up on the edge of the bed and carefully balanced his milk against his knee, eating neatly.

"We'll let him sleep," Sirius said softly, setting the juice on the bedside table. He put a broad, capable hand over Remus' forehead for a moment and then gave Harry a smile. "I think the fever's going down."

He settled onto the bed and kept dark, watchful eyes on Harry and Remus, but when Remus woke that evening the fever had gone, and Harry and Sirius agreed not to tell him about the stranger in their house.

***

Harry spent most of his time in 'his' room these days, the room in the old Black townhouse which Molly had fixed with bright Quidditch posters and a desk and chair for him. He did a lot of his summer homework, because he didn't want to do much else. Lately he'd taken to sleeping twelve and fourteen hours a day.

He was curled up on the bed, reading a boring text on advanced Charms, when there was a brief knock on the door.

"Go away," he called, but the knob turned, and he rolled to glare at whoever had interrupted his sulking.

Remus stood in the doorway, hand still on the doorknob, wearing a threadbare white shirt over equally worn green pyjama bottoms. Harry hadn't bothered to see him while he was sick, and he looked rather ghastly, skin tight over his cheekbones, eyes sunken more than usual and a little too bright.

"What do you want," Harry asked, sullenly. He knew Remus had been avoiding him because the older man hated him, wished he had gone through the Veil instead of Sirius, because everyone knew Remus loved Sirius and Harry was just a stupid boy Sirius had been defending. Harry had merely been waiting for Remus to say even a word to him, to open his mouth and confirm it.

He had thought Remus had favoured him just a little, at school, but clearly he was just another reminder of his dead parents, whom Remus had loved much more than he loved Harry.

"Stand up," Remus said, voice soft but clear, tones steady. Harry scowled but obeyed, defiantly looking him in the eye, daring him to say it. Remus moved forward slowly and slightly unsteadily, as if he was unsure of his feet.

"Are you still sick?" Harry said, because it looked as if the man was going to fall over if he did much more.

"The fever's broken," Remus answered calmly, now standing in front of him, sweeping Harry with his eyes. Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"Do you need something?" Harry asked angrily.

To his shock, Remus reached out and pulled him into a hug, wrapping his arms around Harry's shoulders, one hand on his neck, firmly holding him in the embrace. After a confused second, Harry leaned into the sudden warmth, resting his palms flat on Remus' chest, burying his face in the collar of his shirt. He felt Remus stroke the back of his head, and something broke; he sobbed, convulsively, and Remus made a soft shushing noise as tears poured out of him, getting both their shirts wet.

Remus murmured words, but Harry couldn't hear them over his own ragged breathing; he suspected they were more a comforting background noise in any case, and let the tension drain out of his chest and shoulders in tears, for minutes on end.

"I'm sorry," he heard Remus say, when his sobs had subsided a little. "I'm sorry I didn't come for you sooner, Harry. I'm sorry I didn't take you away from them the minute you showed magic, even before -- " the other man's voice cracked, but when Harry looked up, Remus' eyes were dry. "I'm so sorry, Harry."

Harry burrowed into the soft white shirt again, until his breathing had steadied. Remus spoke in a low monotone, but the words were soothing.

"I loved your father as much as it is possible to love," he said, rubbing small circles on Harry's back. "And your mother too. She was the most wonderful woman, you know, more forgiving than James had any right to deserve, and she loved us more than we deserved, too, once we stopped being idiots. By god how she loved you, Harry. She made up songs for you, bought you more toys than you knew what to do with, sat and held you for hours -- the rest of us could barely get a look at you. James was no better. All he did was brag about what a bright, handsome little boy you were, and he was right."

Harry felt the arms around his shoulders loosen, and moved back a little, wiping embarrasedly at his eyes.

"Sirius had no idea how to be a parent, Harry, but he loved you just as much as James and Lily did," Remus said. "It all went wrong, I know that, but he did love you, and so do I."

Harry glanced up sharply. Remus gave him a small smile.

"I've neglected you because I thought there were others who could better help you find your way, Harry, but it hurts to see you so lost." He drew a deep breath. "I won't leave you alone anymore."

Harry felt tears threaten again, so he sat on the edge of the bed, wiping his nose with his hand. "I thought you hated me," he muttered.

"I know. I didn't. I was scared of you. Scared that you hated me," Remus added, dry irony seeping into his tone. "And it's a big job, you know. It's easy to take responsibility for teaching a few hundred children how to hex a Hinkypunk. It's a little more difficult to take on just one."

"You needn't, then -- " Harry began, defiant once more, but Remus held up a hand.

"That's why I'm here," he said. "It's my job now. So," he added, sitting on the bed next to Harry. "The rest of the summer, I am at your disposal. What do you need?"

Harry considered this for a minute, but he suddenly wanted to be out of this room, somewhere warm and safe, and there was only one place like that in Grimmauld Place.

"We could have lunch," he said hopefully, and Remus grinned at him.

"Lunch sounds fine," he answered, and followed Harry out of his room, down into the heated comfort of the kitchen.

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