!!!! SPOILER ALERT !!!!

This is a fanfic pertaining to Deathly Hallows. If you haven’t read the book yet and plan to do so, please come back and visit here again afterwards.

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(This fanfic will be a few chapters in length, more or less about Lupin, among others...)

What if? More what ifs...

What if Harry and friends got a chance to have a happy Christmas? I understand that part of the reason JKR wrote it (Ch 16 of DH) the way she did (at James and Lily’s graveside) was to make Harry feel more loss. I wanted something different. What if, since he’d already experienced a great deal of heartache and grief (with more to come), what if he could enjoy a respite from his troubles? This is how I wanted to see his Christmas holiday play out:

(Pretend that Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Kreacher are hiding out at Hogwarts in the Room of Requirement (while all the other students are still actively in school), and that Shell Cottage belongs to the Lupins (not Bill and Fleur), property left to Ted Tonks by his Muggle aunt, given to Nymphadora and Remus as a wedding gift. And I believe that since Harry went into hiding before his 17th birthday, and therefore never took his Apparition Licensing Test, he can’t legally Apparate...if he tries it, the Ministry will know it and nab him...he knows this and knows that they know this too.)

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DIRECTIVE NUMBER TWENTY-FOUR

A streak of silver shot into the Room of Requirement, taking the form of a coyote when it stopped in front of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and began to speak.

“Please spend the Christmas holiday with us at our house, plenty of room,” said Lupin’s voice.

“What do you think?” Harry asked them as the Patronus dissolved. “Should we?”

Harry had not spoken on the subject before now, but he had been wondering for several days about holiday arrangements. With Christmas only two weeks away, Ginny likely would be going home with the rest of the students. The castle would be empty. That would be a great boon were there something they needed outside this room, but there was not. What did matter to Harry was the emptiness of Ginny not being here. As for their own safety, Shell Cottage was as Unplottable as this room.

“I wouldn’t mind a change of scenery,” said Ron.

“Do you think Ginny might like to come too?” asked Harry, trying very hard not to sound obvious about it.

“I don’t know, mate,” Ron deadpanned, “that’s a tough choice: The holidays with us, basically on our own...or two weeks of listening to Auntie Muriel row with Mum...that’s way too much fun, you might have to bribe her.”

“We will have to get them a nice gift,” Hermione said of their proposed host and hostess as she rummaged through her beaded bag. “I think I still have about £20.”

“Pounds?” repeated Harry.

“The way things are, you don’t expect me to shop in the Wizarding world, do you?”

“I would like to see their house,” Harry made it unanimous.

Christmas with Ginny, a short rest from thinking about Horcruxes or Hallows (they had one tentative plan in the works for verifying the possessor of the cup, and it was his and Ron’s job to figure out what the fifth Horcrux was), and a holiday away from this hideout while remaining safe lifted Harry’s spirits to the happiest he felt since...he was not sure. There had not been much to feel happy about for so long.

On Ginny’s next visit to them in the Room, she was told of the invitation and tasked with making the arrangements. Soon it was settled: Ginny would pretend she was going home for Christmas, she would go with the other students to Hogsmeade, though she would not board the train. She had confided to Neville and Luna that she was faking her departure (without telling them her true destination), and they had agreed to cover for her in case anyone came looking for her. In truth, she would be rendezvousing with Ron, Harry, and Hermione at Zonko’s, the agreed-upon outlet for the tunnel.

Kreacher would be staying back at the Room to keep all the enchantments there active. Harry apologized for leaving him behind and for not even having a present for him. Kreacher, however, happy to have the locket, declared no other present was wanted. Nonetheless, Harry gave him permission to invite in Dobby so as not to spend Christmas Day alone. Kreacher’s large eyes beamed: Master Harry’s confidence and trust in him were the best presents of all.

* * *

Hermione and Ron Apparated Harry and Ginny to a desolate moorland overlooking three acres of tree-shaded yard enclosed by a low stone wall. A rather grand two-story house of white clapboard with blue shutters stood on the property. The four visitors entered through the little gate set in the tidy wall. Across the lawn, Lupin stood, holding his ground, his wand pointed at them.

“RIDDIKULUS!” they called to him, the prearranged password, and waved cheerily.

His face broke into a smile, and his arms spread open in welcome. His guests ran forward, the girls giving him a hug.

Lupin described the protections on his house: Muggles saw it as a fenced-off, burnt-out ruin; wizards (excepting those to whom the secret was revealed) saw nothing there at all, not even the stone wall.

All smiles, Tonks offered a warm welcome to them when they entered the front foyer. She moved them into the living room, chattering about how perfect this Christmas was going to be. Harry, about to give her a hug, froze with a start when he felt something brush against his shins.

“Crookshanks!” Hermione shrieked in glee.

Instantly her ginger cat was scooped into her arms and hugged. Too happy for words she looked at Tonks to explain.

“Molly asked us if we could take him when they had to leave the Burrow. It seems your Auntie Muriel,” she said to Ron and Ginny, “is allergic to cats, or maybe just hates them, I’m not sure. Anyway, we were glad to. He’s been no trouble, very affectionate.”

“Yes, you’re a good cat, aren’t you!” Hermione crooned soppishly as she nuzzled him.

Harry saw Ron make the effort not to roll his eyes while Ginny was beside Hermione, also petting Crookshanks in welcome. The cat purred contentedly.

Lupin then gave Harry, Ron, Ginny, Hermione (and the cat) a tour of the house.

This was the living room: It was spacious and bright with large bay windows facing the yard and the moors beyond. The furnishings, Harry guessed, had come with the house because they were exactly what would have been selected by someone’s maiden aunt. But there was a friendliness to the room nonetheless. Two accents which clearly did not belong to the original owner were a small silver-framed snapshot on an end table and an elaborately framed painting on the wall.

The two animated people in the snapshot were a violently violet-haired young woman, laughing, seated beside a grizzled standing man with a swiveling vivid blue eye. The photo appeared to have been snapped at Tonks’s cubicle at the Aurors’ office, with Mad-Eye Moody grunting at the camera. The painting was of a cello leaning against an upholstered thronelike chair beside a music stand. It reminded Harry of the empty chair in the picture in the Room. This realization sent a jolt through him.

Lupin moved them through the dining room, whose table was large enough to seat ten comfortably, and into the kitchen. At once Harry thought of Aunt Petunia. Tonks had a dishwasher, refrigerator, electric oven and stovetop, toaster, blender, and generous counter and cupboard space, even a breakfast nook with a table for four, set before a series of windows that gave a view of a garden and the sea. Though not as spotless as his aunt’s kitchen, this one was clean, bright, and cheerful.

“How go the Muggle conveniences?” Harry asked Lupin.

“We used to have a microwave oven. They’re not supposed to catch fire, are they?”

“As long as you don’t put anything metal in them.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Hang on,” said Harry, his sweeping glance taking in all the little appliances with their electrical cords duly plugged into wall sockets, “this is a Wizarding house now.” Harry could not visualize the Lupins receiving a bill via Muggle post from the Electric Company and being able to pay it. “How do you run all this stuff?”

“There’s an electricity generator down in the cellar, it came with the house. It ran on whatever that dangerous fuel is, but Arthur and I tinkered with it, got it to perpetually self-run. It came with a manual that explained about wattage and voltage—are you familiar with any of that from your aunt and uncle’s house?”

Harry shrugged his ignorance.

“Nor I. Arthur took it home with him to study.”

Harry suddenly remembered the motorcycle maintenance manual found on the floor of Sirius’s bedroom; he regretted not thinking to save it and pass it on to Ron’s dad.

“Dora likes the refrigerator,” Lupin continued.

He led them down a short hallway, past the laundry room, to his den. This was a cozy room dominated by a brown leather sofa and easy chair, adjacent to a bay window framed with white chiffon curtains and extending a view of the cliff-top garden, and facing a large television set. Positioned serenely about, various plants sat in pots or hung in baskets.

“The telly is handy too, to keep track of how the Muggles are managing things. They were all in a froth a few months ago over a death in Paris, quite a to-do. Our telly came with this thing.” Lupin handed Harry a narrow little pad with buttons on it. “I learned that you can control the machine with it from anywhere in the room. Do you know of such things?”

“Yeah. They’re called remotes. The Dursleys had a few.”

Hermione did not bother looking at it, but Ron and Ginny were fascinated by what happened when they pushed the buttons.

“Quite ingenious. Your dad loves those things,” said Lupin smiling at the Weasleys. “He calls them ‘Muggle Wands.’ I’d swear it was magic were it not for the little power sticks that snap in. I’m not sure we give the Muggles enough credit for how well they’ve adapted without magic. They have these outpost things—”

“Outlets.”

“Er, yes. They’re wired to every room. Arthur is so jealous.”

The tour extended to the bedrooms on the upper floor, where the guests dropped off their gear, two bedrooms with two twin beds, one for the girls and one for the boys, another guest room with a double bed and private bath, the main bathroom, then the master suite.

The tour concluded in the living room where it began. Harry’s attention again locked on the painting of the cello. “That’s an unusual picture, Remus,” said Harry as he walked to it.

“It’s our portrait of Dumbledore—when he’s there. He’ll screech the cello to get our attention. Horrible but effective!” Lupin laughed. “All Order members have one in their homes. Arthur even has one in his office...usually looking like a still life of licorice snaps, but it was painted as a portrait of Dumbledore beside a bowl of licorice snaps so he can visit it when he has need. Arthur told everyone at work that Fleur painted it for him as an in-law gift. Dumbledore had great foresight: He sat for fourteen portraits last year. When I think on it now, I suspect he knew he wasn’t going to live long. Professor Vector painted them. She’s not an Order member but she’s sympathetic to our cause. She’s pretty talented, as you can see. Five or six of her paintings hang at Hogwarts, like that picture of Sir Cadogan and his grey pony.”

“Wish she hadn’t bothered with that one,” Harry muttered.

Ron snorted in agreement.

“The portraits link us all in a way the Ministry, and now the Death Eaters, cannot infiltrate.”

“What about that one in Snape’s office!” exclaimed Ginny. “A Death Eater has access to that one.”

“Actually, it’s the contrary. That one gives us access to everything that happens in the headmaster’s office.”

“Snape has to know that, has to be censoring what he says,” observed Ron.

“Not if he thinks that’s as far as it goes. He doesn’t know about all these others. Our messages can travel instantly via Dumbledore, and he can give advice. It’s like the old man is still with us. As a matter of fact, he has been invaluable in helping us make arrangements for the upcoming meeting of the Order: the day after New Year’s. Hestia will be hosting it. We would like you to attend,” he said to Harry, and his tone had become serious. “I have been speaking for you—filling in for the voice of your godfather, if you will, under the circumstances, arguing that since you’re at the center of it all, you ought to be at the center of what we plan too.”

“I’m not fifteen anymore. I can speak for myself.”

“Exactly! Which is why you’ve been given an invitation to attend. To see and hear and speak for yourself.”

“What are their plans?”

“Be there and find out.”

“Ron and Hermione and Ginny will be coming with me,” Harry asserted.

Lupin nodded agreeably. He smiled at the other three who were now standing as defiantly as Harry. “Your lieutenants are welcome to sit with you.”

After dinner, while Tonks and Hermione entertained the Weasleys with a demonstration of the television, Lupin found Harry in the dim living room looking at the photo of Tonks and Mad-Eye.

“She still cries when she looks at it,” said Lupin. “She got hired due more to his recommendation than her test scores. I met her through him.” Lupin sighed. “His loss hurts us in ways we’re still feeling.” Harry understood that Lupin’s “we” now meant the Order.

Harry thought of the upcoming meeting. Lupin had lobbied for him to be included. He wondered if Lupin had pressed for his inclusion in the Order’s last plan, his removal from Privet Drive, and had his isolation there been the reason for his exclusion, or did they prefer to keep him in the dark? He appreciated Lupin’s efforts now, especially since it would give him a voice to argue against stupidity or bad planning or excessive risk on their part. His eyes studied the photo of Mad-Eye.

“I miss him too. I don’t want anyone else dying for me.”

“Why do you say it that way?”

“Mad-Eye died because I’m so ‘special’ I couldn’t leave home without an elaborate plot. George got maimed. Ron keeps calling me the Chess King. And Diggle said the hopes of the Wizarding world rest on my shoulders—you said it yourself: I’m at the center of it all...Do you know what it feels like to be the reason good people continue to suffer and die!”

A look of deep pain further creased the lines of Lupin’s face.

“It was irresponsible of Dedalus to say that to you. And I only meant that as the man with the biggest target on his back, you ought to be treated as an adult and be included in the decision-making.

“In your young life, Harry, you have had so much reason for grief: The last thing you need is to have false burdens heaped on you. Keep in mind that the Order was around long before you were. The Members, your friends, the wizards of Britain, are not fighting and dying for you nor because of you. It’s true you are the most famous person fighting against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and are the person for whom the success of our Cause matters most personally, but we all are fighting for the Cause, willing to die in the fight to defeat him and defeat the fear and corruption that has allowed the Ministry to devolve into the sham that it now is. We are fighting for our rights, and, believe me, we are glad you are on our side, but the Cause is bigger than you. And were you, God forbid, to fall, the fight would not be lost, it would not wane: it would be carried on by generations to come, if that is how long it takes.

“Perhaps you more than most can appreciate how desperately I yearn for a normal life where the greatest social error is the taking of tranquility for granted. That’s my dream, Harry. I have fought all my adult life to see such a day. To have you fighting with us in our Cause is an honor for us. And how wizards choose to fight back has to be honored too. Some of them choose to risk their lives by opposing him, and others to thwart him by protecting you. But you’re seventeen, and that’s an age when everything still appears to revolve around your own sun. I think the Muggles might be shrewder than us on one count: their age of adulthood is eighteen...used to be twenty-one.”

“Has Tonks’s Patronus changed again? Might it be a doe?” asked Harry, and from Lupin’s startled look this was a question he had not seen coming.

“It’s still a wolf. Why do you suspect a doe?”

“Someone sent a doe to me. I think it was a Patronus. Hermione says it was a sylph. I was wondering who in the Order might have a doe as their Patronus.”

Lupin turned to look out the darkened window, his wistful face reflected in the glass.

“The doe once was the Patronus of an Order member. She was your mother’s.”