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‘John Henry,
You are so lucky you get to be home-schooled. I know I said last year was a nightmare – the end of it truly was – but this year…. I surely envy you this year. An awful woman named Umbridge has been brought on to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts and she’s simply horrid. An absolute toad! All we’re allowed to do in class is read from our textbook and occasionally take notes – no practicing, no asking questions, no discussions on technique or anything!
Apparently Minister Fudge went right over the School Board’s collective heads and appointed her without their consent. I’ve been looking into the school bylaws and that is completely illegal. I’ve brought what I found to Professor McGonagall – who quite possibly hates Umbridge even more than the students do – and she’s assured me she’ll be bringing it up at the next meeting. Until then we just have to deal with her.’
‘Hey John Henry.
I’m sure Hermione’s filled you in on the toad. It wouldn’t be so bad but the woman’s a monster in detention. I haven’t had any, but the twins and Ginny all have and she’s fuckin’ brutal. No helping Mr Filtch or scrubbing cauldrons – Umbridge has them writing lines with a blood quill – which, according to Hermione, is an ‘archaic form of torture outlawed eons ago.’ Their hands are so raw. Madame Pomfrey has more students coming to her for Scar-Free Hand Salve than anything else this year. I’ve told Hermione to include that in her packet to the School Board. Because of course the woman has an entire packet that’s 3inches thick – she’s fucking Hermione Granger, and she has the facts.
And she’ll hit you over the head with them if you make fun of her for it. So I’d advise against doing that.’
‘Holy shit, guys, that sounds terrible. Tell Ginny and the twins that witch hazel is good for scars and swelling. That’s what’s in the package – they should check with Madame Pomfrey before using it, though, to make sure it doesn’t interact too much with the salve she gave them.
Mr Lupin got a letter from the Ministry about having to submit his Defence curriculum to Umbridge for approval. All the ‘corrections’ she ‘suggested’ have been ignored. He showed me and my dad what she sent back and it’s pretty freakin’ hilarious. She writes in pink ink – my dad nearly had a cow over how unprofessional that is. Have you guys thought about teaching yourselves the important stuff? Like, have a study group for Defence or something?’
‘She’s disbanded every student organization! EVERY SINGLE ONE!!! Even S.P.E.W. Hermione had to sit in a quiet room breathing into a bag for a while when that ‘decree’ came out. Also, quidditch is cancelled. I needed a quiet room and a bag to breathe into for that one. The twins, Ginny and I decided to fuck that and just play outside on brooms, and anyone who wants to play with us can.’
‘So… don’t make it an official student organization. Teach yourselves in the common room. Or some other place where it won’t get back to her. I’ll send you lectures and suggestions from Mr Lupin, you guys can practice and tell me how it goes.’
‘IT WAS MINISTER FUDGE!!! HE CHANGED THE LAWS SO HE COULD APPOINT THE TOAD!!! I’M GOING TO EXPLODE, JOHN HENRY!!! All that TIME and LOOKING UP REGULATIONS and it was for NOTHING!!! A 3inch thick packet – FOR NOTHING!!!!’
‘Take deep breaths, Hermione. I’m sure Professor McGonagall and the others really appreciated your efforts and the dedication you showed. Just keep meeting where she can’t see you. I’ve included Mr Lupin’s notes on defensive charms and the impediment jinx. I think they’re pretty good.
And before I forget, Ron, my dad, Mr Lupin and I will be at your house for dinner Christmas Eve. I think Mr Lupin’s already owled your mum, but you know how bad parents are at keeping us out of the loop. Let me know when you two are coming so I can let the guys know – we’re all home until the New Year, same as last year.’
“DAD!!!” John Henry sat straight up in bed, panting and sweaty. Throwing the covers off, he dashed out of his room and down the hall. “Dad!! Dad, dad, dad-“
Michael threw his bedroom door open, black eyes wild and face pale. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Dad,” John Henry breathed and tossed his arms around his father’s middle. Burying his face in Michael’s chest, he squeezed. “I had a bad dream. It was really, really bad. I think something’s happened to Ron’s dad.”
Taking a deep breath, Michael relaxed into the doorjamb and draped an arm around his son. “A dream.”
John Henry shook his head, still pressed into Michael’s sternum. “It didn’t feel like a dream, dad. It felt real.”
Michael nodded. “Yes, dreams have a way of-“
“No dad,” John Henry refuted, finally pulling away. His eyes, when they met Michael’s, were solemn. “I think this one was real.”
And his son, for all his playfulness and flights of fancy, was not prone to extraordinary fits of imagination. Not like this. So Michael nodded.
“Mr Lupin can get in touch with the Weasley’s much quicker than I can. Everything will be just fine.”
Remus was unsurprisingly easy to rouse and all too willing to reach out to the Weasley’s, even though he didn’t know what for. The news back was disconcerting. Seated at the Stevens’ kitchen table, Remus ran a hand over his tired eyes and brought a crumpled pack of cigarettes out. It was three in the morning and they’d all been up for two hours already. Michael placed a mug of tea and an empty saucer in front of him and hot chocolate in front of his son before taking his own seat.
“Arthur was at the Ministry this evening,” Remus reported, somewhat shocked. The cigarette smoke twirled up to the ceiling in lazy circles as he lit it. “Molly told me when the guards went looking for him at her request, they found him in the Hall of Mysteries. He… he looked like he’d been attacked by something.”
John Henry’s head popped off the kitchen table, glasses askew in front of worried green eyes. “Something like a snake?”
Baffled, Remus looked at the boy. “Yes, John Henry. Exactly like that. How did you know?”
John Henry gave his father a tortured look. “Dad…”
Frowning, Michael pulled his chair around in front of his son. He had a growing suspicion as to what that dream really was, but without seeing it for himself, he’d have no way of knowing for sure.
“John Henry,” he started, his voice pitched low. “There is a type of magic I can do without a wand where I can look into a person’s mind and see their memories. I haven’t done it in some time – and I’ve never done it to you. But if you’ll allow me, I’d like to see what that dream you had was. You’d relive it as I watched, and it would probably be uncomfortable for you. If you say no, I’ll respect that. But it’s rather important I know exactly what your dream was.”
Because if John Henry had a real-time vision of what attacked Arthur Weasley, that meant he might have a psychic link to it. And that was incredibly concerning. John Henry chewed that over a bit, then took a fortifying breath and nodded. He had to be brave if he wanted to understand what was going on, and he knew his father would never hurt him on purpose.
“Michael,” Remus murmured, leaning closer and reaching his free hand out to Michael’s arm, “a pensive-“
“Isn’t wandless and unless I’m mistaken, only one person in our acquaintance has one readily available for use,” Michael returned, black eyes flashing dangerously. “You’ll forgive me if I’m not open to the idea of exposing my son to that at quite this juncture.”
Remus pressed his lips together, turning the edges of them white with the force of it, and took a deep breath through his nose before he nodded and sat back. Michael turned towards his son.
“John Henry?”
The boy took a fortifying breath and nodded again. “Yeah, dad. You can look.”
There was a time in Michael’s life, ever so long ago, when a man he knew had a pet that was capable of doing every task the man set it to do. That man had even been able to see through his pet’s eyes, as if psychically linked. If what his son had experienced was anything like the man he’d once known…. Michael really wasn’t sure what that meant.
But he had a sneaking suspicion, and it wasn’t good.
Michael called the school in the morning and let them know his son would be out sick that day.
It was just a touch of the flu, Mrs Evans; doctor said the worst was over the weekend and today was just for recovery.
He could drive his son’s homework assignments over this afternoon and pick up those that would be due tomorrow, if that was agreeable.
Mrs Evans should have a wonderful day as well, and he’d be sure to let John Henry know she wished him better soon, especially since there was a game this coming weekend.
Yes, John Henry was looking forward to it as well, and Michael agreed that he’d played exceptionally well last weekend.
He wasn’t sure if Mr Lupin would be able to attend, but yes he does seem to enjoy the games as well.
Yes, he supposed he might be able to call Mr Lupin a close friend but –
Really, Mrs Evans a customer just walked in so he was very sorry but he had to go.
Have a good morning, Mrs Evans.
Molly Weasley – via Remus – demanded the Stevens’ presence as soon as Arthur was found. She needed to feed them and hug them and thank them properly for saving her husband’s life. Michael sent Remus back with a polite ‘We’ll see you for Christmas, Molly, same as last year.’
Remus returned to them with armloads of baked goods and a promise of more at Christmas dinner.
“Hey, dad?” John Henry hovered at the door to his father’s workroom. “When you looked inside my mind, to see the dream I had about Mr Weasley… is there a way to stop people from being able to do that? Like, a hat or something?”
Michael looked over his shoulder with a slight frown. “There is, yes. Nothing so juvenile as a hat, though. What I did was called legimens, and it’s opposite is occlumens.”
“Can… can you teach me how to keep people from looking inside my mind? Like you did when I had that dream about Mr Weasley?”
Michael was shocked, but realized he really shouldn’t have been. “Yes. Yes, of course I can. It’s very difficult – it’s considered advanced magic at any age. But yes, I can teach you.”
John Henry nodded. “What are you working on?”
Michael looked down at the mostly organized mess on the table in front of him. “I’m picking dandelions apart to distil this afternoon. Would you like to help?”
John Henry hated peeling plants, thought it was tedious and boring. To Michael’s surprise, the boy nodded and walked over.
“Yeah, dad. I’d love to help.”
Later that night, they sat on their couch, facing one another. Michael regarded his son seriously before beginning. “Occlumens and Legimens are very similar in concept, but differ mainly in intent.”
“Occlumens – occlude; legimens – legible, readable.”
“Exactly; very good, John Henry. The basis for them is concentration. With occlumens, concentrate on something mindless. Something that requires no thought. Or a wall; I’ve read that can help as well. When I started to learn this spell, I would imagine rowing a boat. I used to take your mother out on the Black Lake when we were children at Hogwarts, and that’s what I think of when I need to concentrate on clearing my mind. Now close your eyes, John Henry.”
Michael waited until his son complied. “Think of an activity that is calming but requiring all of your concentration.”
John Henry nodded and, screwing his lips to one side, delved deep into his memory for something like his father had described.
Imagining playing football lead to his father being able to see every game he’d ever played, all the friends he’d made, all the conversations he’d had with his friends… no.
Imagining flying lead to imagining Hogwarts and magic, Ron and Hermione, the three nightmare years he’d spent there… no.
Clearing his mind to imagine clouds in the summer sky allowed his father to riffle through any memory he wanted, so that didn’t work either.
“Don’t worry, John Henry,” Michael soothed after hours of working. “You’re getting closer. It might not feel like it-“
“Of course it doesn’t feel like it,” the boy huffed, pushing his back against the cushions. “I can’t do it!”
“John Henry,” Michael’s voice came down like a shot. “When have you ever been able to do anything requiring elevated skill on the first try?”
“I could fly a broom on the first try,” was the sullen response.
“Yes, but what about your charms work? Did you have to practice that? And the bogart – I imagine that went just as easily?” John Henry slumped, crossing his arms over his thin chest. A mulish pout came over his face and Michael was reminded – almost painfully – of the two year old he’d held in his arms. Shaking off the sentimentality, Michael continued. “Occluding one’s mind is an incredibly difficult task. It takes years of practice. We’ll practice again before bed. In the meantime, keep thinking of a meditative activity or thought.”
Lucius Malfoy had the most maddening talent of saying absolutely nothing when he spoke. It was certainly useful when it came to meetings with the Dark Lord, but without Narcissa to keep him in line, the Order members were kept wondering if he was being truthful about anything he told them.
According to the ‘former’ Death Eater, the attack on Arthur Weasley would only have happened if he’d been in a place he shouldn’t have been. And yes, no one entered the Hall of Mysteries unless they had a job there or were looking for trouble, so the Order had to scramble a bit on that excuse. But Lucius’ comment meant fuckall in the grand scheme of things.
“Well of course it wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been there,” Charlie rolled his eyes and sat back at his parent’s kitchen table, massive arms crossing over his chest. “He’d’ve been somewhere else!”
“Mind your tone, Charlie dear,” Molly warned, wiping the same spot on the table for a third time. “Mr Malfoy’s only trying to help.”
“For all we know,” Remus cut in, leaning his arms on the table as he stared Malfoy down, “even if Arthur hadn’t been there, someone else might’ve been. The real question is, why was the snake there?”
Lucius rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. “Why would anyone send an animal anywhere when they have a sizable amount of human servants readily willing to perform all sorts of tasks?”
Remus pressed his fingers to his temples in a vein attempt to alleviate a burgeoning migraine. “Good Merlin, spare me from condescending Slytherins.” Taking a deep breath, he stood from the table. “I need a smoke. We’ll pick back up in fifteen minutes.”
“You really should stop that, you know,” Molly called at his back. “Magic can’t cure lung cancer.”
Lucius followed him out and surprised the hell out of him by holding a hand out for a cigarette.
“Tell me about Severus,” Lucius demanded. Remus choked on his first lung full, not expecting that at all.
“Excuse me?”
Lucius took a leisurely drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke out his nostrils. “You’re his son’s tutor. Tell me about him.”
“I… I don’t think so.”
“Narcissa wants Draco here over his Winter Holiday and I know Severus comes here with his son. If you don’t tell me about him, I’ll use Draco to gather information.”
Remus let out a scoffing laugh. “Really? Using your own child to spy on an old friend? That’s low even for you, Malfoy.”
Lucius lifted a languid shoulder and let it fall. “I want information. I’ll do what I have to in order to get it.”
Remus rubbed a hand over his head and blew out a steady stream of smoke. “He’s Michael, for one thing. He’s always very quick to correct whoever calls him Severus. He’s an herbalist, doing rather well for himself actually. He was always rather handy with potions, so I suppose it’s nice that talent hasn’t gone to waste. Michael is… he’s just a very normal sort of person, I suppose.”
Lucius stared at Remus, grey eyes flat as he processed that. “You’re telling me the man I knew for years – knew far better than you could ever hope to – ran away from everything he knew and believed in… to be ‘normal’?” Fury boiled at the base of Remus’ neck. He flicked his cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out under the toe of his shoe. “Not everyone has the parenting instincts of a rock, Malfoy. Some people actually realise that joining a mega cult that’s trying to commit genocide of over half the population isn’t exactly the best environment to be raising a child in.”
Lucius said nothing, face blank and eyes cold as he took one last drag off the cigarette. Blowing the smoke out through his nostrils, he stubbed it out on the stone wall, all the while keeping his eyes on Remus.
“Augustus Rookwood seems to be of the opinion that Severus Snape is still alive,” he said after a moment. “Why he thinks that is unclear – I certainly haven’t said anything. Perhaps he still has connections in the Ministry who’ve uncovered something. Your dear Michael would do well to double check those wards of his and make doubly certain they’re tight.”
Malfoy whirled away and apparated into the night, leaving Remus alone.
‘Bad news about Winter Hols, mate. Malfoy Jr is coming with me. He’s staying with us ‘cause his dad is working with the Order and his mum’s worried about ickle Dwaco being exposed to… I don’t know. I think by now we all know the Dark Lord is gonna fuck shit up for everyone. I can’t honestly believe the woman thinks her son is special enough to not be touched by shit her own husband is stirring up. Whatever. Anyway, he’s our problem over Hols and most likely over summer break, too. And mum’s making me bring him (and Ginny) when Hermione and I come to see you. She said she already spoke to your dad?’
‘Hey Ron.
Yeah, I know about Malfoy and your sister coming. We’ll just have to suck it up. It’ll be pretty funny, though, to see if Alfie tries to kill him. I’ve told you how he gets around poncy assholes at school, so that should be entertaining to say the least. Just make sure he knows – NO MAGIC. ‘
Christmas Eve dinner at the Weasley’s went about as well as could be expected. John Henry and the four younger Weasley children stuck relatively close together until just before dinner, when Michael pulled his son aside.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying your time here, son. I’m happy we were able to make this a yearly event.”
“Me too, dad. Except for Malfoy, this is been great.”
“Ah yes: the interloper. You’ve done your level best to remind him he’s not welcome, haven’t you?”
“Dad!”
“Well? Have you not excluded him at every turn?”
“He’s an absolute prick, dad.”
“And this is a suitable reason for being a prick back,” Michael nodded, faking assurance. “I understand.”
John Henry huffed and rolled his eyes. “Dad-“
“Draco is a stranger in a strange land here. I know he doesn’t make it easy but… he’s alone this Christmas. For his own safety, he can’t be with his parents. Think about what it says about you and your friends if you isolate him when he’s already alone.”
“I heard what you said to John Henry,” Remus murmured, settling closer to Michael on the Weasley’s couch. “About Draco being alone and how the others should include him. I hope you’ll forgive me for being surprised but… I just…. We were absolute shit to you in school. We isolated you.”
“And you’re wondering how I’m able to be the sort of person who’s teaching my son not to be bitter?” Michael shrugged, unconsciously moving closer to Remus. “Most if it is wondering what Lily would want. Would she want her son to reflect my schoolboy anger? Obviously the answer to that is ‘no.’”
“And the rest of it?”
“The rest… I want my son to be better. I know how much it hurts, to be excluded and bullied. I want my son to be better than that.”
Remus looked at his lap, at his hand so close to Michael’s, and flexed his fingers. Nodding, he pressed his side more firmly against the other man. “You’re doing a really good job, Michael.”
As with the previous year, the day John Henry’s friends descended upon the Stevens’ household was loud and crowded. The youngest Weasley and young Draco Malfoy accompanied Ron, much to the young man’s lament.
“Mum said I had to bring ‘em,” he huffed as Remus escorted the three down the street. Ginny and Draco trailed quietly behind them.
“Hermione’ll be happy to not be the only girl,” Remus attempted. “And things haven’t been so bad with young Malfoy, have they?”
Ron shrugged, uncomfortable with the notion of a bright side to any of this. Suddenly, a ball of cold, wet snow splattered against the back of his head.
“Hey!” Whipping around, Ron glared as his sister patted the remaining snow off her gloves, an indolent look on her face. Next to her, Draco ducked his head into his scarf to hide his smirk. Ron grumbled and turned back around, all too ready to leave them all behind when Remus slung a companionable arm around his shoulders.
“You’ll have all day to get her back,” he reminded the boy. “But wait until you have reinforcements, lad – you’ll never get her on your own.”
Looking incredibly posh in Michael’s tidy kitchen, Draco shifted his weight on his feet. The man had been polite and welcoming, but distant. Perhaps believing Draco would amuse himself with the others – Weasleys and muggles. Hardly fit companions for a pureblood. Though, the Weasley girl was alright; pretty, and certainly entertaining with her sharp wit and killer prank ideas. But he wasn’t here for her, or the rest. Draco was here for the man in front of him, making dinner and utterly ignoring him.
“My father told me about you,” he said, the words bursting out of him suddenly.
Michael paused in the chopping of vegetables and glanced at the boy. “Has he?”
“Father said you worked together for a long time. Mum said you two were friends.”
Michael turned back to the vegetables. “I wouldn’t call your father and I friends, necessarily. We were work associates at best.”
Draco seemed to think about that before he shook his head. “No, I think you were friends. Father was mad when it turned out you’d been alive all this time and hadn’t told him – I overheard him telling mum.”
Michael hummed and filed that away for later. Perhaps if he’d stayed, if he’d kept in touch, if he’d taken Dumbledore’s offer of safety… Severus would have kept Lucius as a friend. But Michael wasn’t that man. The lull in conversation seemed to eat at Draco.
“What do I have to do to stay with you for the rest of Winter Hols? I hate the Weasleys. They’re loud and poor and there’s too many of them. I want to stay here if I can’t be at home.”
“When I was your age, my father told me that wanting things was good for a person. It builds character, if I’m not mistaken. So, are you prepared to give up your wand?”
The boy blinked. “My what?”
“Your wand. And magic if you are to be under my care. This isn’t just a Winter Holiday thing, Draco. This is a non-magical household. The ministry can’t track what to them doesn’t exist. As such, the only magic John Henry comes into contact with is under the tutelage of Mr Lupin. The ministry doesn’t expect any other magic to be performed here because none is, and therefore this household isn’t monitored beyond what John Henry is anticipated to be able to do. You’d be expected to follow suit should you reside here for any length of time.”
“B-but-“
“Meanwhile, the Weasleys run a pureblood household. The dishes wash themselves, the linens know how to make hospital corners on their own, and the only manual work you have to worry about is de-gnoming the garden.”
“Mr Snape-“
“Mr Stevens, young Malfoy. From the moment I left your father’s association until my dying day, my name is Michael Stevens, the muggle herbalist. I know this isn’t what you might’ve expected and is rather a deviation from your version of normal. I don’t mean to be harsh, but this is the way of things.”
Michael paused and turned to face the boy fully. In the slightly orange kitchen light, Draco seemed small and oddly younger than his 15 years. Reminded of himself at such an age, Michael took a deep breath and reminded himself of what he told his son.
“If you truly wish to use this as your safe house and your parents are alright with it, you will be welcome in this home.” Draco blinked and looked down. Curling his hands into fists at his sides, he gave a terse nod. “Now, why don’t you go outside? You can try to beat the snot out of my son – I know he got you good at the snowball fight at the Weasleys. They’ll all be at the bottom of the big hill – just follow the shouting.”
Michael pointed off in the general direction and turned back to making dinner.
‘Mr Stevens,
I hope this letter finds you well. I must admit it is strange to me having to send this to Mr Lupin to deliver to you, but my owl seems unable of finding your residence. I wanted to inform you that while I appreciated the extension of your offer of safe haven this coming summer holiday, my parents have made alternate arrangements.
I would, however, appreciate your guidance on some potions work if that is agreeable. Our professor is well versed, however my father has assured me you are the foremost potioneer of our age. Enclosed with this letter is a copy of my most recent research project. Any insight you might be able to provide on the subject would be most appreciated.
Your faithful servant,
Draco A Malfoy’
‘Young Mr Malfoy,
I begin my letter with a word of caution. I would strongly advise against ending any letter by declaring yourself as a servant to another. I believe your mother is going to great lengths to ensure you are never anyone’s servant, and your father has surely imparted to you the importance of autonomy.
As to the invitation for the summer holidays, please know it extents far past the summer. Should you require safety, my door is open.
Regarding your essay, you will find my suggestions inside.
Fond regards,
M Stevens.’
“Dad?” John Henry walked into the kitchen one morning, rubbing at his forehead. “I had a really weird dream.”
On cautious alert, Michael kept his voice even as he asked: “What about?”
“Well, it wasn’t really about anything. It was more like… like I knew someone was trying to see me but I knew I needed to hide so I thought about making tea packets and they went away.”
Michael stopped stirring honey into his morning tea and stared at his son. “That’s…. John Henry, do you realize what that is? You fended off a legimens attack in your sleep! That’s incredible!” Jumping up from his chair, Michael rounded the table and swung his son up into a proud hug.
“John Henry, I’m so proud of you! That’s incredibly difficult and advanced magic, especially for someone of your age and skill level. You should still meditate every night – if whoever it was tried once, they’ll probably try again – but it’s marvellous that you were able to do that, son.”
Excited as he was over the boy’s success, Michael missed the faint shimmer of a lightning bolt scar on John Henry’s forehead.
John Henry didn’t seem to understand the importance of OWLs. He breezed through transfiguration and charms, wrote off-handed essays on defence principles, and shrugged through potions. Studying for the OWLs when he was the only one of his immediate peer group to do so seemed silly.
He was much more concerned with his GCSEs, for which he was taking 12 exams. Maths, General Sciences and Literature were agonized over; English Linguistics and Welsh similarly so. Geography, History, Philosophy and Ethics, Biology, Physical Education, Sports Studies, and Statistics all involved hours of study and essays and re-reading notes upon notes. Michael, having never taken the GCSEs, was fairly concerned his son was going to burn out, studying the way he was. Alfie, Seamus and Christopher were over nearly every day, going over material together.
Remembering vaguely his own time studying for the OWLs, Michael did his best to stay out of the way while still be supportive. Snacks and tea were provided with clock-work regularity, while noise was kept to a minimum.
“You all should think about taking a ten minute break,” he attempted one Saturday afternoon, cracking his son’s bedroom door open. Christopher was standing in front of the other three, reciting Welsh verb tenses. Michael, not realising this was Christopher’s third attempt at conjugating the verb ‘to move’, had to duck when the usually goofy young man threw a book at him.
He didn’t bother interrupting the boys again.
Another afternoon, Michael and Remus were in the garden behind the shop. Voices from John Henry's open window floated down to them, reciting statistics formulas and historical dates. Remus was sitting on the bench, ashtray perched on the metal arm, watching the other man kneeling in the grass. Michael had a small cultivator in hand as he aerated the dirt around his mint plants, and Remus was trying not to think too hard about how cute he was in his broad-brimmed hat and gardening gloves.
"Were we this intense when we studied for the OWLs?" Michael wondered.
“Uh… I was. Peter was, too. James and Sirius were a bit more relaxed about everything. Lily-“
“Oh, Lily would’ve killed anyone who dared bother her while she was studying,” Michael assured him. “We’d row out onto the lake and drop anchor in the middle of it just to get some quiet study time.”
Remus blinked, breath catching in his throat. Michael almost never spoke to him about Lily. This was only the second time he’d really heard of her from Michael at all. “Y-you did? I remember she’d disappear for hours at a time; it drove James up the wall ‘cause he wanted to study with her.”
“Well, she didn’t want to study with him. She knew all he wanted was to flirt with her and she wasn’t interested. So we’d take our books and things out to the boathouse and I’d row us to the middle of the lake. The Giant Squid didn’t care so long as we didn’t practice spells on him.”
“And the merpeople?”
Michael chuckled and sat back on his heels. “They were annoying, absolutely. They’d spear the boat until they realised we were kids and not interested in fighting or invading or whatever. Then they’d leave us alone.”
Remus slid back into the bench seat and tugged his coat tighter around himself. “Was… was this before or after when we, uh…”
“When you strung me upside down with my own spell and showed the entire school my drawers? And I called Lily a horrible name because my boyish pride was injured?” Michael’s voice was light, but carried a hardness that spoke of grief and regret. “Before, obviously. We’d had a few arguments prior to that, though.” Michael looked down at the tidy row of mint plants in front of him. “You know, I’ve thought about that moment dozens of times over the years. What would I have done differently, if I’d known I was about to lose her? If I could go back and change it, I would. I’d change a lot of things I think.”
“Like almost dying to figure out why we broke out at night every month?”
Michael nodded. “Like that. Honestly, I cared so much about what you four were up to. I should have paid more attention to the person who really mattered. And maybe made friends who weren’t homicidal maniacs.”
Remus shrugged. “They were in your House, Michael. It makes sense you’d try to fit in with them if you were around them all the time.”
Michael adjusted his grip on the cultivator and reapplied himself to his task. “Eh, being clever and cunning doesn’t mean you have to be an asshole or want to kill people. Especially not your best friend.”
A knock came to the Stevens’ apartment door one night in June.
“Michael?” Remus’ voice was muffled, and Michael rose from the couch quickly to let the man in. “Michael, I – Oh, hello John Henry. I thought you’d be in bed by now.”
“It’s barely 11pm, Mr Lupin,” the boy said with a frown.
“R-right. Um, Michael,” Remus turned back to the boy’s father. “There’s something going on at the Ministry. I got a patronus from Molly – according to Lucius, Voldemort’s people are going to make their move. Arthur, Tonks, and some of the others are headed there now. Sirius and I are about to go, but they might need you.”
“Need me?”
“What could dad do?” John Henry asked, crossing to where the two men stood.
“I’m not fighting, Remus,” Michael reminded him. “I don’t even have a wand.”
“No no, of course not that. But… potions. Healing. We’ll most likely need that after everything. It’s the Department of Mysteries and… well, I’m sure you remember what your old associates were like when it came to fights.”
Michael gave a hesitant nod. “Y-yes, I’m sure I do remember. We can’t have injured people here, though. It would raise too much suspicion.”
“We’d bring any casualties to The Burrow,” Remus assured him. “There’s plenty of room there.”
“Can I come?” John Henry asked. “Today was the last day of exams and tomorrow's a half-day at school. I won’t be missing anything.”
“Um, yes. That’s fine. I’ll call your school when we get home. Pack some things for the night, son. I’ll get supplies from the workroom. We’ll be by in a few, Remus. We can floo from your place?”
“That’d be perfect. Sirius and I will be gone already, but the front door will be open for you. Just lock it when you get in and floo directly to the Burrow.”
Michael nodded. “Right. Um,” he paused as Remus turned to dash out again, “stay safe.”
Remus looked at him, surprise and warmth in his gold eyes. “I will, Michael.”
The stove at the Burrow was a gas-run contraption with eight burners. It was perfect for Molly’s basic home-brewing cauldrons and the regular pots and pans Michael needed to create his non-magical tinctures, poultices and distilled essences that might later be of aid. Molly herself proved to be a perfect brewing-mate, following his instructions precisely. Wound-Cleaning potions, Blood-Replenishers, and standard Healing Potions were whipped up in quick order. John Henry, long used to his father’s rhythms, was making non-magical burn salves, wound washes and anti-infective solutions by route.
Nymphadora Tonks and Kinglsly Shaklebolt were the first to return, well past midnight. Bloody and stumbling, propping one another up as they crashed into the door, both were almost too weary to keep their heads up.
“Oh Merlin,” Molly exclaimed softly, immediately jumping to help the two Order members into chairs. They slumped almost bonelessly as the Weasley matriarch began waving her wand over them.
“Michael, Tonks is going to need some of that burn paste of yours,” she called out over her shoulder. “John Henry dear, get a cup of Blood-Replenishing potion for Mr Shaklebolt.”
A rag dipped in Mertlap Essence was pressed to Tonk’s lip, causing her to hiss and wince upon application.
“Damn that man,” she muttered, eyes flashing a dangerous deep red. Her hair was it’s customary pink, though the roots were showing brown. “Dolohov is a right bastard when he’s backed into a corner. None of them wanted to go down easy.”
“And the Department of Mysteries is a foe all to itself,” Kingsley’s deep voice rumbled. An ice packet was gingerly held against his ribs as Molly picked wood and stone chips from a large wound on the back of his head. His pupils were dilated when Michael checked them; he’d probably have to go to St Mungo’s for a proper check up.
Sliding a small pot of wound-cleanser and a clean rag over to Molly, Michael stood up and turned just in time to see Alastor Moody drag a mostly limp Sirius Black over the threshold of the back door.
Black burbled and swung his arms a bit as if attempting to fight off the large paw holding him up by his collar. Weak as he was, his efforts did nothing but make him look silly.
“Lay him on the couch in the living room,” Michael instructed. Sirius' limp neck swung his head towards Michael, blowing raspberries as Alastor dragged him into the living room.
“Caught a babbling jinx that sent him into the tanks of brains,” Moody declared, dumping the limp man on the floral cushions. “He’ll be fine after a while. A general healing potion and a sleeping draught should fix him right up.”
Moody himself was holding his left hand to his chest but waved off Michael’s efforts to see to the injury. “Caught it in a door leaving the Ministry with this one,” he explained, voice gruff with shame. “Jammed a few fingers; I’ll be fine. See to the blighter on the couch.”
Ten minutes later, after Kingsley was packed off to St Mungo’s, Arthur guided a staggering Remus into the house.
“Albus is staying at the Ministry for another half hour,” he reported, taking Remus’ arm from around his shoulders and letting him slide into an armchair in the living room. “You Know Who showed up at the last minute looking for the prophecy and Albus… well, you know his flare for the dramatic. Remus here took a stunner to the face and landed next to Sirius in the brains; he’s probably a little concussed.”
“I’d like to sit with my friend, Sirius,” Remus declared, slipping in a boneless heap from the chair to crawl awkwardly across the room. “Right in front of the couch. We’re friends you know, Sirius and I. We’ve been friends for a long time.”
Michael sighed and grabbed a bowl of yarrow paste and a clean rag.
“Hold still, old man,” he tsk’d, crouched down to the floor in front of him. Remus’ head wobbled on his neck and gold eyes struggled to focus, but he smiled anyway.
“I used to have a crush on him when we were boys, but we’re just friends now. We’re the last ones of our friends, did you know that, Michael? All our other friends from school are dead.”
“That’s awfully sad, Remus,” Michael told him with a sigh, dipping his fingers into the bowl before gently spreading the green goo across the red marks all over the man’s face. “You can tell me all about it later; it’s hard to do this while you’re talking.”
Remus gave him a drunk-looking smile and patted Michael’s thigh with a floppy hand. “I’m glad you’re here, Michael. I thought about trying to get Arthur to take me back to the shop, but then I remembered I told you to come here and here you are. I’m always glad when you’re around. You’re a wonderful person, do you know that? You didn’t used to be, but we were all shitheads when we were kids, ay? I’m real glad you weren’t dead, just hiding. Because it means I got to find you, and I think you’re wonderful. You’re such a good dad. Do you think I’d be a good dad? I think I’d like to be a dad some day. You could teach me.”
“Be quiet, Remus,” Michael murmured, trapping the other man’s jaw shut as he dabbed more paste along his cheek. “You’re making this very difficult.”
Suddenly, Albus Dumbledore landed in the Weasley’s fireplace with a plume of green smoke, ashes falling like rain from his periwinkle robes.
"Albus!" Molly exclaimed, moving around the kitchen table. "Arthur just said you'd be by later. Is everything alright?"
Dumbledore ignored her, foregoing his usual round of pleasantries to scan the kitchen before moving into the living room.
“Severus,” he boomed, steely eyes landing on the man. “Tell me how you knew about the attack on Arthur.”
Not expecting that sort of demand, Michael frowned. “What?”
“This past December, when Arthur was attacked in the Ministry,” Albus clarified, coming to loom over him. “You alerted Remus. How did you know?”
Michael clenched his jaw if only to keep it from hanging open. For a moment he floundered, trying to find a way to answer without indicting his son. John Henry had no such compunctions.
“I had a dream,” the boy said stepping around the doorway.
Soot flew from Albus’ form as he whirled around. “You?”
“John Henry – “
“Dad,” the boy gave his father a frank look. “The occlumency’s helped, but if someone else gets hurt and I could stop it? I had a dream – like I was the one attacking Mr Weasley. I woke up and told my dad, and he called Mr Lupin.”
Albus swayed closer to John Henry, eyes wide and probing. “You had a dream?”
The boy stared back for a moment as if mesmerised. Then, wincing away, he rubbed at his forehead. “You don’t have to do that – if you just ask, I’ll tell you.”
Dumbledore blinked. Several times. Rage stormed across his features, contorting the craggy lines into something ugly. Turning with a flourish, he pulled his wand out and pointed it at Michael.
“You disgusting, vile liar!”
Michael dove away from Remus as a bolt of light shot in his direction.
“Albus!” Molly rushed forward from the kitchen, intent on putting herself between the two men, but John Henry was faster. Spreading his arms wide, the whipcord thin boy tried to use his body to shield his father from the anger of the old wizard.
“Professor, no!”
“I didn’t believe it when Voldemort told me he knew where the boy was – I refused to believe such a blatant lie. But you-!”
Molly grabbed the headmaster’s wand hand and tried to force it down. “Albus, please – restrain yourself!”
“Years of planning!” Albus roared. “Wasted!”
Molly shoved her body in front of Dumbledore, hands still wrapped around the old man’s surprisingly strong arm. “Albus, put that away this instant!”
“Tell them, Severus!” he demanded. Fury rolled off him in waves, nearly palpable to the people around him. “Tell them all what you’ve done!” Another shot popped off, blasting a hole in the far wall.
“I saved him!” Severus shot up from his crouch on the floor. Colour rose high in his cheeks and his black eyes burned with anger. “I saved the boy from years of pain and isolation! I gave him a home, a life worth being proud of!”
“You unwrote everything! The prophesy-”
“I gave him the opportunity to write his own life, and not have it dictated to him by some crackpot in a pointy hat!” Severus stalked forward, gently pushing his son behind him. “I gave him stability and warmth and kindness, which is better than you did – leaving an infant alone on a cold night, on the doorstep of some random woman like a forgotten package-“
“Petunia would’ve cared for him.”
“She’d’ve given him clothes and a roof over his head and food,” Severus corrected. “That’s all. The wards you were so sure would save him, Albus: they weren’t even up when I arrived.”
“She is his only living blood ration-“
“And I’ve done such a good job at protecting him, not even you could find him.”
Albus fumed for a moment, and an uneasy silence settled over the room. John Henry turned to his father with a frown.
“What’s he talking about, dad?”