Work Text:
Recitative
Everyone was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The bodies had been laid out across the Hogwarts lawn, there for all to see in the cool light of dawn until, mercifully, the volunteers came through to shroud them. Their deaths were registered; names read out; a shrine erected to their memory. Yes, everyone was as dead as a door-nail.
Well, not everyone. But you’ll excuse a little hyperbole for the sake of the drama, won’t you? In fact, a surprising number of people remained alive, if just barely. Some, who really ought to have been dead as door-nails, defied all expectations by making it to the first Winter Solstice after the dreaded battle. Come with me, Reader; let us join them, on this, the longest night.
Our tale begins, as many fantastical tales do, in bed. The bed is inside a cramped little room, inside a little house, grey and decrepit; so unremarkable and out of the way that you’d be hard-pressed to find it, even if its occupant wished to be found. In the bed lies a little man, grey and decrepit; so unremarkable he nearly blends into the linens. He is alone. That’s of his own doing. He’s a miserly man, and selfish. He might have had friends, a family to share the warmth of his hearth; but he gave up all of that in favour of his sad, lonely, grey little life. Look upon him with pity, Reader, but not with sympathy. He chose this for himself.
Wait — where are you off to in such a hurry? Aha! I see. You think you have it all figured out, don’t you? You know exactly where this is going. You’re impatient. Cut the preamble and ‘get to the good stuff,’ right? I see you now, scratching at the frosted window at Spinner’s End, trying to get a glimpse of the pathetic figure inside. Well, you can take a step back. Stop gawking. It isn’t his turn yet. You really ought not to jump to conclusions like that. No, the lonely old miser in question is Remus Lupin.
Lupin? I hear you cry. But Lupin is a peach! How could he be lonely? Everyone likes Remus Lupin. Lupin is gentle, funny, and charismatic. He’s kind and generous to all friends, protégés, casual acquaintances and passers-by. And shouldn’t there be a loving bride and a little baby somewhere in that tableau?
Furthermore: miserly? Lupin, miserly? How could that be? He hasn’t got any money to be stingy with. It’s true; in fact, he’s always been rather liberal with his few material possessions. That’s not the issue at hand. Remus Lupin is close-fisted with his emotions; he’s parsimonious with his heart.
Oh, I’m sure he would be chuffed to hear you call him generous, and charismatic, and peachy, and all the other qualities enumerated in the antecedent paragraphs. But let’s reflect upon his nearly forty years of existence (which, I cannot stress enough, is far longer than anyone would have gambled on for him). How many friends — true friends — has he had in that time? How many has he trusted, confided in? How many people has he allowed himself to love? He thinks himself dependable because he’ll show up in a crisis; but where does he go during the good times? With whom does he share life’s little joys? Celebrations, dinner parties, stag nights and weddings and baby showers — he’s conspicuously absent from all of them. Does he really believe that no one wants him there? Or does he simply not care?
By now, Reader, I’m sure you’d quite like some answers yourself. Take my hand, then, and come along. Let us endeavour to learn what we can from this sorry soul; only let us make haste, so that we may return to our warmth and wassail.
Stave One (Treble Clef)
One… two… three… four… five… six… seven.
“Seven? Who goes to bed before seven o’clock?!”
“It’s been a long day,” Lupin grumbled without raising his head.
“It has not. It’s been literally the shortest day of the year.”
Lupin let out a dismissive harrumph and rolled over in bed. A beat later he bolted upright, clutching his wand. “Who’s there?!” he cried out.
He was greeted by a vibrant laugh that seemed to pour from every corner of the room. “You can put your implement away, Remus Lupin.”
“Implement?!” Lupin repeated indignantly, looking down at his wand.
“That’s right. Your magic won’t affect me, for I am the Spirit of Solstice Past.”
“Oh,” Lupin said. “I’m sorry, but I’ve seen a lot of spirits, and you don’t look like one at all.” In fact, the figure looming before him didn’t look much like anything. Its form was indistinct, constantly shifting, and it was cocooned in garments and trinkets that seemed to come from every era of human history. “I really should know by now not to mix potions before bed,” Lupin berated himself.
“No potion can conjure me, for I am not of this world.”
“A nightmare, then. Well, I’m not afraid of nightmares anymore. I know what you really are. You’re nothing more than an undigested bit of kibble, a blob of cheese, a deep-fried Mars bar…”
“Man of worldly mind! I shall prove soon enough that — wait, what was that about kibble?”
“Nothing. Go on.”
“Right. We may need to dispatch another apparition to come chat with you about your eating habits. But for now, Remus Lupin, let us journey into your past…”
“No thank you,” Lupin said, but his words were lost in howling wind as the Spirit touched his hand and whisked him away to another time and place…
“Hogwarts, 1993,” the Spirit announced as they landed in the festively bedecked Great Hall.
“Yeah, I can see that. It was only five years ago, you know.”
It must have been lunchtime. Lupin watched his past-self polish off his pudding at the near-empty head table. Embarrassingly, his stomach began to rumble as he eyed the remaining food on the table. “All right,” Lupin groused. “I get it. I need to cut down on the fried food. Now can we — ”
“Silence, Remus Lupin!” the Spirit boomed, and then somehow they had moved, and Lupin was watching himself scurry after Severus Snape as he made his way to the exit.
“Severus!” Past-Lupin called out. “Do you have a moment?”
“For you? Never,” Snape said, but he stopped and turned to face Past-Lupin anyway.
“Oh, you. You’re too much,” Past-Lupin simpered. Snape scowled.
“I do that because it pisses him off,” Lupin stage-whispered to the Spirit.
Past-Lupin continued: “I just wanted to give you a little — ”
“No, thank you,” Snape interrupted.
“ — something to mark the season. I know you don’t celebrate Christmas, so I thought I would give it to you on the Solstice instead.”
“I don’t want anything from you,” Snape said curtly.
“I know, but I got you something anyway,” Past-Lupin said, handing over a small, neatly-wrapped box. Snape did not reach out to take it.
“Keep it,” Snape said.
“I don’t — ”
“Fine. I’ll take it.” Snape snatched the parcel from Past-Lupin’s hands, chucked it over his shoulder, and vanished it in midair. “Good day, Lupin,” he sneered, pivoting rather stylishly and stalking off in a flurry of black fabric.
“Arsehole,” Lupin scowled, watching his past-self gape in astonishment at the place where Snape had just been standing.
“Surely you’re not still angry about such a trifling thing as that, Remus Lupin?” the Spirit asked.
“No,” Lupin snapped as his past-self shuffled awkwardly out of the Great Hall. “Of course I’m not angry. Why, do I seem angry? Because I’m not,” he growled.
“Come along, there’s more to see,” the Spirit said, taking Lupin by the arm.
“Where — when — ?” Lupin was at first disoriented by the dim, windowless room they landed it. As his eyes adjusted, he took in the setting with a sinking feeling.
“Later that same evening. Severus Snape’s private quarters.”
“This seems a bit voyeuristic,” Lupin said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Snape was sat up in bed with a stripy knit blanket pulled up to his knees, looking down at an object he was holding in his lap. Lupin gasped when he saw what it was. “That’s my gift! So he didn’t banish it into oblivion, after all!”
Lupin and the Spirit watched as Snape slowly and meticulously unwrapped the gift. Inside was a small box of chocolate bonbons from a posh muggle confectionery.
“I like to get people comestibles,” Lupin said as an aside to the Spirit. “That way, if they don’t like the gift, they’re not saddled with it forever.”
“That wasn’t the only reason, though, was it?”
“No,” Lupin said with an involuntary shudder. “With all the Dementors about that year, I figured chocolate wouldn’t go amiss. I got the same gift for all the staff and faculty, actually.”
“That’s right. You always tried to treat Severus Snape the same as any other colleague. He appreciated that, you know.”
“He did?” Lupin asked, surprised.
“Watch.” After contemplating the box for a while, Snape opened the lid and selected a bonbon. He took a small bite of it and examined the filling inside.
“He didn’t even check for poison!” Lupin whispered.
“Hush!”
Snape finished the first bonbon, then partook of another, and another. As he ate, a small smile played across his lips.
“Right,” Lupin said a little louder. “So, why are we here? I mean, Snape ate the chocolates. That’s nice. Didn’t bother to acknowledge or thank me after, but that’s fine. He’s still an arsehole. I didn’t really need a mystical Spirit to tell me that, no offence.”
“My goodness. It really bothers you, doesn’t it, Remus Lupin?”
“What?”
“That he didn’t accept your gift.”
“Yes, it bothers me. What of it?” Lupin snapped.
“Why do you think that is?”
“Because it was meant to be an olive branch! I was trying to be nice to him! I was always trying to be nice to him, and he kept rejecting me for no good reason!”
“No good reason?” the Spirit repeated. If they’d had a face, or hair, their eyebrows would have shot up to meet their hairline.
“Well, I mean…” Lupin suddenly felt ill-at-ease.
“Let’s dig a little deeper, shall we?” Before Lupin could catch his breath to respond, he found himself hurtling back in time again.
They landed splat in the middle of a snowdrift near the front entrance to Hogwarts. Lupin opened his mouth to complain, but he was stopped short by the sight in front of him. Twelve-year-old Remus Lupin was trudging down the path away from the castle, red-faced and rather harried-looking. Close on his heels was an impossibly tiny-looking Severus Snape. “Lupin! Come on, wait up, will you?” Snape called out.
“Winter holiday, your second year at school,” the Spirit whispered. Lupin, transfixed by the scene that lay before him, did not respond.
“Go away, Snape! Stop following me around!” Past-Lupin growled, without turning to look at his little dark-haired shadow.
“I’m not following you!” Snape brazenly lied.
“What do you want?!” Past-Lupin shouted, spinning on his heel so abruptly that Snape nearly stumbled into him.
Watching himself, Lupin hissed to the Spirit, “I don’t need to see this.”
“Oh. Erm.” Snape seemed as if he hadn’t actually come prepared with an answer. “I was just wondering if you wanted to play gobstones for a while before dinner.”
“I’m busy.”
“Maybe tomorrow?”
“Busy. Did you have to track me outside to ask me that?”
Snape shrugged. “I learned some really neat spells over the summer. There’s this book I nicked from my mum that I’ve been practising with. Want to see?”
“I don’t want to see whatever kind of Dark spells you think are ‘neat,’ Snape,” Past-Lupin spat.
“Oh. All right.” Snape looked down, toeing at the snow. “Maybe we could build a snow-witch, like we did last year?” he asked hopefully.
“Please,” Lupin whispered more urgently to the Spirit. “I know what happens next. Please, I don’t want to see it.” The Spirit reached out and held an icy finger to Lupin’s lips.
“I don’t want to do anything with you!” Past-Lupin cried. His face was blotchy and livid. The snow between the two boys began to rise, whirling like a little tornado. “Just leave me alone, Snivellus! And stop being so… so… weird!” As he shouted these words, the miniature snow flurry stopped cycling and hit Snape square in the chest with enough force to knock him backwards.
Lupin whimpered, watching his past-self turn and run away from the scene. “That’s enough. Please.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” said the Spirit, who was suddenly standing directly in front of Lupin. They reached into their reticule and procured a book. “Perhaps you’d rather have this to hide behind?” They opened the book and held it in front of Lupin’s face. A breeze picked up, ruffling the pages, and they began to turn over one by one. Every page showed Lupin another deplorable thing that he had said, done, or passively allowed to happen; many involved Snape, but there were plenty of other people in the book, too. Lupin tried to look away. The wind stung his eyes, but he was unable to blink, unable to move an inch, forced to look straight ahead until the pages came to an end. The snow was coming faster now, surrounding him, blinding him, and he was shaking so violently he could hardly keep himself upright, and then the white turned to grey, and he was back in his bed, shivering. The fire was smouldering in the hearth; Lupin relit it with a flutter of his numbed fingers. He pulled the duvet up to his chin and waited for heat to pervade the room again. It had only been a dream.
Stave One (Bass Clef)
One… two… three… four… five… six… seven.
“Oh, good grief. Never tell me you’re a morning person.”
“Every day for seventeen years I woke at quarter-to-four in the morning to enjoy my precious few hours of solitude before a swarm of sticky schoolchildren came stampeding down the stairways. I've seen no reason to change my habits since my retirement.”
“Actually, that makes sense. No wonder you’re always so grumpy by lunchtime.”
“I am not grumpy! And anyway, who the Dickens are you? You’re not on my usual rotation of spectral dream figments.”
“Indeed I am not, Severus Snape. Arise! I am the Spirit of Solstice Yet to Come!”
“Thanks, but I’m not interested at the moment. I’ve actually taken a Dreamless Sleep Potion. Feel free to have a seat and relax until that kicks in. Should be any minute now…”
“Severus Snape!” the voice boomed, filling the room and reverberating against the cheap glass windowpanes.
Snape groaned. “Must you? Fine, fine, I’m awake. You have my attention. Make your pitch.”
“Foolish man of flesh and bone! You think you have a choice in this matter? I am the Spirit of Solstice Yet to Come!”
Snape narrowed his eyes. “Oh. I see. I’ve heard of this. Not to interrupt your flow, but are you not meant to be preceded by the ghosts of Past and Present?”
“The Spirit of Solstice Past is currently engaged elsewhere. Look, we have a lot of clients to fit into one night. Not everyone can get the Classic Chronological.”
Snape snorted. “That figures. I’m not even the most important person in my own revelatory paranormal event.”
“Silence! I am here to show you your future, Severus Snape.”
“Yes, I’d sorted that part out already. So, what’s it going to be? Former colleagues toasting my death at my funeral feast? My so-called friends picking over the pitiful remnants of my worldly possessions? My cold, broken gravestone lying face down in the mud? Nothing you can show me will shock me, Spirit. Though as yet I know not when I shall meet my ignominious end, I know precisely where my dismal little life is headed, and I made my peace with it long ago, thank you very much.”
“Is that so?” The Spirit of Solstice Yet to Come smiled; or at least, Snape thought that they smiled. Their form was blindingly bright, blurring every time Snape tried to focus upon it. “Well then, Severus Snape, you have nothing to fear from me. Come; take my hand.”
“Very well. Lead on, lead on.”
Everything vanished in a burst of golden light. When Snape returned to his senses, he was in a warm and spacious kitchen suffused with natural light. He saw his own body from behind, leaning over a cauldron that was, incongruously enough, simmering over a gas flame on the hob. Curious in spite of himself, Snape edged closer to his future-self, trying to get a glimpse of what he was brewing. Whitish cast, enticing smell — Amortentia? He drew a little closer, and then staggered back in amazement. “Eggnog?!” he gasped.
“That’s right. You’re famous for it. Here, stand back, you’ll want to clear out of the way.”
“Wh — ” Snape didn’t even have time to ask before a streak of motion shot across the room and attached itself to Future-Snape’s leg. “What is that?!” Snape asked in alarm.
“That’s a child, Severus Snape,” the Spirit answered with obvious amusement.
“I know that! Why is it here?!”
“Hey, Dad?” the child asked, as if in answer to Snape’s question. Quite suddenly, Snape felt as if his knees had turned to jelly. “Can I help?”
“There’s not much to help with at the moment,” Future-Snape said with remarkable patience. “I’ll call you in when I need a taste-tester.”
“Okay.” The child paused for thought. “Do I like eggnog?”
“You didn’t like it when you were three,” Future-Snape said, “but perhaps you’ll like it now that you’re four.”
“Four and a half,” the child corrected.
Feeling as if he might faint at any moment (were he not already in a dream), Snape studied the child, trying to puzzle out where on earth it could have come from. It certainly didn’t look like him. In fact, if anything, the boy bore a striking resemblance to —
“Lupin!” Future-Snape called out over his shoulder. “Will you come scrape off this little barnacle that’s clinging to my person?”
The child giggled. A moment later, Lupin himself appeared in the kitchen; that is, if such a spry and spritely fellow could possibly be Remus Lupin. Lupin assessed the scene with a dreamy smile on his improbably smooth and full face, then approached Future-Snape and wrapped himself around his unoccupied side. He squeezed one arm around Future-Snape’s waist and rested the other on top of his son’s head.
“Lupin,” Future-Snape drawled. “Why is it that when I tell you your child is being a nuisance, you respond by making yourself an even bigger nuisance?”
“What’s a nuisance?” The child — Teddy, wasn’t it? —asked.
“It means very adorable,” Lupin explained.
“May I have the use of my legs back?” Future-Snape asked.
“Teddy,” Lupin said, “why don’t you go change into the new robes your mum got you? You do want to wear them to the party, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Do you think she’ll be cross that we turned them purple?” Teddy asked.
“Absolutely not! She’s going to love the purple. Oh, and go get your overnight bag ready, too; you’re going home with Mum after the party.”
“Okay!” Teddy replied, already scampering out of the room.
“Do you really trust him to pack for himself?” Future-Snape asked in a low voice.
“Of course not. I just wanted to get you alone for a moment.” Lupin wriggled a bit, insinuating himself between Future-Snape and the cooker. Future-Snape tugged Lupin away from the hob, bringing him flush against his body.
“Careful,” Future-Snape murmured. “I’ll be very put out if you catch yourself on fire ahead of this evening.”
“Don’t worry,” Lupin murmured back, tracing a finger along Future-Snape’s spine. “The only conflagration you’ll be facing down tonight is the fire between my — ”
“Lupin!”
“Mmm, you know I love it when you use my little pet name like that, darling…”
“All right, I think I’ve seen enough,” Snape spluttered to the Spirit. He felt feverish, and he knew that his face had gone crimson. “Why did you bring me to this place, Spirit? Aren’t you supposed to show me my terrible fate so that I renounce my old ways and vow to change?”
“Why, isn’t this terrible enough for you?” the Spirit asked genially. “You despise children! And parties! And Remus Lupin! Surely you don’t mean to tell me you actually want this future?”
Snape cringed. He’d been caught out. “It’s… more agreeable than a mouldering headstone,” he conceded.
“Ah.” Now Snape was sure that the Spirit was smirking at him, faceless or not. “Remember, Severus Snape, that the things I show you May come to pass. Whether or not they Will is entirely up to you. I’ve shown you this future not to frighten you from your current path, but to tempt you toward another. You think you know how it all ends for you, simply because you’ve never considered any other possibility. And yet it would be rather disappointing, would it not, if what you've witnessed tonight never came to pass?”
Snape was trembling. His eyes were locked on Lupin: the way Lupin smiled and simpered, the hungry way Lupin gazed at his Possible-Future-Self. No one had ever looked at Snape that way before, and suddenly, he felt passionately jealous of his doppelgänger. He wanted to be the one touching Lupin, soaking in his gaze, basking in his warmth…
“You know,” the Spirit said conversationally, “normally, I’d be the one looming around silently while you do all the talking. Most mortals just keep asking me questions until they figure out that the answers were within them all along. Actually, I’m really not used to the sound of my own voice prattling on like this. You’re making me feel a bit self-conscious, if I’m being honest…” The Spirit paused, but Snape remained silent. “Now that I’m thinking about it, my throat’s getting scratchy, and you’re only my first client of the night. I think I’d best get you back to your own time now.”
“No!” Snape whispered, not wanting to tear himself away from the vision of domestic bliss playing out before him; but he had no choice, the Spirit’s hand was upon him once more, and he was tumbling through the darkness until he landed gracelessly back in his empty bed.
Stave Two (Treble Clef)
One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight.
“Remus Lupin…”
“Please. I’m so sleepy.” Lupin cracked an eye open, but the room around him was dark and shadowy. The fire had nearly burnt out again. He sat up in bed and waited patiently, looking about the room in case he had missed anything. He did not wish to be taken by surprise again. The first time had been a fluke. He had taken a little too much brandy before bed-time, and he had let his guard down, confident in the security measures he had layered upon his home. This time, Lupin soberly reminded himself to maintain, as an old friend had once put it, Constant Vigilance.
Now, being prepared for almost anything, he was not by any means prepared for nothing; and, consequently, when the Bell struck Eight, and no shape appeared, he was taken with a violent fit of trembling. The bell chimed to mark a quarter-hour, and still there was no sound or movement in the room. Just as he began to nestle back under the covers, there was a brief puff of flame and scattered embers, and he heard a distant voice echo from the fireplace: “Remus Lupin! Will you let me in at last?”
Lupin bolted from bed and went over to the hearth. “Hello?” he called uncertainly.
“Greetings, Remus Lupin! It is I, the” — the voice was interrupted by a tremendous sneeze — “the Spirit of Solstice Present!”
“Oh! Sorry about that, my floo is blocked off. Just a moment.” Lupin cast the necessary spell to grant access to his hearth. A minute later, an enormous figure came tumbling through, nearly bowling him over. They had to stoop so as not to graze their head against the ceiling (how ever had they fit through the flue?). The most noteworthy thing about them, however, was that they were entirely nude, save for a tastefully draped garland of yew and holly. “Doesn’t that itch like the devil?” Lupin wondered out loud.
“You have never seen the like of me, I take it!” the Spirit thundered cheerfully.
“Well, to be quite honest, you’re hardly the first individual to stumble naked through my floo in the middle of the night. It’s more that, as a Spirit, I thought you would be able to let yourself in.”
“I could,” the Spirit said, “but unlike certain otherworldly messengers, I like to be polite when I’m a guest in someone’s home.”
“I see. That’s commendable. I suppose you’re here to show me the — ”
“I have come to show you the present moment, Remus Lupin!” the Spirit boomed, as if suddenly remembering why they were there. “Not your present, mind; but presently, I shall take you to see the ones you claim to love, and who love you in return; who even now are regretting your absence. Have you no thought for them, Remus Lupin?”
“What? Of course I do!” Lupin sighed. “I suppose you’re talking about Harry and Ginny’s housewarming party. Look, I would go, but…”
“…You don’t want to,” the Spirit finished for him.
“I don’t appreciate your tone,” Lupin scolded, as if the Spirit were a misbehaved student. “It’s just too awkward this year, you see. Tonks and I just filed for divorce, and I’m sure she doesn’t want to be forced to make uncomfortable smalltalk with me in front of our mutual friends. I’m doing her a favour.”
“Ah, yes. Awkward. Tell me, Remus Lupin, is it so awkward that it’s worth missing your child’s first Solstice? Christmas? New Year?”
Lupin flushed. “He’s eight months old. It’s not as if he’ll remember,” he said flippantly. “And anyway,” he grumbled, “I have him for Boxing Day.”
“Boxing Day!” the Spirit echoed disdainfully. “Do you hear yourself, man?”
Lupin crossed his arms defensively. “Dora deserves to spend the holidays with her son just as much as I do — nay, more than I do. It’ll be better for Teddy this way.”
“Better for him, or just easier for you?”
“Both,” Lupin snapped. “Anyway, what’s done is done.”
“Yes, Remus Lupin, what’s done is done, but what’s doing is still doing.”
“Pardon?”
“Come with me. Let’s see how the party is getting on without you.”
“You know, I really don’t need to — ” Suddenly, Lupin was in the middle of Ginny and Harry’s sizeable new sitting room. There were warm, twinkling lights everywhere he looked; not a single surface was unfestooned. The table was practically sagging under the burden of so many mince pies. The Spirit picked one up and handed it to Lupin. “How did you do that?!” Lupin exclaimed. The Spirit only shrugged. Lupin tucked in. At least he would get a snack out of this haunting, if nothing else. “Could I get some of that wassail, too?” he (quite rudely) asked as he chewed.
“No, Remus Lupin, you’re going to remain sober for this.”
“Damn. I was afraid you’d say that,” Lupin sighed. Just then, he caught the sound of his own name somewhere close behind him. He whirled about to see Harry, Ron and Hermione in quiet conversation.
“…still, I was really hoping to see him tonight,” he heard Harry say. “I feel awful about some of the things I said last time I saw him. I don’t know why he and I are always rowing these days. It was never like this before.”
“It’s because he’s family now,” Hermione said sagely. “You allow yourself to get cross with him, because you know that even if you quarrel, you’ll still love each other just as much. It’s a good thing, Harry.”
Harry flushed, and so did Lupin, who felt an uncomfortable wetness prickling at his eyes. “I guess,” Harry mumbled. “I just wish he wanted to be here, you know? He’s got this habit of disappearing.”
“Well, if it helps, I don’t think it’s about you, mate,” Ron reassured him. “I reckon it’d be awkward if he did show up tonight. Because of the… you know…” Ron dropped his voice to an inaudible whisper and mouthed the word, “divorce.”
“Divorce is not a dirty word,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.
“Okay, okay, I know. I’m just trying to be sensitive. Didn’t want to say it too loud, on account of…” Ron trailed off, gesturing with a nod of his head.
Anxiously, Lupin followed their line of sight, past the Spirit (who was, unbeknownst to the party guests, stashing away a selection of treats from the buffet) and over to the corner of the room he’d been avoiding all along. Seated on a couch with the future Mrs. Weasley-Potter was none other than Nymphadora Tonks. Her cheeks were rosy, her smile radiant, her short hair a becoming shade of evergreen. More to the point, she was bouncing tiny Teddy Tonks-Lupin on her knee; his cheeks equally rosy, smile equally radiant, and hair — impressively — the exact same shade of green. Lupin felt a pang of emotion. They were both so beautiful. How had he ever deluded himself into thinking he had a chance with a woman like that…?
“Stop that right now,” the Spirit scolded. “Remember how miserable you made each other when you actually lived together?”
Lupin jumped. “Can you hear my thoughts?! You have to tell me if you can hear my thoughts.”
“There’s no need, Remus Lupin,” the Spirit said with an amiable chuckle. “They’re written plain enough across your face.”
Lupin scrubbed at his face, just in case the Spirit was talking about literal writing; one could never be too careful where magic was involved. “Yes,” he said pathetically, “but perhaps if I’d been a better husband — ” The Spirit cuffed him upside the head. “Oww! Aren’t you supposed to be incorporeal?” he complained.
“Hush. Don’t you want to hear what they’re saying?”
“No, actually, if I have the option… oh, I see, you’re just sort of going to whisk me there. All right, then.”
“…couldn’t even be bothered to show up tonight,” Ginny was saying. Lupin paled. He’d just known they were going to be talking about him…
“It’s not like that,” Tonks said, pausing to make a silly face at Teddy. “Look, Ginny, I know you’re just looking out for us, and I appreciate your concern, I do, but I’m not worried, and neither should you be. Remus is a great dad.”
“So great he didn’t even want to spend Teddy’s first Christmas with him?” Ginny scoffed.
“Now hold on!” Tonks and Lupin cried in unison. “That’s bloody unfair, and you know it,” Tonks continued. “It’s early days, and we’ve still got a lot to figure out, but we’ve got this co-parenting thing in the bag.” She skilfully dodged as a tiny hand reached out to grab her nose. “I told you, Remus and I split on the best of terms. No, really. I have total faith in him. And even if I didn’t, I’d still rather you not talk about him like that in front of Teddy. He might not understand yet, but give it another few months…”
Ginny softened. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m glad you see it that way. I like Remus, you know I do, but I get so angry when I think about — ”
“Ginny, if you’re about to say ‘what he did to me,’ I’ll turn you into a potted poinsettia. Every decision we’ve made has been mutual. We’re going into this on an equal footing. Honestly, the fact that we started getting on so well as soon as we decided to separate is probably a sign.” She grinned. “I won’t have you feeling sorry for me. I’m a hotshot Auror war hero and I made the world’s cutest baby. I’m going to ace single parenting like I ace everything else.”
Lupin sniffled. “She is really good at divorce,” he murmured, furtively using his sleeve to swab his eyes.
Just then, tiny Teddy let out a tiny little sneeze, breaking the tiny tension. Ginny giggled. “Bless you,” she said, reaching out to touch his chubby little cheek. Teddy giggled too.
Tonks chuckled, and said in a lilting voice to her child, “God bless us, everyone.” Then, scrunching her nose, she added, “Huh. What a weird thing to say.”
“It’s time to go home, Remus Lupin,” the Spirit said gently.
“No!” Lupin cried before he could stop himself. Somehow, he felt that ‘home’ was where he already was.
“Yes, Remus Lupin. There’s still a Spirit yet to come…”
Lupin gazed intently at Teddy’s face as the scene dissolved around him, until it was no more than an imprint lingering before him in the dark.
Stave Two (Bass Clef)
One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight.
Severus Snape didn’t think he would be able to fall asleep again after his previous adventure, but exhaustion outweighed the exhilaration of otherworldly visitation, and he soon found himself back in bed with sugar plums dancing through his head. (So what if he liked sugar plums? A man was allowed his little indulgences from time to time.)
His sweet dreams were cut all too short by a creeping feeling that he was not alone in his room. This time, he was not surprised to feel a presence tickling the edges of his consciousness. He yawned and stretched, clearing his mind. “Which one are you?” he asked the presence.
“I am the Spirit of Solstice Past,” the presence said, swelling to fill the room.
“Ah, yes. This is sure to be a joy. Very well then, Spirit, take me away. Show me how I got to be such a miserable bastard. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” Snape smiled crookedly to himself. “That was a joke,” he explained.
The Spirit evidently did not care for his style of humour, because all of a sudden, the bed vanished from under him and he was plopped unceremoniously into the snow. A few metres ahead, he spotted a snowdrift that would have made a considerably more comfortable landing spot. Nevertheless, Snape didn’t want to go anywhere near it.
In a little melted-out hollow in the snowdrift, two wee little boys huddled over a wee little magical fire. Eleven-year-old Severus Snape was a blot of vivid black against a field of white. Remus Lupin was wearing an oversized peacock-blue cloak and brand new red woollen mittens, which he held over the flame to warm his wee little hands. He was almost obnoxiously rosy-cheeked and cherubic. Past-Snape looked a bit like a baby pigeon.
“Why have you brought me here?” Snape asked stiffly. The Spirit ushered him closer, so that he could hear what the children were saying. “Is that really what this entire Spirit visitation is going to be about? Remus-bloody-Lupin?”
“That’s right,” Past-Snape said. “I got the idea from this old magazine my mum had. There was this stupid article about beautification charms, and one of them was for strengthening fingernails. So I thought, what if you tried that, but made it so the nails just didn’t stop growing?”
Lupin giggled. “That’s so mean!” he squealed.
“I don’t know. I can think of a few people I wouldn’t mind testing it out on.”
“It would be funnier if you did it to their toenails,” Lupin suggested. Both boys dissolved into laughter.
“Ah, yes,” Snape reminisced fondly. “The old Toenail Hex. Why, I haven’t thought of that one in years. I finally perfected it the summer after second year. I did eventually get to test it out, by the way — on Lupin.”
“This is terrific,” Lupin said. “I never knew people could just make their own spells!”
“Where did you think spells came from?” Past-Snape asked.
“Guess I never really thought about it,” said Lupin. He looked contemplative. “Well, now that I think about it, I have come up with a few tricks, but I never thought to write them down or give them names.”
“Really?” Past-Snape asked eagerly. “Like what?”
Lupin screwed up his face and focused his eyes on a point somewhere beyond Past-Snape’s left ear. For several seconds, nothing happened. Then, a loosely-shaped cluster of snow rose from the ground and hit Past-Snape right between his shoulder blades. “Oi!” Past-Snape spun around to look behind him, but there was only empty air. He gasped and turned back to Lupin, eyes wide. “You can do wandless magic?” he exclaimed.
“A little,” Lupin said, looking sheepish. “Only if I concentrate really, really hard when I picture what I want to do.”
“You did kind of look like you were crapping your pants while you did it,” Past-Snape confirmed. Instead of getting embarrassed, Lupin seemed to find this hilarious.
“Remember how you used to make him laugh?” the Spirit whispered.
“I don’t need a running commentary,” Snape spat back.
“Why have you learned to do that?” Past-Snape asked Lupin. “I mean, it’s neat, and I want to learn it too, but why have you bothered? It’s meant to be awfully advanced.”
“Well, it seems like a good skill to have, don’t you think? In case you ever wake up naked in the woods without your wand…”
Past-Snape blinked in astonishment. “Is that something I should be worried about?”
“No!” Lupin blurted, eyes wide. “It was only a thought.”
Snape chortled. “What?” he snapped defensively at the Spirit. “It’s quite funny, in hindsight. You know, because he’s a werewolf? Oh, stop. Don’t give me that look.”
“You know,” said little Past-Snape, turning pink, “I could teach you, if you want. How to come up with spells.”
“Really?” Lupin gasped. “That would be so cool!”
“If you show me how to do wandless magic.”
“Oh. I’m not really sure if I can explain it, but I can try.”
“Deal?” Past-Snape persisted.
“Okay. Deal.” Lupin laughed, sticking out his hand. “You’re such a Slytherin.”
Snape turned away with a grimace. They had, of course, never followed through with that plan. Back then, he was always making plans. So many big plans for such a tiny child, and so few of them had ever come to pass…
“Now, look here, Spirit,” Snape said sternly. “I’m not sure why you’re so obsessed with Remus Lupin. I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but I can think of a great many people I should probably make amends to, and Lupin’s nowhere near the top of the list.”
“How astute of you, Severus Snape. That’s exactly the sort of self-awareness we Solstice Spirits strive to achieve. But it seems, perhaps, you have not yet grasped our purpose here tonight. Let’s visit another memory, shall we?”
And then, all of a sudden, they were in Snape’s favourite apothecary in Knockturn Alley, which had (alas) gone out of business in the mid-eighties. Outside, rain was lashing at the windows; the sky was pitch-dark, although it was only around four-thirty. Past-Snape was crouched near to the ground, examining the bottom shelf of a wall packed with things in glass jars. He was enveloped in an attractive-but-sensible black wool cloak that flared across the floor around him. It had been one of the first purchases he’d made with his new Hogwarts salary.
There was another figure at the counter, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a similar style of cloak, though closer inspection would reveal it to be a much thinner wool-poly blend. Past-Snape hadn’t noticed the other man yet, but Present-day-Snape watched him like a hawk. At the sound of the shop owner’s voice, both Snapes perked their ears.
“All right,” the shop owner said, removing a squishy-looking bag from her scale. “I’ll give you seven galleons for the werewolf hair, plus another for the claw.”
“Only one for the claw?” the cloaked figure protested indignantly.
“It’s one claw. Really, it’s more like half a claw, but I’m feeling generous. ’Tis the season, and all.”
“You paid nine for the fur last time,” the figure said, a note of desperation creeping into his voice.
“Supply and demand,” the shop owner said, shrugging callously. With a nasty leer, she added, “What are you going to do? Take your business elsewhere?” The cloaked figure did not respond. With a slump in his shoulders, he pulled out a coin purse and counted the eight galleons into it. “Now, bring me something really interesting, like more of that werewolf blood, and we’ll talk,” the shop owner said.
“I told you, that was a… a lucky find. It’s not exactly easy to procure.”
“Yes, I’m well aware of that. That’s why I pay a premium for it. You seem like a bright young fellow. Perhaps you can find some way to arrange it with your… friend.”
“Thank you for the suggestion. Good day,” the man said curtly, turning about and sweeping out of the apothecary.
“See you next month,” the shop owner called after him.
Past-Snape put down the jar he was pretending to examine and hurried after the retreating figure. Snape and the Spirit were towed inexorably along after him; now they were outside in the driving rain, a little way down the street.
“Lupin!” Past-Snape called out. The cloaked man froze in his tracks and turned to face him. Past-Snape smirked. “A word of advice. When using Polyjuice Potion, it’s generally more effective if you don’t respond to your own name.”
“Snape. What do you want with me?” Lupin asked coolly.
“Me? Nothing. I just happened to spot you back at the apothecary and thought I’d say hello to an old school chum.” Past-Snape’s eyes glittered with malicious glee. “Never thought I’d run into Remus Lupin selling his body in Knockturn Alley.”
“All right, you have to admit, that line was quite good,” Snape whispered to the Spirit.
Lupin’s face — a stranger’s face — twisted with fury, but just as quickly it changed to a dead-eyed mask. “Well, it’s been lovely catching up with you. If that’s all — ”
“I’d also suggest changing yourself into someone less… conspicuous,” Past-Snape added. Indeed, Lupin’s Polyjuiced form was strikingly handsome, tall and well-built; he looked out of place in Lupin’s shabby clothes.
Lupin, surprisingly, offered Past-Snape a weak smile. “Maybe, but I take my cheap thrills where I can get ‘em, these days. This is pretty much the only way I can get an attractive man in my bed.” At Past-Snape’s look of horror, Lupin laughed. “I meant myself, Snape.”
Snape flushed sympathetically with his younger self. Past-Snape spluttered, “That’s vile, and a highly unethical use of Polyjuice.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot you were respectable now. So then, Professor,” Lupin said mockingly, “are you going to dock points from Gryffindor? Give me a detention?”
“You wish,” Past-Snape said. Lupin raised an eyebrow.
They stood there awkwardly facing one another for several beats. Past-Snape caught his breath, as if he were about to speak — then let it out on a long exhale.
“Right then,” Lupin said, hugging his cloak closer to his middle. “I’m off to confess my sins. Nice seeing you, Snape. Happy winter.” With that, the two figures went their separate ways.
“I don’t understand why you’ve shown me this memory,” Snape said to the Spirit. “The first one, I get. Looking back at a time when I was young and innocentish. But why this moment? It’s neither happy nor sad. It’s a nothing memory.”
“Exactly,” the Spirit said, “but it might not have been.”
“What does that mean?”
“Do you still remember what you wanted to ask him, Severus Snape? What you almost said?”
Snape shivered, not from the cold. “I think I catch your meaning. So you are not merely the Ghost of things that Have Been, but the spectre of things that Might Have Been. You show people the moments when they Might have chosen a different path. Isn’t that so, Spirit?”
The Spirit merely held out a hand. “Come. It’s nearly nine o’clock, and this night is far from over.”
Stave Three (Treble Clef)
One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight… nine.
“All right,” the Spirit of Solstice Yet to Come said, with a great yawn they didn’t even bother to stifle. “Let’s make this quick, shall we? It’s been a long night already and I’ve still got a few more squandered souls to visitate before sunrise. Now, I’ve just had a quick debrief with my older siblings, and suffice to say I’ve got quite a few questions for you, Remus Lupin. For instance, what kind of cheese are you eating that comes in ‘blob’ form?”
“Erm…”
“Never mind, that’s out of our purview right now. Come along, take my hand. Let’s go have a peek into your future, shall we?”
“Sure,” Lupin said, confused when the Spirit tugged him out of bed and toward the door. “Aren’t you going to whisk me now?”
“Don’t be silly, we’re only going down the hall.”
“Oh. I see,” Lupin said, although he did not see at all. He trailed after the Spirit, utterly perplexed. When they reached the sitting room, everything seemed to be just as Lupin had left it that evening. It took him a moment to spot the armchair and end table drawn close to the hearth, and another moment to notice the frail-looking figure seated in the chair. It was, of course, himself.
Future-Lupin sat unmoving in the chair. He looked to be about fifty; or perhaps seventy-five. It was hard to tell. His hair was greyer, the lines in his face more pronounced, his form more shrunken, and he had grown a long grizzled beard. That reminded Lupin — he touched a hand to his thirty-eight-year-old face. He hadn’t shaved in nearly a week.
More disturbing than Future-Lupin’s appearance was the expression on his face. His eyes were unfocused, staring straight ahead. He held a slip of parchment against his lap in a loose grip. The paper was quaking in his hands like an autumn leaf. It was the only visible sign that the old man hadn’t been petrified.
Lupin and the Spirit stood in silence for some time, watching. Finally, Lupin asked, “So, is he going to do anything? Or, y’know, move?”
“No,” the Spirit said. “Not for some time.”
“I see.” At that, Lupin began to investigate the rest of the room. Most of it looked the same, although it was all stained with a thin layer of soot. A feeling of cold dread began to creep beneath his ribcage. “Where is Teddy?” he asked the Spirit. His voice caught in his throat.
“Your son? He’s with his mother,” the Spirit said blithely.
“Okay, but where are his — ” Lupin gestured around the room. “Where are his things? This doesn’t look like a home that a child lives in.”
“Quite right,” the Spirit confirmed. “Oh, he visits once or twice a year, but he never stays longer than a night. This house is hellish for his allergies. Still, it’s nice that he comes to visit, given that his mother has full custody.”
“What?” Lupin choked. His throat was painfully dry. “But Dora — I just heard her at the party — she said — she wouldn’t — ”
“No, she wouldn’t. But you insisted.” Lupin opened his mouth to argue, but the Spirit spoke over him. “Too dangerous, too old, too unemployed, not fit to raise a child, better off with his mother, blah, blah, blah, and so on.”
“I would never do that!” Lupin ejaculated.
“If you think that, Remus Lupin, then you have misunderstood our purpose here tonight. I am the Spirit of If; I lord over the Realm of Would. I reveal nothing that Could Not be.”
“But, then…” Lupin turned back to his future-self. “For God’s sake, man, why don’t you move?!” he cried, though he knew that the figure couldn’t hear him. “Will you not speak?”
The Spirit of Solstice Yet to Come extended an arm and pointed to the letter in Future-Lupin’s hands. Trembling, Lupin reached out and plucked the letter from his future-self’s slack fingers. He turned it over and began to read.
24 December, 2009
Dear Remus,
We were awfully sorry to miss you at our Solstice Soirée again this year. One of these years, we’re finally going to rope you into the fun, mark my words! It was a lovely time, although Teddy was very naughty and kept trying to teach his younger ‘cousins’ some rather colourful vocabulary. He must have picked it up at school; I’m certain he didn’t get it from you.
I’m also very sorry to hear that you won’t be able to attend Severus’ wedding next week. I never realised it was on the full moon until you mentioned it in your last note. Severus must not have realised it either. I know it wasn’t personal. Still, it’s a shame you can’t be there. We would all love to see you.
All the same, there’s something very romantic about getting married on New Year’s Eve, don’t you think? It was wonderful to see the happy couple at our Solstice Soirée, even with all the stress of their impending nuptials. To think that they first met at the very same party, three solstices ago! I wish you had been there to see how they hit it off that night; I never saw old Snape in such a good mood. I know I can’t really take credit for their romance, but… well… I’ll do it anyway. Hurrah, it’s all thanks to me! (Only joking.)
Please do write back and let us know if you’ll have time for a visit after the holidays. We miss you. Have a very happy Christmas and a bright New Year!
Love,
Harry
Lupin reread the letter three more times. Finally, he looked up at the Spirit and asked in a subdued tone, “Answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that Will be, or are they shadows of things that May be, only?”
The Spirit had gone silent. They were still pointing at the letter Lupin clutched to his chest; in other words, straight at Lupin’s heart.
“Come now, Spirit! You had plenty to say before! Answer me!”
The Spirit remained unmoved, just like the old man in the armchair.
“Fine!” Lupin cried. “I eat blobs of processed cheese! I eat it with a spoon! Sometimes that’s all I eat for days on end! I confess it! I am a sinner! Now will you tell me what I must do? Am I past all hope? May I yet alter my life and change these shadows you have shown me this night?”
The letter was crumbling in Lupin’s hand, the Spirit fading into golden mist. He shouted himself hoarse, but there was no one left to hear. He was back in his bed, and everything was dark and cold around him.
Stave Three (Bass Clef)
One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight… nine.
“Let’s see. I’ve seen my future, and my past. I suppose you must be the Spirit of Solstice Present?”
“Indeed I am, Severus Snape! I heard that you were clever, and you don’t disappoint!”
Snape yawned. “I hate to be disobliging, Spirit, but I’ve already met two others of your ilk, and thus far, everything I’ve seen tonight has been nothing more than a load of — ”
“Humbug?” the Spirit asked, proffering a handful of peppermint sweets.
“What? No thank you. Where were you keeping those?” Snape asked suspiciously. He shook his head, trying to stay focused. “My point is, if this is about Potter’s stupid party, I already declined his invitation, and my RSVP was perfectly sincere.”
“Yes, I’m aware of the note you sent to Harry Potter explaining that you would ‘rather pass through the cloaca of a snake (again)’ than attend his housewarming party. That’s not what brings me here though, Severus Snape.”
Snape could have melted with relief. “So you’re not taking me to witness another insipid vision of Remus Lupin? Finally, a Spirit with some sense.”
The Spirit let out a thunderous laugh, and once again, the room around them disappeared.
This time, there was no onslaught of light or irritating cheer. At first, Snape wasn’t certain they had travelled at all. They were in another bedroom, as sparse, cold and cramped as his own. Colder, if possible. Snape was bewildered. Then he heard a soft whimper coming from the bed.
Drawing nearer, he saw that what he had taken for a load of laundry waiting to be folded was, in fact, the pathetically reduced form of Remus Lupin. The form spasmed as if trapped in a nightmare, and Snape felt a reluctant twinge of sympathy. Then, to his horror, he realised that Lupin was actually awake, and the keening sound was increasing in volume. Lupin’s unfocused eyes had a haunted and haunting look about them. He clung to an inadequate duvet as a drowning man to a lifeline. Snape ought to have been elated at the sight. He desperately wanted to feel elated, but instead, he felt pity. No, worse than pity; he felt compassion. Catastrophic compassion. Cataclysmic.
“Enough,” Snape croaked. “Enough! I’ve seen enough!”
“Have you?” the Spirit asked with a penetrating gaze.
“I have! Spirit, I promise, I will not shut out the lessons that you teach. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. Only take me from this place! End this miserable anguish!”
“I can’t end it, Severus Snape,” said the Spirit, “I haven’t that kind of power.” The Spirit outstretched a hand, and Snape grasped it firmly. This time, however, they did not fade away from the room. Instead, the Spirit walked to the door, and Snape trailed after them, feeling helpless. They wound through the tiny house and exited through the front door. Snape turned to the Spirit in confusion. “Will you bring me home now?” he asked.
“In a manner of speaking,” the Spirit said with a smile. They gripped Snape by the shoulders and turned him about so that he was facing the doorway. “Knock,” the Spirit whispered; then, Severus Snape found himself alone.
Stave Three (Descant)
Snape regarded the brass door-knocker with suspicion. Now, it is a fact, that there was nothing at all particular about the knocker on the door, except that it was very large, and yet Snape had the strangest feeling that were he to reach out for it, it might grow a face and bite him. Steeling himself with a muttered, “Pooh, pooh!” he reached out and knocked. The sound was like a clap of thunder in the quiet night.
There was no response, and Snape began to feel very foolish. Just as he was preparing to call the whole thing off, a muffled voice called out from the other side of the door, “I can see you through the peephole. What do you want from me, Snape?”
“I don’t know,” Snape called back honestly, “but it’s snowing out here, and I seem to be in my dressing gown.”
Lupin opened the door. His reddened eyes travelled listlessly over Snape’s visage, as if not really taking him in. “Are you another spirit come to haunt me, then?” he asked.
“A spirit? I?” Snape repeated, flabbergasted. “No, but it was a Spirit that brought me here tonight. If you’d like to complain, I’m afraid you’ll have to take it up with a certain Ghost of Solstice Present.”
Lupin’s eyes went wide, swollen as they were. “So, you’re acquainted with them, too?”
“No,” Snape said, “I just apparated to your doorstep in my nightclothes on a whim.”
“It’s unplottable and quadruple-disillusioned,” Lupin said absentmindedly, ignoring Snape’s sarcasm. “Come in, come in.”
“It’s freezing in here,” Snape said as the door closed behind him.
“That’s never good to hear from someone who’s just come in from the snow.” Without so much as a look or gesture from Lupin, the fire in the grate behind him roared back to life. Damn. Snape had always been unnerved by how good he was at that. The two men regarded one another. Somewhere in the distance, the clock struck seven. Snape frowned. Hadn’t it been past nine o’clock?
He quickly forgot about counting the hours when Lupin threw his arms about him began to weep again. Nonplussed, Snape placed a hand flat above the small of Lupin’s back, the way he had seen his Future-Self do to Conditional-Lupin. Somehow, this only served to agitate Lupin further. “I didn’t mean to distress you,” Snape whispered helplessly.
“I’m sorry I called you weird,” Lupin sobbed into Snape’s shoulder. “You weren’t weird. I was weird.” He began to hiccough. “I really wanted to build that snow-witch with you. I still do. We could do it right now! Severus, do you want to go outside and build a snow-witch right now?”
“I absolutely do not want to do that,” Snape said. “But I appreciate the sentiment.” Then Severus Snape did something he’d never done before. He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on Lupin’s face. It landed somewhat clumsily between Lupin’s bristly cheek and his mouth, and Lupin’s skin was wet and salty and burning under his lips, and for a moment Snape was seized with terror as the magnitude of what he had done caught up with him; but then Lupin tilted his head and kissed him on the mouth, and it was so strange and sublime that all thoughts of fleeing were chased from his mind. Lupin’s lips tasted faintly of nutmeg.
After what felt like both an eternity and a heartbeat, Lupin drew back and wiped at his eyes. “Sorry, I don’t mean to spoil the moment, but… I have a party to get to, I think. There’s someone else who needs me tonight.”
Snape felt as if he’d been plunged into a frozen lake. How could he be so foolish? “Of course,” he said. “Your wife.”
“What? No,” Lupin said distractedly, “we’re separated. I meant my son.”
“Right. Yes. Teddy.” Just as swiftly as he had lost it, Snape felt the warmth of hope kindling within him again, shocking his system. Now he felt double-foolish. “You’re right. We should go to him straight away.”
Lupin gaped at him. “We?” he asked.
Thrice foolish! “Oh. I meant you should go. Naturally. This is more of a father-son thing. I knew that, of course.”
“No,” Lupin said, “that’s not it.” He reached up to caress Snape’s face, a look of wonder dawning upon him. “You just surprised me, that’s all. I’d like it very much if you would come with me.”
Snape let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Lupin intertwined their hands and gently pulled him forward. It felt every bit as good as it had looked to stand so close to him.
“You look a mess,” Snape admonished tenderly. “You can’t go to the party like that.”
“And you haven’t got anything under that dressing gown.” Lupin beamed at him. “Come on. Let’s go get ready to face the world.”
15 December, 2005
Dear Remus,
I ought to scold you, of course. Sure, it’s very romantic and all that you and Severus are getting married on the Winter Solstice, but you must realise you’re sort of stealing our thunder. You know how much we look forward to our annual Solstice Soirée, and we’re very put out about postponing it this year. But really, Ginny and I are beyond happy for you. To think that you first got together at the very same party, seven solstices ago! I know I can’t really take credit for your romance, but… well… I’ll do it anyway. Hurrah, it’s all thanks to me! (Only joking.)
I hear that Teddy has been taking his ring-bearer duties very seriously and practising nearly every day, and I know that Tonks is thrilled to be your ‘Best Mum’ and wear a suit. Although, Teddy did tell me in confidence a while back that he was confused, because he thought his dads were already married — because doesn’t being ‘married’ just mean you like each other so much that you live in the same house? Isn’t it wonderful, the way children see the world? We should all remember to be a little more like them. The world would be a happier, kinder place.
Ginny and I send all our love and wishes for good luck (not that you need it). May the Spirit of Solstice be with you.
See you next week!
Love,
Harry