FIC: Twelve Nights, or You Will What? (ACT I of V)
Title: Twelve Nights, or You Will What?
Act: I
Author: Cedar
Summary: Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night", set in slashy post-war Potter AU.
Quote: They all felt shipwrecked. The war had been over for two years, but peace was proving to be just as challenging.
Characters/Pairings: Dramatis Personae is at the end of this post, because if you know Twelfth Night, this will give away surprise pairings, etc., but feel free to look if you want to know ahead of time.
I will say my OTP is Snape/Lupin (hint hint) and everyone is in love with Harry (of course). Um, this is very slashy.
Challenge: written for the shakes_that_fic fest
Rated: R for the finished fic, PG for this Act
Warnings: AU, but canon-compliant to HBP (in other words, lots of people dead in DH are alive here, and vice versa), discussion of off-screen character deaths, slash, lots of booze (it's Shakespeare, people)
A/N: Thank you to the fabulous dizilla for being a wonderful, thoughtful beta and to the magnficence that is blpaintchart for the brit-pick and beta and general encouragement, and for noticing that I had accidentally tortured Remus by jabbing him with silver, poor wolf.
I will be getting the next four Acts up ASAP.
They all felt shipwrecked.
The war had been over for two years, but peace was proving to be just as challenging.
“Now is the winter of our discontent,” thought Severus Snape, moody and alone in his large study on the second floor of 12 Grimmauld Place. “Grim-visag’d war hath smooth’d his wrinkled front; And now…”
And now.
He hung his head and closed his eyes.
* * *
No one would have believed the clause in Dumbledore’s will was authentic, but he had placed some of the most unbreakable truth and binding spells on it, eventually convincing even the most skeptical. I, Albus Dumbledore, leave leadership of the Order of the Phoenix to Severus Snape, in full knowledge that he is the person responsible for my death. This is my last, and most important wish.
Acceptance of this final command from their fallen leader was hard, no, near impossible for the members of the Order who had quickly written off their comrade as a traitor and murderer. But Severus’s subsequent leadership and intense commitment to the cause had earned him grudging approval from most. After the war was over, Severus suggested the surviving Order members shelter in the relative safety of 12 Grimmauld Place, where many felt secure, fearful of the last desperate rogue Death Eaters who were still hunting them. The house had become an island of safety in the uncertain storm of the post-war.
They had all lost someone.
The magnitude of Severus’s loss was minor in comparison to some, but the ache of it was an ever-present emptiness in his chest, a missing beat in his heart.
The first year, he had thrown himself into the work of hunting down the Death Eaters, personally capturing three of them. It was distracting and gave him grim satisfaction. This year, though, he had been spending more time at the house, and found himself distracted by something else entirely. The boy- no- the man who lived.
Harry Potter had taken refuge in the upper rooms of 12 Grimmauld Place, the same rooms where his godfather, Sirius Black, had spent his last year. No one could deny that Potter’s losses had been the worst, the changes in him the most profound, the tragedy of him the most deep. Any witch or wizard on the street could tell you at least three people that their hero, Harry Potter, had lost, but they didn’t know some of the others, at least six other people close to him that had died. He had locked himself in, quietly mourning, and communicated with only two people, his friend, Hermione Granger, and surprisingly, Draco Malfoy, who seemed to have attached himself to Harry in the hard days at the end of the war. They came and went from the sad rooms each day.
Severus was able to see the reclusive man once a week when he appeared briefly for his apparition to the graveyard where his loved ones were resting. Grief had changed him, Severus noticed, hardened his face, hunched his shoulders, taken away the last signs of the cocky strut that had so incensed him when Potter had arrived in his classroom so many years before. For the first time in two years, Severus was finding himself drawn to someone. Those bright green eyes visited his dreams, which grew more pleasant, less haunted by that other face. In fact, he discovered that solitary hours in contemplation of the troubled man upstairs became his favorite pastime. He tried not to let the twinges of guilty disloyalty color his fantasies. Remus was dead, he was gone, and, with predictable, aggravating kindness, he would want him to be happy.
As the weeks passed and those green eyes frequented his mind more and more, Severus realized what he wanted. He wanted Potter.
* * *
“What country is this?” asked Remus Lupin, waking, disoriented.
“We are still in England, mate, as far as I know,” replied the red-haired man across the room. “You have been on the run for a long time, haven’t you?”
Remus rolled over on the sofa. It was the first time he had woken up in England for almost two years.
Charlie Weasley was sitting across the room from him, writing rapidly on a long parchment.
When he had decided it was time to come home, Remus thought carefully about whom to approach first. His friendship with Charlie, which had blossomed during the last year of the war, had been stable and comforting. Charlie was remarkably non-judgmental.
“What are you writing?” asked Remus, stretching.
“Report for the colony, I need to get back there tonight,” responded Charlie.
“Oh.”
“You’re looking less peaky after your rest.” Charlie’s words were kind, but short. Remus could hear the uncertainty in them.
“Charlie, I will never be able to repay you for this. I would have understood if you had kicked me out on the street, or called the Ministry.” He had appeared, unannounced, on Charlie’s doorstep late the night before.
“Listen, mate, I’m glad you’re here. Until last night, we all thought you were dead, or lost, or….” Or that you had run off with the Death Eaters, a traitor. Remus heard the words, even though Charlie held them back. He could understand. The last anyone had seen of him, he was storming the Ministry with a pack of werewolves led by Fenrir Greyback, during the final days of the war. Many assumed that he had been working as a double agent. He was still wanted for questioning by the Ministry. Only Order members knew he had been sent to the wolves by Dumbledore, had any reason to believe that he was loyal. But then he had disappeared.
“Where have you been? It’s been years. You were too knackered last night to say much,” Charlie continued.
“Around,” replied Remus. “Never stayed in one place too long.”
“Ah.”
It was silent. Charlie’s eyes were fixed on the paper in front of him.
“So…can you tell me what happened?” he asked at last. “You know…to Bill.”
Remus sighed. He thought he’d have a moment to get his bearings before talking about Bill. He had decided to come back, so he would have to do it, revisit that last, horrible night. He took a deep breath.
“I don’t know for sure, Charlie. I lost sight of him during the fight. We had a plan, had done our job well, and a contingent of wolves were secretly with us. That is why the battle was a victory in the end. The wolves turned on each other. Bill and I were planning to meet and regroup, but I didn’t get to the rendezvous point in time. When I arrived, he was gone.” Remus did not know how to describe the chaotic scene to Charlie, the wolves tearing each other apart, terrified Ministry workers running to apparition points and floo entrances, some bleeding, some screaming, the smoke from magical fires clogging their lungs, the flashing lights, the explosion.
“After it was over, I couldn’t find Bill, couldn’t find anyone, death was all around me. I just walked away. Didn’t look back. If Bill was gone, there was no one at that time who could prove that I was anything but a traitor.”
“They never found him,” Charlie said quietly.
“I know.”
The silence that fell between them was thick with regret.
“Charlie, I blame myself for what happened to Bill. I led him there. I let him down. But I swear, I was working for the Order to the last moment, and if I could switch places with him now, I would,” Remus stated. If he could not win over open-minded Charlie, he knew he had no chance with anyone else.
Charlie paused for a moment, looking appraisingly at Remus. “It was war, Remus. People died, a bloody miserable number of people. Don’t blame yourself. I never doubted you.”
Remus let out the breath he had been holding.
“Thanks, Charlie,” Remus said. “Listen, I don’t want anyone else to know that I am here,” he continued. “I will find a way to let everyone know I’m back, when I am ready.”
“They won’t hear it from me,” replied Charlie, giving Remus a firm pat on the back. “I’ll be in Romania for several weeks, probably out of contact in the wilderness for most of that time. We are tracking a new group of wild dragons that are wreaking havoc in the mountain villages. You’re welcome to bunk here for a few days if you need to, while I’m away.”
“I cannot thank you enough, Charlie. You’ve rescued me,” Remus replied, a thin smile touching his lips.
* * *
Fred and George Weasley visited at 12 Grimmauld Place almost every day. The Wheezes were selling well, business was booming, they were very busy, but it was important for them to check in at headquarters regularly. They tried to bring some levity to the gloomy house.
“It’s unhealthy for all those blokes to be together, moping about the place,” George noted as they approached the door.
“What would they do without us?” Fred replied with a grin.
George opened the front door a crack and stuck his freckled face through.
“Oi! Anyone home?” he called. Happily, the portrait of Walburga Black had finally been removed from the hallway a few months before, so the only reply to their shout was, “Fred, George! I’m here,” from the kitchen. Hermione stepped out into the hallway, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She smiled the tired but sincere grin that the twins had come to expect.
“Get that in here,” she said, pointing at the bag carried under Fred’s arm. “I really need a pint.”
Fred and George followed Hermione into the warm kitchen and started pouring ale. The three of them had taken to having this evening tipple right after Ron’s death, as a time to be together and talk about him, when Hermione needed to and no one else but the twins could. It had been so successful in lifting all of their spirits, however, that they kept the date regularly. They knew it was a bright spot in Hermione’s week. But the two boys could be wearing on her patience, and over the last few weeks, they had been.
“You two need to give it a rest with Ginny you know,” she said. “Harry is just not ready to see her. He is not ready. Won’t be.”
“Aw, Hermione, they were such a great pair, though, back in the old days. And we want him back. She’d draw him out, make him fun again,” said George, taking a long pull on his ale.
“Besides, you know Harry should be a Weasley someday, Hermione,” added Fred with a wink.
“You need to let him be. He’ll come out when he is ready. Pushing Ginny on him is only causing him to retreat further, I think,” Hermione added, sipping ale. “Your thrashing loudly around the hallways here after drinking all evening isn’t exactly endearing you to him either.”
“Oh, easy for you to say, with your head buried in your own pint,” George retorted.
“Hermione, try this,” Fred said, changing the subject. He pulled a small vial of liquid from his pocket. “New prototype.”
“Do you think I’ve lost my mind, Fred?” asked Hermione. “I know better than to voluntarily try a prototype from you.”
“Please?” whinged the twins, puppy-dog eyes pleading.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Will it hurt me?” she asked.
“Cross-my-heart, no,” said Fred, holding the vial out again. “Just have a sip, we’ve done it loads of times.”
“Oh, now I’m completely confident,” said Hermione sarcastically. But they knew she did not have much entertainment in the gloomy house. She gave in, grabbed the vial, and took a small sip. The twins looked on, and gave each other a wink.
“So, Hermione, I’m going to run upstairs and bother Harry about Ginny, all right?” George asked.
“Non, il est plus triste….” Hermione grabbed her throat and glared at the boys. “Qu’est que…? Je ne parle pas francais!” she yelled.
“You do now,” Fred replied, grinning. “It’s for our new Language Lollies. What do you think?”
“As-tu un contrepoison?” asked the skeptical Hermione, eyes narrowed.
“Bien sur,” replied George. “But are you sure you want to take it? It’s quite a romantic language, you know.” He tried to put his arm teasingly around her shoulders. She elbowed him in the ribs.
“Le contrepoison, Monsieur Weasley,” she demanded, holding out her hand. Laughing, Fred pulled out another vial, and handed it to Hermione, who took a quick sip.
“Why do I let you do that to me?” yelled Hermione, as the antidote took effect. The twins continued to laugh, and she found she could not stop herself from smiling.
“All right, very clever, boys,” she said.
Fred refilled her glass with a smile. “A success! Bottoms up!” he said, and didn’t even blink when George stood up, leaned all the way over, and flashed his bum.
“Not you, George,” said Fred, and Hermione hid her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with laughter.
* * *
Remus spent the day looking around Charlie’s flat for the item he needed.
He had been brewing the polyjuice for the past month, making sure that he would have an adequate supply until the time he no longer needed it. If that time ever came.
His guilt at causing Bill Weasley’s death was overwhelming. He had drafted Bill into spying with him amongst the werewolves, had pulled him away from his home and his family, had created the plan for sabotaging Greyback’s attack on the Ministry, and then had failed to fulfill his part of the plan. Bill had expected him to meet up with a group of reinforcements, and Remus had been too late. Now Bill was dead, and he lived on in guilty agony.
He had shut his heart down for the last two years, the effort of forgetting those he’d left behind an exhausting daily exercise.
The plan had occurred to him suddenly one evening as he ate a solitary meal in Prague. He would need to return home.
Finding Charlie’s Weasley family scrapbook was not too difficult. Molly had made one for each of her children three Christmas’s ago. The first pages were just as Remus remembered when Charlie had shown it to him: a snap of each newborn Weasley next to a tiny footprint. He flipped further back, hoping his memory was correct. It was there, long locks of red hair, next to a photo of Bill, hair trimmed just above his shoulders, and Charlie holding a pair of scissors and a long ponytail. “Haircut!” Molly had written in large letters on the page. Bill had been trying a new look for his wedding. Before. Before Fleur was killed and Bill was killed, and…
Trying not to dwell on the faces in the photo, Remus pulled the hair out of the book and carefully dropped it into the small pouch he had prepared.
The Weasleys would get at least one of their sons back, Remus thought.
* * *
“Ginny!” Fred and George exclaimed together, standing to welcome her to the kitchen.
“How’s our favorite sis today?” asked George, messing up her hair. She shoved his hand away.
“Your only sis, and miserable, as you asked,” replied Ginny, plopping down on one of the benches and grabbing a bottle of ale.
“What the matter, Ginny?” asked Hermione.
“Why am I still here, pining after a man who hasn’t even been willing to see me for months?” she took a hefty swig off her bottle.
“Chance to see your favorite brothers regularly?” offered Fred.
“Not likely,” replied Ginny.
“We think you should stick it out, Ginny. You’ll wear him down,” said George. “You’d be so good for him.”
“I’ve told you both, Harry will not be ready to see her any time soon,” Hermione said. “You are right, Ginny. Don’t torment yourself any further. I’m saying that as a friend.”
Fred grabbed Hermione from behind and covered her mouth in playful disagreement. “Don’t listen to her Ginny, she just wants to keep Mr. Gloomy all to herself up there. He needs you, you’ll cheer him up.”
Ginny frowned and the twins knew that she was preparing to disagree when they were interrupted by a knock at the door.
* * *
Remus rapped on the familiar door of 12 Grimmauld Place, behind which so many hard moments in the war had taken place, where he had lived for two years. He was a stranger here now, not even wearing his own face, but the feeling of coming home was unmistakable.
The large door swung open.
Remus almost collapsed, but found he was able to grab the doorframe and right himself without incident.
Stern, dark eyes looked out at him from within a tent of black hair.
“Yes?”
Oh, the voice, the resonant, thick tones, that Remus had played in his mind for two years. Daring to think of Severus Snape had been death while on the run. Now that he was here, in his presence, he was not sure he could hold himself up, keep himself from falling into his arms.
The black eyes softened fractionally in recognition. “Bill Weasley?” Severus asked.
Remus did not trust his voice. He nodded.
“Come in,” he said, giving a furtive glance up and down the street and ushering Remus inside.
In the hall, Severus stopped him, looking at his face with curiosity. “You are alive,” he stated. “That is remarkable.”
Remus’s cleared his throat. “It’s been a long time.”
“Where have you been?” Severus asked.
Remus was not able to answer, because at that moment, three red heads peered out of the kitchen doorway, staring down at the two men.
Everyone was still.
“It can’t be,” said Ginny.
Fred and George walked out slowly. “Bill?” asked Fred, incredulous.
“Fred. George. Ginny,” said Remus. He was so pleased to see the familiar faces, feel the shocked joy that was shining off of them like a warm blast of sunlight. It was just as he had hoped.
George was the first to run. He threw himself at the image of his lost brother, wrapping Remus in a tight embrace. Fred arrived next, and piled onto the hug. Ginny stood back, staring at the scene before her. When the boys finished their hugs, she stepped in to claim hers. She whispered, “You’re alive, you’re alive,” over and over in his ear. It occurred to Remus for the first time what he had let himself in for.
* * *
The reunion went on all evening.
The Weasleys stayed for a welcome home supper, and Hermione and Draco cooked up a lovely spread. Remus sat calmly in the center of the storm of attention, covertly sipping polyjuice every hour, trying to focus on the happy faces around him.
All he wanted to do was stare at Severus. He sneaked a glance his way whenever he could, drinking in the familiar flow of his robes, his impatient heel tapping, his trimmed fingernails. He could not get enough, wanted to bask in these details, but he was there for something else entirely.
He told the assembled group his prepared story to explain Bill’s absence- he had been hit by a memory modifying spell during the battle and had wandered away, unsure of who he was. Only in the last few months had he started to regain his memory, and realize who and what he was. He had been living as a Muggle for two years.
Everyone was awed and impressed by his story, but seemed to accept it. Remus was relieved.
“What are your plans now?” asked Ginny. “Do you need a place to live?”
Remus nodded.
“I may have a job for you,” said Severus, “if I recall your skills correctly.”
* * *
Severus put Bill to work immediately. He was good with money, learned during his years at Gringott’s, a skill sorely lacking amongst members of the Order. Severus could acknowledge that even he was not the best person to run the large budget for the household, as his frugal nature tended towards never buying anything, and then running everyone out of food and toilet paper.
He set Bill up at a small desk in the corner of his study where it was possible for him to work quietly, but ask questions when necessary.
Severus remembered the oldest Weasley from his years at Hogwart’s. Brazen and flashy, he had swept through the school like a male veela, turning heads, impressing professors. Severus was able to stay professionally immune. There was enough of a hint of Sirius Black around Bill to put Severus off forever.
This new version of Bill, however, older, calmer, unassumingly intelligent, sporting only a small stud and not the gaudy fang earring of his youth, this was a man Severus could stomach. For a Weasley, they were getting on famously. Severus had to admit to himself that he was lonely for friendship. His years of mental preparation to accept an isolated, solitary life had been shattered when he had committed to Remus, and now he was content to have a regular companion again, even if he was just a curse-breaker turned accountant working quietly in the corner.
“Are the receipts for this month in order?” Severus asked at the end of their first week.
“As far as I can tell, if everyone has turned them in,” Bill responded from his desk.
“Anything out of the ordinary that I need to address?” asked Severus, standing and walking over to where Bill was seated, looking over his shoulder.
“No. Well, a surprisingly high budget for butterbeer and chocolate frogs.”
“That’s Potter,” Severus replied, and was horrified to feel himself flush slightly at the thought of the man upstairs.
“He sits in his room drinking and eating chocolate?” Bill asked, with a pleasant cynicism that Severus appreciated.
“He is quite sullen. I hear his infernal pacing at all hours, and, of course he utterly refuses to assist with any real decisions about strategy.” Severus felt his ears redden. He tried not to speak of Potter to anyone. “I tried to speak with him about The Death Eater cell in Dublin last night, but he refused to even see me. He has ideas quite above himself these last two years. Well, he always was above himself.” The heat now filled his entire face.
Bill noticed. “Se…Snape, are you…blushing?”
“Don’t be a fool, Weasley,” Severus snapped.
“You have mentioned Potter a number of times this week, you know,” Bill said, and Severus could hear a hint of disturbing innuendo. Had he been speaking about Potter often? Perhaps.
“He has grown on me, I will admit that,” Severus said. “His mooning around the house like a spirit is far more pleasant than his strutting around Hogwart’s like a cocky bastard.”
“You like him, Severus,” said Bill, in an odd tone that Severus found hard to read.
“Perhaps,” he admitted. “I believe I may have a task for you, Weasley,” Severus said.
* * *
Remus had once thought being locked up all day with Severus in an imposing room full of books would be his idea of utopia. The reality of this charade though, was more a miserable limbo. He was trapped, feet away from the enticing sights and scents of Severus, fighting through budget sheets that caused him massive headaches. Even worse, though Severus liked and tolerated him as Bill, it was clear after about thirty minutes in Severus’s study that the man was simply gaga over Harry Potter.
Then came the request.
“Potter will not see me privately, but he will see you. I want you go to him and pass a message to him from me.” It had not been a question, just an order.
“What message?” Remus asked.
“Just this,” Severus said, the flush of his cheeks pronounced. “I may be in love with him.”
Remus felt his heart rise up in his throat, trying to choke him. Sensing Severus liked Harry was one thing, he realized. Hearing it stated in the bluntest of terms was quite another. The desire to scream the truth of his identity at him was overwhelming, but he swallowed his heart, and made himself picture the joy on Ginny Weasley’s face when she had first seen Bill return.
This was his punishment, for Bill’s death. It wasn’t supposed to be easy.
“What would you like me to do?” he asked Severus.
* * *
“No more of that talk, Fred. I mean it. Your constant joking just makes him feel worse,” said Hermione.
“He needs a witty fool around. You know better than anyone that laughter helps,” replied Fred.
Harry overheard his friends squabbling and produced a wan smile as he entered his sitting room, Draco close at his heels.
“Have you been waiting long?” Harry asked, addressing Fred and Hermione.
“Oi, Harry. Nah. Just thought you should know that we’re taking a turn through Harrod’s later. George needs a new set of trousers, and the autumn range is in. You know he’s such a fashion plate. We can leer at the Muggles. Care to join?” asked Fred.
Harry knew how hard the twins were trying to cheer him up. They just did not understand his need for solitude.
“No, thank you Fred. Tell George I hope he finds some new clothes.”
Harry overheard Hermione whisper, “I told you.” Fred gave her a subtle elbow to the side.
“We’ll have some Wheezes to show you next week, Harry. Will you want us to bring them? Invisible whoopee-cushions, you’ll never remember where you set ‘em!” Fred continued with a wink. He was like an eager puppy. Harry didn’t have the heart for it today. He lowered his head, glanced at Draco.
“Isn’t it time for a lager, Weasley?” Draco drawled, nodding his head towards the door. “You are not needed here.”
“I’ll walk you down, Fred,” said Hermione. “No need to be so rude,” she added, shooting a glare at Draco for his callous dismissal. Fred muttered something at Draco that sounded like ‘poncy git’ as he stalked out of the room.
“What did he say to you?” Harry asked Draco.
“It is not of importance. There is nothing those gauche twins can say to me that would cause me any concern.” Draco took a seat by the window and cast a quick glance at his reflection, brushing his pale hair out of his eyes.
Harry smiled. He had often thought about why it was that these two particular people, Draco and Hermione, now shared his life. His conclusions were simple. Hermione masked her emotions behind her intelligence, and Draco suppressed his beneath his sheen of narcissism. Either way, they both remained aloof and calm in the face of Harry’s grief, allowing him his space, never forcing him to do anything he was not eager to do. Draco benefited from Harry’s protection, and Hermione needed his friendship. It was a balanced, codependent threesome, and it held Harry together.
Hermione crept back into the room.
“Harry, there’s someone outside who would like to see you,” she said.
“Who?”
“It’s a bit of a shock really, we all thought he was killed…”
Uninvited, the door creaked open and a man stepped into the room. The glint of red hair on the tall lanky frame made Harry’s heart accelerate. It couldn’t be. Harry could not breathe.
“Ron,” he said, starting to rise.
“No Harry,” said Hermione in a low tone. “It’s Bill.”
Harry’s hands unclenched from the arms of his chair and he sank back, not bothering to hide his disappointment. His heart slowed its rapid pace.
“Bill,” he said. “Merlin’s beard, it’s fabulous to see you.” Harry rose from his seat to shake Bill’s hand. The resemblance to Ron was only in impressions. On closer inspection, Bill’s sharp, handsome features were not Ron’s broader, friendlier face.
“Have a seat, Bill, please. Hermione, Draco, can we have a moment alone? Perhaps one of you could bring us some tea?”
“Of course, Harry,” said Hermione, pulling Draco from his window seat by the sleeve and dragging him down the stairs. They could hear a muffled, “Watch it, Granger, you’re creasing the velvet,” from Draco as they retreated.
Bill spent the first few minutes recounting his tale of memory loss and recovery. Harry found it difficult to pay attention to what he was saying. He kept noting the little similarities between Ron and his older brother- the way their mouths curved up at the corners, the shape of their ears, a careless fluttering of their hands when asking a question. He had not seen the two brothers together in the last year of Ron’s life, and it was now clear that as Ron matured he had started to look more and more like Bill.
“Are you listening to me, Harry?” asked Bill at last, eyeing him warily.
Harry was startled out of his reverie. “Oh, my apologies, Bill. I am listening.”
“So, as I was saying,” Bill continued, a subtle smile touching his lips, “I’m now working with Sev…er, Snape, and he asked me to come and see you. To tell you something.” Harry could hear hesitation in Bill’s voice.
“What does Snape want now?” he asked with a sigh.
“Well, he wanted you to know,” Bill took a deep breath, “he’s in love with you.”
Harry froze, staring at Bill’s blue eyes, struggling to comprehend the words that had just been said.
“What?” he said. “In love with me?”
* * *
It wasn’t going too badly so far, although Remus wanted to reach out and hug James’s son to him and tell him who he really was. The crushing disappointment that he was not Ron hung over the room like a dense blanket.
After making Severus’s declaration, Remus sat back. Harry’s face had frozen stiff, his eyes glassed over in shock.
“What?” he said. “In love with me?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I don’t love him,” Harry replied, as if this should be obvious to Remus already.
“Is that what you would like me to tell him?” Remus asked, already picturing the unpleasant scene with Severus.
“We’ve always loathed each other. How can he think he loves me?” Harry had stood and was pacing the floor. “I’ve hardly spoken with him in months!”
“I’ve told you all of his message. He seemed quite sincere. I could ask him for more detail if you would like,” Remus said.
“This is insane,” Harry wheeled on Remus, eyes blazing. “You think it’s insane, don’t you Bill? I don’t even know what to say. Good grief, what would you do if Snape declared his love for you?”
“What would I do,” Remus asked, taken aback, “if Severus proclaimed his love for me?”
“Yes.” Harry’s eyes were wild.
Panicked, Remus found himself faced with the question he had asked himself many times throughout his life. He began to mumble something incoherent, but Harry moved on before he was forced to answer.
“You must agree, that this is the strangest way to tell someone that you love them. Send your employee with a message? Did he even write a note?” Harry was pulling at his hair as he paced. “It’s not how you would do it, is it? If you loved someone?”
Remus smiled. “No, it certainly is not,” he said.
“What would you do, Bill?”
Remus thought for a moment, hoping to allow Harry time to calm down. “If I truly loved someone?” he asked. Harry nodded, and Remus allowed himself to think of Severus.
“Well, if I loved someone, as Snape loves you, I suppose I would tell them in lots of little ways, maybe just a touch of the hand, or a kind word or two, perhaps. I’d pay attention enough to know what they liked and didn’t like, and be there on good days and bad days. I would bind myself to them.” Remus closed his eyes as he warmed to his topic. “I would build a little cabin in my heart, and let a piece of me live there, with a piece of them, so that even if we were separated, we would be together, inside my heart. I would speak their name again and again, so that my words would ride the air, and find them wherever they were, and sing to them, even after years apart.”
Remus opened his eyes. Harry had quieted during this speech, resumed his seat, and was staring rather oddly at Remus, his lips just parted and his breathing slowed.
“That’s nice,” Harry said at last. “That would work better.”
Remus smiled again as he stood to leave. “I’ll ask Snape not to bother you anymore.”
“Thanks, Bill.” Remus thought Harry’s voice sounded rather weak as he left the room. That boy really had been through too much turmoil in his short life.
He turned to the stairs, steeling himself up for what was sure to be a miserable conversation with Severus.
* * *
Harry sat staring after Bill Weasley for several minutes before he rang for Draco. His heart was pounding, he was flushed, and Bill’s stirring descriptions of love had Harry fascinated. Bill had never seemed like a romantic when he had met him as a boy, but time had changed him.
“What do you think of Bill, Draco?” Harry asked, as his companion returned from the kitchen with a pot of tea.
Draco shrugged with his careless elegance and rolled his eyes. “Quite showy, I’d say. The hair is a bit much.”
“I liked him.” In fact, he wanted to see him again, soon.
Draco was distracted, sneaking a glance at himself in the mirror over the mantle, while Harry plucked the simple gold ring he always carried from his pocket and dropped it onto the side table. “Oh Draco, Bill must have left this,” Harry said in a loud voice, making sure Draco saw him pick up the ring. “It is Snape’s, but I do not want it. Would you find Bill, and give this back to him. Ask him to come by tomorrow and I’ll tell him why I have returned the ring.”
Draco looked at Harry as if he had lost his mind. “Why?” he sneered.
“Draco, just do it, please,” Harry said with a sigh.
Link to Act II
Notes: Severus is quoting Richard III, Act 1, Scene 1 at the beginning.
Bonus points to anyone finding the actual, or very close paraphrases of lines from "Twelfth Night" scattered through this. (Even more come up in later Acts)
Dramatis Personae
Orsino- Severus Snape
Viola- Remus Lupin
Olivia- Harry Potter
Sebastian- Bill Weasley
Sea Captain- Charlie Weasley
Antonio- Viktor Krum
Maria- Hermione Granger
Sir Toby Belch/Feste- Fred and George Weasley
Sir Andrew Aguecheek- Ginny Weasley
Malvolio- Draco Malfoy
Act: I
Author: Cedar
Summary: Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night", set in slashy post-war Potter AU.
Quote: They all felt shipwrecked. The war had been over for two years, but peace was proving to be just as challenging.
Characters/Pairings: Dramatis Personae is at the end of this post, because if you know Twelfth Night, this will give away surprise pairings, etc., but feel free to look if you want to know ahead of time.
I will say my OTP is Snape/Lupin (hint hint) and everyone is in love with Harry (of course). Um, this is very slashy.
Challenge: written for the shakes_that_fic fest
Rated: R for the finished fic, PG for this Act
Warnings: AU, but canon-compliant to HBP (in other words, lots of people dead in DH are alive here, and vice versa), discussion of off-screen character deaths, slash, lots of booze (it's Shakespeare, people)
A/N: Thank you to the fabulous dizilla for being a wonderful, thoughtful beta and to the magnficence that is blpaintchart for the brit-pick and beta and general encouragement, and for noticing that I had accidentally tortured Remus by jabbing him with silver, poor wolf.
I will be getting the next four Acts up ASAP.
They all felt shipwrecked.
The war had been over for two years, but peace was proving to be just as challenging.
“Now is the winter of our discontent,” thought Severus Snape, moody and alone in his large study on the second floor of 12 Grimmauld Place. “Grim-visag’d war hath smooth’d his wrinkled front; And now…”
And now.
He hung his head and closed his eyes.
* * *
No one would have believed the clause in Dumbledore’s will was authentic, but he had placed some of the most unbreakable truth and binding spells on it, eventually convincing even the most skeptical. I, Albus Dumbledore, leave leadership of the Order of the Phoenix to Severus Snape, in full knowledge that he is the person responsible for my death. This is my last, and most important wish.
Acceptance of this final command from their fallen leader was hard, no, near impossible for the members of the Order who had quickly written off their comrade as a traitor and murderer. But Severus’s subsequent leadership and intense commitment to the cause had earned him grudging approval from most. After the war was over, Severus suggested the surviving Order members shelter in the relative safety of 12 Grimmauld Place, where many felt secure, fearful of the last desperate rogue Death Eaters who were still hunting them. The house had become an island of safety in the uncertain storm of the post-war.
They had all lost someone.
The magnitude of Severus’s loss was minor in comparison to some, but the ache of it was an ever-present emptiness in his chest, a missing beat in his heart.
The first year, he had thrown himself into the work of hunting down the Death Eaters, personally capturing three of them. It was distracting and gave him grim satisfaction. This year, though, he had been spending more time at the house, and found himself distracted by something else entirely. The boy- no- the man who lived.
Harry Potter had taken refuge in the upper rooms of 12 Grimmauld Place, the same rooms where his godfather, Sirius Black, had spent his last year. No one could deny that Potter’s losses had been the worst, the changes in him the most profound, the tragedy of him the most deep. Any witch or wizard on the street could tell you at least three people that their hero, Harry Potter, had lost, but they didn’t know some of the others, at least six other people close to him that had died. He had locked himself in, quietly mourning, and communicated with only two people, his friend, Hermione Granger, and surprisingly, Draco Malfoy, who seemed to have attached himself to Harry in the hard days at the end of the war. They came and went from the sad rooms each day.
Severus was able to see the reclusive man once a week when he appeared briefly for his apparition to the graveyard where his loved ones were resting. Grief had changed him, Severus noticed, hardened his face, hunched his shoulders, taken away the last signs of the cocky strut that had so incensed him when Potter had arrived in his classroom so many years before. For the first time in two years, Severus was finding himself drawn to someone. Those bright green eyes visited his dreams, which grew more pleasant, less haunted by that other face. In fact, he discovered that solitary hours in contemplation of the troubled man upstairs became his favorite pastime. He tried not to let the twinges of guilty disloyalty color his fantasies. Remus was dead, he was gone, and, with predictable, aggravating kindness, he would want him to be happy.
As the weeks passed and those green eyes frequented his mind more and more, Severus realized what he wanted. He wanted Potter.
* * *
“What country is this?” asked Remus Lupin, waking, disoriented.
“We are still in England, mate, as far as I know,” replied the red-haired man across the room. “You have been on the run for a long time, haven’t you?”
Remus rolled over on the sofa. It was the first time he had woken up in England for almost two years.
Charlie Weasley was sitting across the room from him, writing rapidly on a long parchment.
When he had decided it was time to come home, Remus thought carefully about whom to approach first. His friendship with Charlie, which had blossomed during the last year of the war, had been stable and comforting. Charlie was remarkably non-judgmental.
“What are you writing?” asked Remus, stretching.
“Report for the colony, I need to get back there tonight,” responded Charlie.
“Oh.”
“You’re looking less peaky after your rest.” Charlie’s words were kind, but short. Remus could hear the uncertainty in them.
“Charlie, I will never be able to repay you for this. I would have understood if you had kicked me out on the street, or called the Ministry.” He had appeared, unannounced, on Charlie’s doorstep late the night before.
“Listen, mate, I’m glad you’re here. Until last night, we all thought you were dead, or lost, or….” Or that you had run off with the Death Eaters, a traitor. Remus heard the words, even though Charlie held them back. He could understand. The last anyone had seen of him, he was storming the Ministry with a pack of werewolves led by Fenrir Greyback, during the final days of the war. Many assumed that he had been working as a double agent. He was still wanted for questioning by the Ministry. Only Order members knew he had been sent to the wolves by Dumbledore, had any reason to believe that he was loyal. But then he had disappeared.
“Where have you been? It’s been years. You were too knackered last night to say much,” Charlie continued.
“Around,” replied Remus. “Never stayed in one place too long.”
“Ah.”
It was silent. Charlie’s eyes were fixed on the paper in front of him.
“So…can you tell me what happened?” he asked at last. “You know…to Bill.”
Remus sighed. He thought he’d have a moment to get his bearings before talking about Bill. He had decided to come back, so he would have to do it, revisit that last, horrible night. He took a deep breath.
“I don’t know for sure, Charlie. I lost sight of him during the fight. We had a plan, had done our job well, and a contingent of wolves were secretly with us. That is why the battle was a victory in the end. The wolves turned on each other. Bill and I were planning to meet and regroup, but I didn’t get to the rendezvous point in time. When I arrived, he was gone.” Remus did not know how to describe the chaotic scene to Charlie, the wolves tearing each other apart, terrified Ministry workers running to apparition points and floo entrances, some bleeding, some screaming, the smoke from magical fires clogging their lungs, the flashing lights, the explosion.
“After it was over, I couldn’t find Bill, couldn’t find anyone, death was all around me. I just walked away. Didn’t look back. If Bill was gone, there was no one at that time who could prove that I was anything but a traitor.”
“They never found him,” Charlie said quietly.
“I know.”
The silence that fell between them was thick with regret.
“Charlie, I blame myself for what happened to Bill. I led him there. I let him down. But I swear, I was working for the Order to the last moment, and if I could switch places with him now, I would,” Remus stated. If he could not win over open-minded Charlie, he knew he had no chance with anyone else.
Charlie paused for a moment, looking appraisingly at Remus. “It was war, Remus. People died, a bloody miserable number of people. Don’t blame yourself. I never doubted you.”
Remus let out the breath he had been holding.
“Thanks, Charlie,” Remus said. “Listen, I don’t want anyone else to know that I am here,” he continued. “I will find a way to let everyone know I’m back, when I am ready.”
“They won’t hear it from me,” replied Charlie, giving Remus a firm pat on the back. “I’ll be in Romania for several weeks, probably out of contact in the wilderness for most of that time. We are tracking a new group of wild dragons that are wreaking havoc in the mountain villages. You’re welcome to bunk here for a few days if you need to, while I’m away.”
“I cannot thank you enough, Charlie. You’ve rescued me,” Remus replied, a thin smile touching his lips.
* * *
Fred and George Weasley visited at 12 Grimmauld Place almost every day. The Wheezes were selling well, business was booming, they were very busy, but it was important for them to check in at headquarters regularly. They tried to bring some levity to the gloomy house.
“It’s unhealthy for all those blokes to be together, moping about the place,” George noted as they approached the door.
“What would they do without us?” Fred replied with a grin.
George opened the front door a crack and stuck his freckled face through.
“Oi! Anyone home?” he called. Happily, the portrait of Walburga Black had finally been removed from the hallway a few months before, so the only reply to their shout was, “Fred, George! I’m here,” from the kitchen. Hermione stepped out into the hallway, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She smiled the tired but sincere grin that the twins had come to expect.
“Get that in here,” she said, pointing at the bag carried under Fred’s arm. “I really need a pint.”
Fred and George followed Hermione into the warm kitchen and started pouring ale. The three of them had taken to having this evening tipple right after Ron’s death, as a time to be together and talk about him, when Hermione needed to and no one else but the twins could. It had been so successful in lifting all of their spirits, however, that they kept the date regularly. They knew it was a bright spot in Hermione’s week. But the two boys could be wearing on her patience, and over the last few weeks, they had been.
“You two need to give it a rest with Ginny you know,” she said. “Harry is just not ready to see her. He is not ready. Won’t be.”
“Aw, Hermione, they were such a great pair, though, back in the old days. And we want him back. She’d draw him out, make him fun again,” said George, taking a long pull on his ale.
“Besides, you know Harry should be a Weasley someday, Hermione,” added Fred with a wink.
“You need to let him be. He’ll come out when he is ready. Pushing Ginny on him is only causing him to retreat further, I think,” Hermione added, sipping ale. “Your thrashing loudly around the hallways here after drinking all evening isn’t exactly endearing you to him either.”
“Oh, easy for you to say, with your head buried in your own pint,” George retorted.
“Hermione, try this,” Fred said, changing the subject. He pulled a small vial of liquid from his pocket. “New prototype.”
“Do you think I’ve lost my mind, Fred?” asked Hermione. “I know better than to voluntarily try a prototype from you.”
“Please?” whinged the twins, puppy-dog eyes pleading.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Will it hurt me?” she asked.
“Cross-my-heart, no,” said Fred, holding the vial out again. “Just have a sip, we’ve done it loads of times.”
“Oh, now I’m completely confident,” said Hermione sarcastically. But they knew she did not have much entertainment in the gloomy house. She gave in, grabbed the vial, and took a small sip. The twins looked on, and gave each other a wink.
“So, Hermione, I’m going to run upstairs and bother Harry about Ginny, all right?” George asked.
“Non, il est plus triste….” Hermione grabbed her throat and glared at the boys. “Qu’est que…? Je ne parle pas francais!” she yelled.
“You do now,” Fred replied, grinning. “It’s for our new Language Lollies. What do you think?”
“As-tu un contrepoison?” asked the skeptical Hermione, eyes narrowed.
“Bien sur,” replied George. “But are you sure you want to take it? It’s quite a romantic language, you know.” He tried to put his arm teasingly around her shoulders. She elbowed him in the ribs.
“Le contrepoison, Monsieur Weasley,” she demanded, holding out her hand. Laughing, Fred pulled out another vial, and handed it to Hermione, who took a quick sip.
“Why do I let you do that to me?” yelled Hermione, as the antidote took effect. The twins continued to laugh, and she found she could not stop herself from smiling.
“All right, very clever, boys,” she said.
Fred refilled her glass with a smile. “A success! Bottoms up!” he said, and didn’t even blink when George stood up, leaned all the way over, and flashed his bum.
“Not you, George,” said Fred, and Hermione hid her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with laughter.
* * *
Remus spent the day looking around Charlie’s flat for the item he needed.
He had been brewing the polyjuice for the past month, making sure that he would have an adequate supply until the time he no longer needed it. If that time ever came.
His guilt at causing Bill Weasley’s death was overwhelming. He had drafted Bill into spying with him amongst the werewolves, had pulled him away from his home and his family, had created the plan for sabotaging Greyback’s attack on the Ministry, and then had failed to fulfill his part of the plan. Bill had expected him to meet up with a group of reinforcements, and Remus had been too late. Now Bill was dead, and he lived on in guilty agony.
He had shut his heart down for the last two years, the effort of forgetting those he’d left behind an exhausting daily exercise.
The plan had occurred to him suddenly one evening as he ate a solitary meal in Prague. He would need to return home.
Finding Charlie’s Weasley family scrapbook was not too difficult. Molly had made one for each of her children three Christmas’s ago. The first pages were just as Remus remembered when Charlie had shown it to him: a snap of each newborn Weasley next to a tiny footprint. He flipped further back, hoping his memory was correct. It was there, long locks of red hair, next to a photo of Bill, hair trimmed just above his shoulders, and Charlie holding a pair of scissors and a long ponytail. “Haircut!” Molly had written in large letters on the page. Bill had been trying a new look for his wedding. Before. Before Fleur was killed and Bill was killed, and…
Trying not to dwell on the faces in the photo, Remus pulled the hair out of the book and carefully dropped it into the small pouch he had prepared.
The Weasleys would get at least one of their sons back, Remus thought.
* * *
“Ginny!” Fred and George exclaimed together, standing to welcome her to the kitchen.
“How’s our favorite sis today?” asked George, messing up her hair. She shoved his hand away.
“Your only sis, and miserable, as you asked,” replied Ginny, plopping down on one of the benches and grabbing a bottle of ale.
“What the matter, Ginny?” asked Hermione.
“Why am I still here, pining after a man who hasn’t even been willing to see me for months?” she took a hefty swig off her bottle.
“Chance to see your favorite brothers regularly?” offered Fred.
“Not likely,” replied Ginny.
“We think you should stick it out, Ginny. You’ll wear him down,” said George. “You’d be so good for him.”
“I’ve told you both, Harry will not be ready to see her any time soon,” Hermione said. “You are right, Ginny. Don’t torment yourself any further. I’m saying that as a friend.”
Fred grabbed Hermione from behind and covered her mouth in playful disagreement. “Don’t listen to her Ginny, she just wants to keep Mr. Gloomy all to herself up there. He needs you, you’ll cheer him up.”
Ginny frowned and the twins knew that she was preparing to disagree when they were interrupted by a knock at the door.
* * *
Remus rapped on the familiar door of 12 Grimmauld Place, behind which so many hard moments in the war had taken place, where he had lived for two years. He was a stranger here now, not even wearing his own face, but the feeling of coming home was unmistakable.
The large door swung open.
Remus almost collapsed, but found he was able to grab the doorframe and right himself without incident.
Stern, dark eyes looked out at him from within a tent of black hair.
“Yes?”
Oh, the voice, the resonant, thick tones, that Remus had played in his mind for two years. Daring to think of Severus Snape had been death while on the run. Now that he was here, in his presence, he was not sure he could hold himself up, keep himself from falling into his arms.
The black eyes softened fractionally in recognition. “Bill Weasley?” Severus asked.
Remus did not trust his voice. He nodded.
“Come in,” he said, giving a furtive glance up and down the street and ushering Remus inside.
In the hall, Severus stopped him, looking at his face with curiosity. “You are alive,” he stated. “That is remarkable.”
Remus’s cleared his throat. “It’s been a long time.”
“Where have you been?” Severus asked.
Remus was not able to answer, because at that moment, three red heads peered out of the kitchen doorway, staring down at the two men.
Everyone was still.
“It can’t be,” said Ginny.
Fred and George walked out slowly. “Bill?” asked Fred, incredulous.
“Fred. George. Ginny,” said Remus. He was so pleased to see the familiar faces, feel the shocked joy that was shining off of them like a warm blast of sunlight. It was just as he had hoped.
George was the first to run. He threw himself at the image of his lost brother, wrapping Remus in a tight embrace. Fred arrived next, and piled onto the hug. Ginny stood back, staring at the scene before her. When the boys finished their hugs, she stepped in to claim hers. She whispered, “You’re alive, you’re alive,” over and over in his ear. It occurred to Remus for the first time what he had let himself in for.
* * *
The reunion went on all evening.
The Weasleys stayed for a welcome home supper, and Hermione and Draco cooked up a lovely spread. Remus sat calmly in the center of the storm of attention, covertly sipping polyjuice every hour, trying to focus on the happy faces around him.
All he wanted to do was stare at Severus. He sneaked a glance his way whenever he could, drinking in the familiar flow of his robes, his impatient heel tapping, his trimmed fingernails. He could not get enough, wanted to bask in these details, but he was there for something else entirely.
He told the assembled group his prepared story to explain Bill’s absence- he had been hit by a memory modifying spell during the battle and had wandered away, unsure of who he was. Only in the last few months had he started to regain his memory, and realize who and what he was. He had been living as a Muggle for two years.
Everyone was awed and impressed by his story, but seemed to accept it. Remus was relieved.
“What are your plans now?” asked Ginny. “Do you need a place to live?”
Remus nodded.
“I may have a job for you,” said Severus, “if I recall your skills correctly.”
* * *
Severus put Bill to work immediately. He was good with money, learned during his years at Gringott’s, a skill sorely lacking amongst members of the Order. Severus could acknowledge that even he was not the best person to run the large budget for the household, as his frugal nature tended towards never buying anything, and then running everyone out of food and toilet paper.
He set Bill up at a small desk in the corner of his study where it was possible for him to work quietly, but ask questions when necessary.
Severus remembered the oldest Weasley from his years at Hogwart’s. Brazen and flashy, he had swept through the school like a male veela, turning heads, impressing professors. Severus was able to stay professionally immune. There was enough of a hint of Sirius Black around Bill to put Severus off forever.
This new version of Bill, however, older, calmer, unassumingly intelligent, sporting only a small stud and not the gaudy fang earring of his youth, this was a man Severus could stomach. For a Weasley, they were getting on famously. Severus had to admit to himself that he was lonely for friendship. His years of mental preparation to accept an isolated, solitary life had been shattered when he had committed to Remus, and now he was content to have a regular companion again, even if he was just a curse-breaker turned accountant working quietly in the corner.
“Are the receipts for this month in order?” Severus asked at the end of their first week.
“As far as I can tell, if everyone has turned them in,” Bill responded from his desk.
“Anything out of the ordinary that I need to address?” asked Severus, standing and walking over to where Bill was seated, looking over his shoulder.
“No. Well, a surprisingly high budget for butterbeer and chocolate frogs.”
“That’s Potter,” Severus replied, and was horrified to feel himself flush slightly at the thought of the man upstairs.
“He sits in his room drinking and eating chocolate?” Bill asked, with a pleasant cynicism that Severus appreciated.
“He is quite sullen. I hear his infernal pacing at all hours, and, of course he utterly refuses to assist with any real decisions about strategy.” Severus felt his ears redden. He tried not to speak of Potter to anyone. “I tried to speak with him about The Death Eater cell in Dublin last night, but he refused to even see me. He has ideas quite above himself these last two years. Well, he always was above himself.” The heat now filled his entire face.
Bill noticed. “Se…Snape, are you…blushing?”
“Don’t be a fool, Weasley,” Severus snapped.
“You have mentioned Potter a number of times this week, you know,” Bill said, and Severus could hear a hint of disturbing innuendo. Had he been speaking about Potter often? Perhaps.
“He has grown on me, I will admit that,” Severus said. “His mooning around the house like a spirit is far more pleasant than his strutting around Hogwart’s like a cocky bastard.”
“You like him, Severus,” said Bill, in an odd tone that Severus found hard to read.
“Perhaps,” he admitted. “I believe I may have a task for you, Weasley,” Severus said.
* * *
Remus had once thought being locked up all day with Severus in an imposing room full of books would be his idea of utopia. The reality of this charade though, was more a miserable limbo. He was trapped, feet away from the enticing sights and scents of Severus, fighting through budget sheets that caused him massive headaches. Even worse, though Severus liked and tolerated him as Bill, it was clear after about thirty minutes in Severus’s study that the man was simply gaga over Harry Potter.
Then came the request.
“Potter will not see me privately, but he will see you. I want you go to him and pass a message to him from me.” It had not been a question, just an order.
“What message?” Remus asked.
“Just this,” Severus said, the flush of his cheeks pronounced. “I may be in love with him.”
Remus felt his heart rise up in his throat, trying to choke him. Sensing Severus liked Harry was one thing, he realized. Hearing it stated in the bluntest of terms was quite another. The desire to scream the truth of his identity at him was overwhelming, but he swallowed his heart, and made himself picture the joy on Ginny Weasley’s face when she had first seen Bill return.
This was his punishment, for Bill’s death. It wasn’t supposed to be easy.
“What would you like me to do?” he asked Severus.
* * *
“No more of that talk, Fred. I mean it. Your constant joking just makes him feel worse,” said Hermione.
“He needs a witty fool around. You know better than anyone that laughter helps,” replied Fred.
Harry overheard his friends squabbling and produced a wan smile as he entered his sitting room, Draco close at his heels.
“Have you been waiting long?” Harry asked, addressing Fred and Hermione.
“Oi, Harry. Nah. Just thought you should know that we’re taking a turn through Harrod’s later. George needs a new set of trousers, and the autumn range is in. You know he’s such a fashion plate. We can leer at the Muggles. Care to join?” asked Fred.
Harry knew how hard the twins were trying to cheer him up. They just did not understand his need for solitude.
“No, thank you Fred. Tell George I hope he finds some new clothes.”
Harry overheard Hermione whisper, “I told you.” Fred gave her a subtle elbow to the side.
“We’ll have some Wheezes to show you next week, Harry. Will you want us to bring them? Invisible whoopee-cushions, you’ll never remember where you set ‘em!” Fred continued with a wink. He was like an eager puppy. Harry didn’t have the heart for it today. He lowered his head, glanced at Draco.
“Isn’t it time for a lager, Weasley?” Draco drawled, nodding his head towards the door. “You are not needed here.”
“I’ll walk you down, Fred,” said Hermione. “No need to be so rude,” she added, shooting a glare at Draco for his callous dismissal. Fred muttered something at Draco that sounded like ‘poncy git’ as he stalked out of the room.
“What did he say to you?” Harry asked Draco.
“It is not of importance. There is nothing those gauche twins can say to me that would cause me any concern.” Draco took a seat by the window and cast a quick glance at his reflection, brushing his pale hair out of his eyes.
Harry smiled. He had often thought about why it was that these two particular people, Draco and Hermione, now shared his life. His conclusions were simple. Hermione masked her emotions behind her intelligence, and Draco suppressed his beneath his sheen of narcissism. Either way, they both remained aloof and calm in the face of Harry’s grief, allowing him his space, never forcing him to do anything he was not eager to do. Draco benefited from Harry’s protection, and Hermione needed his friendship. It was a balanced, codependent threesome, and it held Harry together.
Hermione crept back into the room.
“Harry, there’s someone outside who would like to see you,” she said.
“Who?”
“It’s a bit of a shock really, we all thought he was killed…”
Uninvited, the door creaked open and a man stepped into the room. The glint of red hair on the tall lanky frame made Harry’s heart accelerate. It couldn’t be. Harry could not breathe.
“Ron,” he said, starting to rise.
“No Harry,” said Hermione in a low tone. “It’s Bill.”
Harry’s hands unclenched from the arms of his chair and he sank back, not bothering to hide his disappointment. His heart slowed its rapid pace.
“Bill,” he said. “Merlin’s beard, it’s fabulous to see you.” Harry rose from his seat to shake Bill’s hand. The resemblance to Ron was only in impressions. On closer inspection, Bill’s sharp, handsome features were not Ron’s broader, friendlier face.
“Have a seat, Bill, please. Hermione, Draco, can we have a moment alone? Perhaps one of you could bring us some tea?”
“Of course, Harry,” said Hermione, pulling Draco from his window seat by the sleeve and dragging him down the stairs. They could hear a muffled, “Watch it, Granger, you’re creasing the velvet,” from Draco as they retreated.
Bill spent the first few minutes recounting his tale of memory loss and recovery. Harry found it difficult to pay attention to what he was saying. He kept noting the little similarities between Ron and his older brother- the way their mouths curved up at the corners, the shape of their ears, a careless fluttering of their hands when asking a question. He had not seen the two brothers together in the last year of Ron’s life, and it was now clear that as Ron matured he had started to look more and more like Bill.
“Are you listening to me, Harry?” asked Bill at last, eyeing him warily.
Harry was startled out of his reverie. “Oh, my apologies, Bill. I am listening.”
“So, as I was saying,” Bill continued, a subtle smile touching his lips, “I’m now working with Sev…er, Snape, and he asked me to come and see you. To tell you something.” Harry could hear hesitation in Bill’s voice.
“What does Snape want now?” he asked with a sigh.
“Well, he wanted you to know,” Bill took a deep breath, “he’s in love with you.”
Harry froze, staring at Bill’s blue eyes, struggling to comprehend the words that had just been said.
“What?” he said. “In love with me?”
* * *
It wasn’t going too badly so far, although Remus wanted to reach out and hug James’s son to him and tell him who he really was. The crushing disappointment that he was not Ron hung over the room like a dense blanket.
After making Severus’s declaration, Remus sat back. Harry’s face had frozen stiff, his eyes glassed over in shock.
“What?” he said. “In love with me?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I don’t love him,” Harry replied, as if this should be obvious to Remus already.
“Is that what you would like me to tell him?” Remus asked, already picturing the unpleasant scene with Severus.
“We’ve always loathed each other. How can he think he loves me?” Harry had stood and was pacing the floor. “I’ve hardly spoken with him in months!”
“I’ve told you all of his message. He seemed quite sincere. I could ask him for more detail if you would like,” Remus said.
“This is insane,” Harry wheeled on Remus, eyes blazing. “You think it’s insane, don’t you Bill? I don’t even know what to say. Good grief, what would you do if Snape declared his love for you?”
“What would I do,” Remus asked, taken aback, “if Severus proclaimed his love for me?”
“Yes.” Harry’s eyes were wild.
Panicked, Remus found himself faced with the question he had asked himself many times throughout his life. He began to mumble something incoherent, but Harry moved on before he was forced to answer.
“You must agree, that this is the strangest way to tell someone that you love them. Send your employee with a message? Did he even write a note?” Harry was pulling at his hair as he paced. “It’s not how you would do it, is it? If you loved someone?”
Remus smiled. “No, it certainly is not,” he said.
“What would you do, Bill?”
Remus thought for a moment, hoping to allow Harry time to calm down. “If I truly loved someone?” he asked. Harry nodded, and Remus allowed himself to think of Severus.
“Well, if I loved someone, as Snape loves you, I suppose I would tell them in lots of little ways, maybe just a touch of the hand, or a kind word or two, perhaps. I’d pay attention enough to know what they liked and didn’t like, and be there on good days and bad days. I would bind myself to them.” Remus closed his eyes as he warmed to his topic. “I would build a little cabin in my heart, and let a piece of me live there, with a piece of them, so that even if we were separated, we would be together, inside my heart. I would speak their name again and again, so that my words would ride the air, and find them wherever they were, and sing to them, even after years apart.”
Remus opened his eyes. Harry had quieted during this speech, resumed his seat, and was staring rather oddly at Remus, his lips just parted and his breathing slowed.
“That’s nice,” Harry said at last. “That would work better.”
Remus smiled again as he stood to leave. “I’ll ask Snape not to bother you anymore.”
“Thanks, Bill.” Remus thought Harry’s voice sounded rather weak as he left the room. That boy really had been through too much turmoil in his short life.
He turned to the stairs, steeling himself up for what was sure to be a miserable conversation with Severus.
* * *
Harry sat staring after Bill Weasley for several minutes before he rang for Draco. His heart was pounding, he was flushed, and Bill’s stirring descriptions of love had Harry fascinated. Bill had never seemed like a romantic when he had met him as a boy, but time had changed him.
“What do you think of Bill, Draco?” Harry asked, as his companion returned from the kitchen with a pot of tea.
Draco shrugged with his careless elegance and rolled his eyes. “Quite showy, I’d say. The hair is a bit much.”
“I liked him.” In fact, he wanted to see him again, soon.
Draco was distracted, sneaking a glance at himself in the mirror over the mantle, while Harry plucked the simple gold ring he always carried from his pocket and dropped it onto the side table. “Oh Draco, Bill must have left this,” Harry said in a loud voice, making sure Draco saw him pick up the ring. “It is Snape’s, but I do not want it. Would you find Bill, and give this back to him. Ask him to come by tomorrow and I’ll tell him why I have returned the ring.”
Draco looked at Harry as if he had lost his mind. “Why?” he sneered.
“Draco, just do it, please,” Harry said with a sigh.
Link to Act II
Notes: Severus is quoting Richard III, Act 1, Scene 1 at the beginning.
Bonus points to anyone finding the actual, or very close paraphrases of lines from "Twelfth Night" scattered through this. (Even more come up in later Acts)
Dramatis Personae
Orsino- Severus Snape
Viola- Remus Lupin
Olivia- Harry Potter
Sebastian- Bill Weasley
Sea Captain- Charlie Weasley
Antonio- Viktor Krum
Maria- Hermione Granger
Sir Toby Belch/Feste- Fred and George Weasley
Sir Andrew Aguecheek- Ginny Weasley
Malvolio- Draco Malfoy