Unexpected revelations

Harry and Neville Apparated onto the path outside of Andromeda Tonks' cottage and stood for a moment, letting their eyes adjust to the darkness. For a moment it seemed that their mission was going to be unnecessary. St. Mary Green was as quiet as midnight, and nothing was moving in the fitful light of the waning moon but a tendril of the warning rose that guarded Andromeda's gate, its thorns folding back again as it recognized two authorized visitors.

There was a light in her window. Neville put his wand away, his hand already on the gate latch as if he meant to go inside, but Harry caught his arm. "Wait. I hear..."

The scream came again, no creak of a gate or tree in the wind, but a human voice, and a deeper exultant shout, a distance-mangled word and yet one that still sounded horribly like "Crucio".

"That way!" Harry said, already in motion, but Neville was beside him. They ran neck and neck towards the danger, wands ready. But even when they reached the bend in the road they were too far away.

There was no question of which way to go – thirty yards away a line of fire was burning along the pavement, its dying light illuminating the undersides of the unruly branches of an ancient oak. Against the fire a frightening vignette – two silhouettes coming together in battle: one large and bent and bestial, the second smaller but fierce in attack, robes outflung, hiding gender and age. They went down in a tangle together.

Harry put his head down and ran harder, desperate to get within spell-casting range. There were lights coming on in the houses up and down the street in answer to the screams, lights that showed him glimpses of horrent grey fur and blue robe and blood. He raised his wand and went to fling a Stunning Spell at the combatants, thinking to sort them out afterwards, but Neville knocked his hand aside and the spell spun out useless sparks along the asphalt. "No!"

And now Harry could see what Neville had already seen, a smaller, dreadfully familiar figure pulling itself to its feet, interposed between potential rescue and the battle. "Teddy! Duck!" He couldn't risk knocking the boy down, into the midst of the combat.

But the boy was unhearing, frozen perhaps by terror or indecision. For a split-second Harry nearly was, too, and in that moment a new combatant entered the lists. Out of the sky he came, another shadow-shape like a huge bat, sailing down to hover between the dazed child and the roiling figures below.

A few more feet – that's all Harry needed to run in order to deal with this new menace – but the new arrival drew a wand and aimed its malice not at Teddy, but at the creature on the ground.

"Sectumsempra!"

The voice was deep, growling, but there was nothing of animal madness in it. The werewolf, stung by the spell, unloosed his prey and staggered back, then coiled to spring.

"Sectumsempra!"

This time the curse drove the beast back, past the diminishing line of fire, and Harry could see the blood springing from a long cut across its chest. It was Greyback all right. There was no mistaking him, not in any guise. How on earth had he been able to change?

The flying man lowered himself to the ground and stalked forward. The werewolf growled and made ready to attack.

"Who is that?" Neville gasped as he and Harry came at last to a halt by Teddy's side.

"I don't care," Harry said, glad to finally be safe to act. "He's got the right idea."

He raised his wand and added his own "Sectumsempra" to the stranger's, hearing Neville's voice echo his own. Greyback was bleeding badly now, and the curse had taken on a life of its own, drawing new lines of blood across limb and torso. The werewolf made one last lunge for freedom, but sprawled as a curse line severed the tendons of its leg. It crawled towards the tree and fell against the bole, bathed now in blood.

"Lumos", Harry said as he went forward to see what was left of the monster. Neville was beside him, and they stood and watched unmoved as the light left Greyback's yellow eyes and his breathing stilled.

Harry went to bend over his godson, gently touching his back.

“Teddy…?”

The boy stared at him. He didn’t speak, but tears were running down his cheeks. Harry scooped him up, holding him close and absorbing the shuddering of the small body as Teddy buried his face against his neck, still making no sound. Harry’s hands hastily felt over arms, legs and rump… he found a slightly bruised knee and a twisted leg, but nowhere the sticky wetness of blood.

“Teddy. Did he bite you? Did that wolf bite you?”

Harry could feel that Teddy fervently shook his head, and for the fraction of a second his knees grew weak in unspeakable relief.

“It’s all right, sprout,” he murmured. “You're safe. I’ll take you home soon.”

Neville ventured closer to the bloody corpse under the tree.

“Did we… did we finally finish him off?” He leaned over the wolf, then cautiously nudged him with a foot. “I can’t believe it – that’s Fenrir Greyback all right, and he’s a damned good reason to use one of the Unforgivables; I wish I had the last time we met."

“You shouldn’t,” Harry retorted, his tone slightly sharp. “There is a damned good reason why they are banned, believe me.” And a damned good reason why they were called the ‘Unforgivables’ – using the Crucio Spell in the heat of battle had felt completely appropriate at the time… but he didn’t wish anyone the silent horror he had always felt in later years when the thought of that tumultuous moment had crossed his mind.

His eyes sought the werewolf’s abandoned victim, but before he could move, a tall figure wordlessly swept past him and knelt down on the ground close to the unmoving form. He saw the man gently touch the neck, feeling for the pulse and waiting in silence… and now Harry finally realized who was lying there.

Ruta.

Her face was deathly pale and very still, her eyes closed. She wore a robe of gentle blue, but it was torn to shreds over the right arm, the fabric discolored to an ugly, deep black – and the biggest blotch close to the shoulder was still spreading rapidly. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the revolt in his stomach, his head spinning with terror and dismay. Neville gave a short, horrified gasp.

“Is she… is she…”

“She’s alive,” the stranger said, speaking over his shoulder without turning. His voice was low and hoarse. “But she’s in dire need of proper treatment.”

”The nearest Healer lives in Berwick,” Harry heard himself say. “But I don’t know if he would be able to deal with… those… bites.” Werewolf bites, he thought, those are werewolf bites, and you can’t even bring yourself to say it aloud.

“Werewolf bites, you mean?” the man quietly replied. “He should, if he hasn’t lived through the last twenty years in blissful ignorance. But unfortunately he's not here and we are.” And even if he were here... Harry remembered that the Healer in question had only just finished his education… a friendly young man, slightly shy and very anxious to make no mistake. Would he be able to cope with a situation like this?

All the time the stranger’s hands were busy, carefully feeling over arm and shoulder, finding the places where fresh blood was still soaking the torn robe.

“There…” He pressed his fingers into the injured flesh. “We shall have to bring her away from this rather… public place, as fast as possible.” Now he turned his head, but Harry could barely see more than the glint of eyes under the big hood. And the man didn’t look at him, he looked at Neville, scanning him cursorily from head to toe.

“Your cloak, please… and quickly, if you don’t mind.”

Harry wasn’t the least surprised that Neville did as he was told, not even trying to question the calm, steel authority in the man’s voice. He slipped out of the baggy garment and handed it over; the man dropped it on the ground and raised his wand.

“Alligatura!”

The cloak vanished, and half a dozen bandage rolls appeared in the air. The man murmured a second, nearly inaudible spell, and Ruta’s body rose a few inches from the asphalt. Harry watched the stranger work with great swiftness, swathing bandage after bandage around her, immobilizing shoulder and arm. He was glad that Teddy still had his head buried against his shoulder, so he didn’t have to watch. From the corner of his eye, Harry could see that Neville was wringing his hands.

“Will… will she heal?” he asked hesitantly. “How badly is she wounded?”

“Badly enough,” the man answered, gently lifting the unconscious woman on his arms. “Muscles and sinews are torn, and the bone in the upper arm is broken.” For the first time Harry heard the hint of a grim, almost arrogant smile in his voice. “But never fear, I shan’t let her die. – Now go and make yourself useful. Move that carcass over to the tree and turn it in whatever beast of prey you deem appropriate. Collect Greyback’s clothing – you’ll need it if you mean to trace his movements. But eliminate the other traces, especially the blood. And you'll need fire.”

“Why?”

“To destroy any chance of contamination. And the Muggles can believe that their mysterious monster was struck by lightning… There's no chance that the Ministry could possibly find and Obliviate every person who read or heard the news reports about the attack this morning... and now hurry! Company is coming.”

From one moment to the next Harry became aware of their surroundings again. Half of the houses down the road had heads crowding in lit windows now, and sirens were approaching, luckily enough not from the direction of Andromeda’s house. Harry turned and ran as fast as he was able while carrying Teddy, and the man followed him, Ruta in his arms.

“Incendio!”

Fire roared as the treetop of the old oak burst into flames, but Harry didn’t waste any more time trying to watch how Neville fulfilled his task; he moved on, and within a minute they were safely within the high hedge of Andromeda’s garden. Harry looked at Ruta’s deathly pale face, suddenly afflicted by serious doubts.

“Don’t you think we should get her to St. Mungo’s?”

“Are you truly that dimwitted?” Now the man’s voice had a sharp tone of exasperation. “Not in her state! Would you seriously try to Apparate with someone who has suffered those wounds —you’d risk splinching half her arm away!”

“Oh.- I didn’t think of that.”

“Quite obviously,” his remarkable ally retorted acidly. “And now I would suggest that you wake up Mrs. Tonks and explain the situation to her, to get us inside and out of sight.”

Harry looked at the man whose name he still didn’t know – and whose face he still hadn’t seen, now that he came to think of it. The guardian roses were twisting with uncertainty, waiting for a known quantity to vouch for the stranger.

“Who are you?” he asked, knowing the question came late, and wanting the answer anyway.

Suddenly Teddy raised his head from Harry’s shoulder, revealing damp cheeks and puffy eyes.

“That’s Stephen Seeker,” he sniffled. “Aunt Ruta’s new friend.”

So this was the mysterious neighbor Ruta had so reluctantly told him of. He could hear her voice like a soft echo in his mind. Beyond his brusque surface he is a good and trustworthy man.

As if the memory were enough to appease Andromeda's protections, the roses folded away again. But Harry was still uncertain. “I’m glad to finally meet you in person, Mr. Seeker,” he said, feeling unhappily stiff and formal. “I don’t think that we would’ve had a chance to defeat Greyback without your help. Thank you very m…”

“I’m deeply moved, Mr. Potter,” Seeker interrupted him brusquely. ”But can we now hold off on any further discussions until I’ve been able to care for her?”

“I’m sorry.” Harry turned away, desperately wishing for a few quiet moments to sit down and regain his lost ability to think clearly. Anyway, Seeker was right… everything else could wait.

He couldn't help but remember the personal losses Andromeda Tonks had already suffered. Her husband, her daughter, her son-in-law… and now one of her closest friends will be carried into her house, severely wounded, a werewolf’s curse in her blood. And I couldn't prevent it. But having realized the source of his own hesitation at last, there was no point in waiting longer. He straightened his back, steeling himself against her dismay and tears and knocked at the door.

*****

The next half an hour proved to be far less turbulent than he had feared. Of course Andromeda was upset, but after a brief gasp of horror and confusion she coped with the situation quite admirably, accepting the sudden appearance of Stephen Seeker without turning a hair. She immediately herded them all upstairs and went to prepare a room for Ruta, A few minutes later, she paused in the nursery for a moment; she handed Harry a flask of Dittany, a soothing salve and a phial of valerian essence for Teddy, from the tray she’d assembled of the more potent potions and bandages that Seeker had asked for. But she didn’t stay, and Harry could see that she was glad to be able to leave Teddy in his care with only a kiss, once she was assured that the boy had taken no serious hurt.

And Teddy had been very lucky; against all misgivings his leg was only sprained, not broken. Harry took care of the leg and tucked the exhausted child into bed. He gave him a spoonful of the valerian in a glass of pumpkin juice and sealed the nursery with a few silencing spells against the tohuwabohu of sounds and flickering lights outside on the street (where the Muggles were putting out the fire and probably tried to make sense of the confusing evidence Neville had left behind). They would also keep the boy from hearing any cries that might come from the room where Andromeda and Seeker were tending Ruta. Then he waited until Teddy’s eyes fell closed and hurried down again into the small living room looking out to the back garden.

His gaze found the cage where Dromeda’s screech owl was sleeping… but no, even the fastest bird would take too long tonight.

The Floo Network, then.

Harry sighed, took a pinch of Floo Powder out of the small bowl on the mantelpiece and tossed in into the fire. He grimaced, stepped into the green flames and endured the sickening blur of movement that carried him away… until the fire spat him right into Kingsley Shacklebolt’s office in the Ministry.

*****

Ten minutes later he burst out of a kitchen fireplace, this time nearly one hundred miles further east, in the Burrow.

The room was empty, save for the slender young woman sitting at the kitchen table, staring tensely into a cup of tea. When the light from the fireplace turned from red to green, she raised her head and jumped up so carelessly that her chair tipped over with a loud bang.

“Harry!”

Ginny threw herself into his arms, and for a precious moment he allowed himself to be calmed and comforted by the flower-scent of her hair and the warmth of her touch. But just as he was about to push her back as gently as possible, it was she who stepped back first and gave him a sharp, inquiring look.

“Were you right? Was it Greyback?”

“It was. But he’s dead,” Harry said. He hated to blow out the triumph flaring up in her eyes, but he continued nonetheless. “Too late to stop him from doing any damage though.”

Ginny paled and bit her lip, thinking of the most obvious danger. “Did he hurt Andromeda? Or Teddy?” Now the triumph was replaced by sheer panic. “Did he bite one of them? Harry?”

“Ruta.” Harry sighed. “He bit Ruta, and badly. She is in good hands and will probably survive, but I need help.”

He broke off, trying to sort his thoughts.

“Ron and Hermione are still in France, in that house in St. Guenolé… would you Apparate there and ask Ron to come back at once and meet me and Neville in St. Mary Green?”

"Can't the other Aurors help you?"

"I can't take the chance. I know Ron and Hermione can keep a secret. Trust me, Ginny, the last thing we need right now is Rita Skeeter, sniffing around in St. Mary Green like a greedy bloodhound. I just met with Kingsley Shacklebolt, and he's going to find a Mediwizard to come and tend Ruta – one who can keep quiet."

He held her a little closer, unable to explain the worst of it to her now, even with the Minister of Magic's permission.

"Ginny... please..." If the news got out that Greyback had fully changed without a full moon it would destroy the lives of anyone who had ever been one of his victims, his brother-in-law Bill included.

“I’ll tell them what you have told me,” Ginny said. “And I'll send them both. You might need Hermione’s help to stuff Skeeter’s mouth if she gets wind of the story. They could leave Rosie here; Mum will be more than pleased to take care of yet another baby.”

“Thank you, love.” Harry kissed his wife and turned back to the fireplace again. “I’ll return to Dromeda’s house now, and I have no idea how long it will take to sort things out over there.” He helped himself with a good dose of Floo Powder and vanished once more in a green roar of flames.

Ginny stared after him; now her face lost the rest of its color as the grimmest part of the message Harry had brought finally sank in.

He bit Ruta.

Her knees grew weak, and she sat down heavily at the table once more, closing her fingers around the cup and then pushing it away. She felt thoroughly sick.

*****

Harry returned to St. Mary Green barely half an hour after he had left: spotlights and the circling blue lamp of a police car still brightened the road, and he registered the dark silhouette of a reporter speaking into a microphone while he was filmed. BBC Cumbria had obviously discovered the latest development of the drama.

Neville was watching the complicated machinations of the Muggles from the shadows, but he nodded to Harry and signaled that he had things well in hand, so Harry went back to Dromeda's house to fulfill the mission that Shacklebolt had given him – to guard Greyback's victims. But whether he was guarding them from danger, or guarding them to make sure they were no danger, he wasn't entirely sure.

He slipped into the house and went upstairs, but there were voices and lights in Ruta's sickroom so he went first to double-check on Teddy. When he cautiously opened the door, he heard a soft, drowsy voice from the direction of the bed.

“Uncle Harry…?"

“Yes, sprout, it’s me. I thought you were asleep.”

“No. I mean… yes, I was. And then I woke up again, and I was… thinking.” A short pause. ”Could… would you please read me a bedtime story?”

Harry swallowed his impatient reply before the words could form, secretly angry at himself. His godson had been through a nightmare, and he'd just left him alone. No matter. It would do no harm now to sit down and do as the boy wished.

Harry took the Tales of Beedle the Bard from the shelf. He’d never known those ancient fairytales as a child, but had recently started to cherish them for Teddy’s sake, and he hoped the familiarity of them would be soothing. But when he started to read, the boy barely seemed to listen, shifting restlessly under the covers.

“Will… will Aunt Ruta be a werewolf now, too?” he asked abruptly.

Harry raised his eyes from the book and looked at him; he seemed very frail and frightened in his big bed.

“Will… will she turn into a monster each time the moon is full?” Teddy’s gaze was dark with fear. “Like… like my father?”

Harry closed his eyes, for a few moments at a complete loss for words. How should he answer a question like that? Was it fair to burden a child like Teddy with all of the fears of his elders? But then he remembered the many years he had spent in the frantic search for his lost history and a fate no one would fully reveal to him - not even Albus Dumbledore, the man he had trusted more than anyone else. He swallowed and decided for the truth.

“Yes, Teddy,” he slowly said. “She probably will. But we’ll help her as best as we can. And she won't be a monster. Not like Greyback. She doesn't want to be, any more than your father did.”

Teddy sat up, his face pale and miserable. “It’s all my fault,” he blurted out. “When Mr. Seeker told me that I should keep away from his things, I had already… I mean, he gave me a book about dragons, and it was really good, with great pictures, but I was so curious what he might keep in that huge, old chest of drawers, and I simply had to have a look… and no one noticed, and then I got to know Winky, and she gave me Danish Pastry and cocoa and apple juice, and I had no chance to put it back, but I simply couldn’t tell him, could I? And then I went home, and when Aunt Ruta brought me to bed that evening, she found the medal and was mad at me. And I wasn’t allowed to see Mr. Seeker to apologize, you know, I had to write a letter, and I’m not good at writing letters, and Aunt Ruta didn’t come to visit me, and so I went to see her… and then the werewolf came and… It’s all my fault. .” He gave a hiccupping sob and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his pajamas.

Harry would have appreciated that sudden outburst of confessions much more had it not been for the name popping up amidst the desperate torrent of words.

“Winky?” he asked, frowning. “Who is Winky?”

“Mr. Seeker’s house-elf,” Teddy said. “She is very nice… only a bit shy, you know. And now she’s mad at me, too.” he added sorrowfully.

“He has a house-elf named Winky?”

“Why… of course!” Now it was Teddy’s turn to frown. “That’s not so strange… you have a house-elf, too, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I have indeed,” Harry answered, trying to sort his thoughts. “Listen, Teddy… it is not your fault that a crazy werewolf decided to come here and bite you, not at the least. He was a dangerous, evil creature. I’m incredibly glad that we managed to get rid of him tonight… and that your aunt protected you the way she did. She was incredibly brave. And so were you.”

He rose from his chair, closing the book and putting it aside. He looked around in the lovely room, lit by a candelabra and a beautiful, old Laterna Magica; the vivid figures of centaurs silently galloped along the walls. Then he reached out and ruffled the boy’s unruly mop of hair.

“Try to sleep,” he gently said. “I’ll be outside for a moment, but I’ll leave the candles burning for you, and I’ll come back later to blow them out.”

“Thank you,” Teddy whispered. “And the Laterna, too… Gran always says that the centaurs will keep protecting me.” He blushed with a certain embarrassment, and Harry felt himself smile.

“Of course they will,” he said, “As do I. Good night, Teddy.”

“Good night, Uncle Harry.”

Harry went out, softly closing the door. What he needed right now was a breath of fresh air and a quiet place to think; he ran down the stairs and found himself outside in the garden, leaning against the rough plaster of the wall.

A house-elf named Winky.

Images and memories milled in his head. The Winky he knew had served the Crouch family; but after the death of Barty Crouch Sr. and the miserable fate of his son she had literally lost her purpose in life. He remembered meeting her in Hogwarts, constantly drunk and bathing in self-pity. If Mr. Seeker’s house-elf was the same Winky – and only if – she must have found herself a new master. But where, and when? Winky had never left the famous school until the Second Battle; after the Dark Lord’s defeat – and still feeling the loss of Dobby like a fresh wound - Harry had completely lost track of her.

Stephen Seeker.

The little he knew about the man was what Ruta had told him - that and what he’d seen this evening. The dark figure, sailing through the air like some phantasmagorical deus ex machina, the dark, vibrant voice, yelling the spell that brought down Greyback… He recollected each and every single moment of the fight they had just won, memorizing the gestures, the words they had spoken.

Sectumsempra.

Suddenly he remembered his own voice, trying that spell for the very first time against Draco Malfoy… the frightened, spooky descant of Moaning Myrtle, echoing from the walls of the toilet, together with Draco’s screams of pain… He also remembered Severus Snape’s icy rage, and after nearly ten years of thinking and trying to find a deeper understanding for his personal life-long drama, he regarded his own role in this scene with honest regret. He had toyed with that new spell like a toddler with a box of matches, careless of the danger. He could have killed Malfoy as they had killed the werewolf this evening… Snape’s furious desire to see him expelled had been more than justified.

Sectumsempra.

He remembered the wild hunt through the castle; Snape, waiting for him and tauntingly demanding to see his edition of Advanced Potion-Making... and he, trying to bluff those sharp eyes with Ron’s book. Terribly foolish, and completely useless to boot, for Snape had known without a doubt where the spell came from, he himself had scribbled it into the book of the Halfblood Prince, his book… And Remus’ ghostly voice came back to him, after Moody’s death and after George had lost his ear through a misfired curse: “Sectumsempra was always a specialty of Snape’s.”

How many wizards did he know who were actually able to fly?

It felt like a veil, drawn back from a hidden picture… like blinking into a blinding light, and Harry stood in the silent garden, mouth wide open, as the revelation hit him with full force.

Aside from Voldemort he knew only one single wizard who could fly – he had seen him fleeing Hogwarts through a window on the day of the Second Battle, McGonagall and Flitwick's spells hissing after him like red bolts of fire. And there was only one wizard he’d ever seen using Sectumsempra besides himself before this very day… the one wizard who had developed it and written it down.

No. That was impossible. Severus Snape lay buried on the grounds of Hogwarts, in a glorious, black tomb, his corpse shut away as safely as Harry's memories of him.

He had seen him die, eight years ago.

Harry turned around and walked back into the house, and somehow he felt as if floating through a surreal dream. He swam through the vestibule and in the direction of the bedrooms, meeting Andromeda halfway on the stairs.

“Hello, Harry,” she said, her tired face lighting up in a small smile. “This man – Stephen Seeker – is truly remarkable. I doubt that young Tondrake will be able to care for Ruta as skillfully and gently as he does. I've sent for him of course, and Tiberius is a nice boy, but he left the St. Mungo Healing Academy only half a year ago, and he’s still a bit wet behind the ears.”

“Yes, Andromeda,” Harry replied automatically, her words nothing but a murmurous droning in his ears. “Yes, of course.”

“I’m going down to the kitchen,” Andromeda said. “I’ll brew some tea.”

He waited until he could hear the elderly woman puttering around with kettle, mugs and spoons, then he continued his way to where she had prepared a sickbed for Ruta. He stopped in front of the door, still not sure if he wanted to go inside, if he really wanted to know. It would be easy enough to leave, to go out and help Neville deal with Muggles and wait for Ron to come – to pretend that he’d never met the man who called himself Stephen Seeker.

He had told Teddy the truth about Ruta. Should he settle for a blissful ignorance now, to keep his precious peace of mind?

For a moment he closed his eyes, then bit his lip and opened the door.

Candles were burning in candelabras on a chest of drawers and on the night stand, like in Teddy’s nursery, but instead of showing a merry pattern of smiling dragons, the walls in this room were painted a gentle peach tone. The furniture was white and ornamental, the closed curtains sewn of an iridescent fabric, giving the room the atmosphere of a shell. Harry looked at the silent figure of the woman lying in the bed. She wore a loose nightgown, bulging over thick bandages on shoulder and arm. He could see her chest rise and fall in an almost imperceptible sign of life.

Now his eyes were drawn to the figure sitting in a chair beside the window. He saw the back of his head and his shoulders, clad in black; in this feminine milieu he appeared as misplaced as a crow in a dovecote.

Harry cleared his throat.

“Would you do me the favor of showing me your face?” he asked, his own voice strangely raspy and dull.

The man didn’t move, the seconds slowly ticking away while Harry kept waiting for a reaction, heartbeat in his mouth.

Then Ruta’s neighbor got up from the chair and turned around, raising his chin; Harry saw a small, sardonic smile on narrow lips and the glint of dark irony in black eyes, and he froze on the spot, staring speechlessly at his former teacher.
__________________________________________________________

Author's Note: Alligatura is the latin word for bandage.