Grinning slightly, Remus struck a pose for a moment. Malfoyesque, it looked all wrong with Remus doing it. The robes looked wrong on him, too. The cut was perfect, the heavy silk falling in clean lines to the floor, but the steely grey shade made Remus look sort of sickly. Or maybe that was because the garment hung a little large on the werewolf's frame.
Harry could see how well it would suit Lucius, though. It was the exact colour of his dead, cold eyes.
"I arrived in costume, so to speak, this morning, but I wanted to let the effect wear off before seeing you," said Remus quietly, no grin about him, now. "Should I have transfigured the clothes?"
Wonderful. Now even people who ought to know better were thinking him weak.
"I can handle it," said Harry dryly. "I've seen you actually be him, remember. And I did all right, after I got over the shock."
Remus smiled, the expression sympathetic. "I still wish I'd brought a change of clothes. Well, enough of that. Your father and I are testing a new batch of potion. Severus is working some final kinks out of the formulation."
Harry frowned slightly. He could easily imagine what those kinks were. "Yeah, I was kind of wondering how this was going to work. Hermione once said that you couldn't use Polyjuice to impersonate someone who's dead."
"Ah, traditionally that would be true," Remus answered. "But this is Severus' own variant of the potion, as I believe you know. A little less aconite; more heat throughout the entire brewing process . . . " Remus' ran a hand through his grey-streaked hair. "Enough with the Potions lesson. I'm sure you get more than enough of those at home."
"You know, I don't get as many as you'd think." Huh, now that he thought about it, it was actually pretty impressive that Snape had cancelled the rest of his Saturdays. Not that there were many left. And of course he'd hinted about more lessons during the summer, but all in all, Harry had to admit that his father hadn't been too unreasonable. "Um, so do you need to see Severus? He's in Defence with Aran. I think they've got the fifth year Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff class right now, but I'm not sure. I could check."
"No, no. Everything seems well in hand." Remus sat on a soft chair near the fire and crossed his legs. "I wanted to talk to you for a bit, Harry."
Harry sat, trying hard to relax since he felt so stiff inside. What could Remus need to discuss? He hadn't mentioned the portrait yet. Maybe he wasn't going to. Harry could hope, anyway.
"Talk? Nothing much has happened since you saw me at Grimmauld Place."
"I suppose classwork is a relief after what you went through." Remus' soft smile clearly told Harry that the comment was intended to be an opening. Remus didn't just want them to talk. He wanted Harry to talk.
So, Harry did. "Oh, lots of my mates are starting to whinge on about how they're dying for the summer hols and all that, but I'm not too anxious. After all, I did miss a lot of the school year." He couldn't help but add the next bit. "Nobody's complaining about Defence now, though. Did you know Severus is supervising Aran? It's amazing -- we haven't had this much fun since you were teaching!"
Remus started slightly. "That's certainly unexpected. I don't think any of you felt that way when Severus would substitute for me on my moon days."
Harry blushed, just a little. "Oh. Well, he's trying to humiliate Aran. By being a better teacher than he is, among other things. When he would fill in for you he had another . . . uh, agenda."
Remus nodded. "I truly can't imagine what Professor Aran must be going through with Severus right there in the room. I almost feel sorry for the man. Almost."
It seemed like a good opportunity, then, to tell Remus about a few of the most colourful incidents in Defence class -- some he'd witnessed himself and others he'd heard about in the common room or the Great Hall. The longer Harry talked, the better he felt. There was nothing to worry about. Remus had just needed some reassurance that Harry was doing fine.
As it turned out, though, Remus was a little bit more perceptive than Harry had anticipated.
After their laughter faded, and Harry had run out of stories about Defence, Remus leaned forward and touched him lightly on the shoulder. "Harry, are you truly well? I know you've never liked to make a fuss about the terrible things that have happened to you, but . . ." Remus sighed. "You shouldn't just sweep them all aside. Particularly not this time, after such an extreme trauma."
Harry flinched away from Remus' gentle fingers. Words like extreme and trauma tended to lose their meaning, he thought, when so much of your life was made up of them. "You think that was worse than seeing my own blood used to raise my parents' assassin to life? You think it was worse than losing my eyes?" Harry could feel himself getting angry, and tried to damp the feeling down. A calm voice, that was it. "Honestly, Draco had it a lot worse than I did."
Remus waited until Harry had met his eyes. "I don't think so, Harry. You've never killed anyone before."
That's not precisely true, Harry thought, guilt going around in circles in his mind. "Look, you're worried for nothing, all right? I know it was an accident! And I know not to use that spell again. So, problem solved."
Remus shifted in the chair, his fingers plucking at the rich fabric of his robes. "I think I know you better than that. You must be terrified." Remus' voice dropped a notch. "I know I was."
Harry looked up, startled. And horrified, in a way he'd never thought to be.
"Oh no, no," Remus said gently, his hand held up as if to forestall Harry's thoughts. "I didn't mean I was frightened of what you did. Or of you. I meant that I was terrified, too, when I realized how easily I could kill a person. I know what it's like to have powers you can't always keep under control. I know what it's like to fear you'll do great harm without intending to."
"Oh," Harry answered. If his thoughts had been spinning before, now they were in a complete whirl. Yeah, Remus would know, wouldn't he? He'd know all about living with the monster within.
All at once, Harry felt sort of dirty, like he was something low and awful. Not that he felt that way about Remus being a werewolf, but this was worse, wasn't it? It wasn't like he'd been bitten and had caught a dread disease. Remus couldn't help transforming under the force of the moon. But Harry ought to be able to keep from letting his dark magic have its way. He inwardly nodded, more grateful than ever that he'd hit upon a method to help get it under control. He just needed to step up his needle plan some. Find more ways to be alone so he could work on it.
Realising he'd been silent for a long while, Harry cleared his throat and struggled to say something that would ease Remus' worries. "It's good of you to come talk to me. But, you know, I'm really not so bad off. I mean, as long as I'm careful like Severus trained me to be, I can keep my wanded spells in check. Everything's fine."
The werewolf sighed. Loudly. "It's more than a river in Egypt, Harry."
"Come again?"
"Denial," Remus answered, his eyes going dark with memories. "That's what your mother always used to say. 'Denial is more than just a river in Egypt.' She told me that more than once. She used to roll her eyes and say that we 'ridiculously stubborn boys' couldn't admit how we really felt if we drank Veritaserum first."
That got a true smile from Harry. Well, a half-smile, anyway.
"Obviously she had a fondness for hyperbole, but she was right about one thing, Harry. It's no good to hide away what you're feeling. Merlin knows I have done, and I've always regretted it in the end."
"I'm not hiding," Harry insisted. But you are, aren't you? The sly voice inside just kept going. You're hiding morning, noon, and night so you can jab yourself with needles.