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The House on the Moor	By : sinophile Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 1108 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter One: Sooner or Latter

Wind whipped across the moor on a day in late June; the sun was setting throwing the uneven terrain into dark relief against the colour-washed sky. Despite the warm sun that the day had brought, the wind had taken full advantage of the rolling ground to rush up and down the small dales and over the tops of the tores unhindered by woods, like an obstreperous child escaped from his parent's watchful eye.

Through the gorse and blooming heather trotted a big black dog. Its hair was matted and there were burs embedded in its fur; for all this the dog's coat was thick, but it did little to hide the animal's half-starved frame. Its ribs corrugated the skin under which they lay without the subtlety of fat. Its tongue lolled as it doggedly trotted onwards, unwavering from its unknown goal and only stopping to lap at the occasional trickle in some hidden vale.

The dog, as I am sure you have all guessed by now, was of course not a dog at all, but a wizard, and not just any wizard. He - for it was undoubtedly a he - was none other than Sirius Black, convicted criminal, suspect Death Eater, godfather to The Boy Who Lived, and sent out by Dumbledore, current head master of Hogwarts and one of the greatest wizards who ever lived, to search out and inform one Remus Lupin as to the resurrection of Lord Voldemort - a name that in and of itself holds so much terror that it is scarcely to be described by a few passing adjectives. But seeing as you, the dear reader, are probably already well aware of these facts the author will no longer bore you with such obvious details, and will presently return to the story at hand.

Sirius, who as we have already established is none other than an unregistered Animagus, paused at the top of a ridge in the land that lay slightly above the rest. The wind child whipped play fully through his fur, and he shivered as if it had dumped a pail of cold water over him before racing away with a playful giggle as it rustled the grasses. The chill at this height was unpleasant, but the discomfort was necessary. Dumbledore had said that Lupin had taken up residence in the area, and currently inhabia sma small moorland cottage with no registered address - its seclusion being necessary insuring to as high of a degree as possible the safety of all during times of a full moon. This of course meant that finding the cottage was difficult at best, unless you had an owl to guide you.

Black surveyed the landscape. The reds and oranges that had filled the sky were quickly darkening into the rich purples and violets of night. After dark even travelers of the four-legged variety would find navigation difficult, for sudden dips and unfriendly holes made walking risky and uncertain. In this remote place paths were unreliable and would as easily lead you astray as deliver you to safety. So it was with a look of urgency that the dog Sirius pushed on into the gathering dusk.

***

It was now full dark and strange sounds had come to fill the place of the fading daylight, bringing with them an ominous quality that seemed to fill the vast moor. One could see how an infant, out at night, might fear lions hiding behind the gorse and giant elephants looming to trample passers by. Sirius however was too old for such flights of fancy and merely pushed on, his dog's mind perhaps more concerned with his empty belly then in the imaginings of unseen terrors.

The dog's sensitive ears pricked at the faint trickle of water somewhere in the shrouds of darkness to the right, and tongue lolling, it once more bent his steps towards it. A great spiky bush loomed ahead snagging in his shaggy fur as he passed. Somewhere behind him was the rustle of another creature. The dog quickened its pace - perhaps from concern as to what was behind him; perhaps in eagerness to get to his immediate goal. Smaller sounds were all around him: the rustle of wind through the heather, the scuttle of mice or smaller animals along the ground, and once again the swish as he brushed against another looming and indistinguishable bush. Nonetheless, above them all, the larger sound seemed to follow the dog's progress: a ghostly, unseen stalker in the night.

As suddenly as it had begun, the rustle behind him had faded, as if turning back whence it came, and the dog's pace slowed. The rush of moving water was now much plainer; abruptly the land dropped off from beneath the animal's feet and he was sent scrabbling down a loose dirt incline. Splash. Water was in his mouth filling his ears - all around him. For a moment the dog was unable to tell which way was up and which down, left suspended in the rapidly flowing water all around him.

Panicked movement filled its tired limbs, and after what must have seemed like an age, a wet and shaggy head broke the surface of the water. Aware of his surroundings once again, the dog paddled weakly towards the eroded bank. The water could not have been more than three feet deep, though it looked reluctant to release its canine prey.

Paddling, Sirius was at last able to land his paws on the pebbled bed of the stream. Emerging sodden, he flopped down on the earth flat . oblivious to the light that was bobbing disembodied from fifty yards away. It swayed closer and closer, until eventually the dog stiffened, scrambling up. The light was only thirty yards from him; he scrabbled up the bank into the abundant low growth. With Voldemort returned from the dead, one could never be too careful.

Within fifteen yards it could be seen that a lone man carried the lantern, but his details were still undistinguishable. He appeared to be wearing some sort of large, long, loose-fitting garment that hid his exact form alurrlurred his outline, meshing it into the surrounding darkness. For a moment more the dog rested, still, in what looked to be a state of canine indecision. Then, borne by sudden burst of energy, it sprang forth. Bounding down the low bank scattering clumps of dirt to race towards the lantern bearer yipping and barking back across the rill. This time it was to surprise and to try and repossess the dog as he swam. The man stood as if stunned for a second, long enough for the dog to bowl him over, making him fall bodily back into the soft, wet earth of the streambed.

"Sirius? Sirius, Sirius, is that you?" the man who had formerly being holding the now extinguished lantern, questioned. His voice was one that sounded used to gentle droning, but was now raised in a surprised and urgent question.

The dog, of course, did not respond, unless you count the effusive display of licking and tail wagging. After a moment, however, the man seemed not at all unhappy to rise; this can hardly be considered surprising, seeing that he too now was as wet as his newly acquired companion.

"Come on then," the man mumbled, fumbling for the extinguished lantern in the soft earth. "Merlin's beard, Sirius, you didn't have to push me into the stream; you ruined my matches." The dog only wagged its tail as if to signal its good-humoured assent. Sighing, the man straightened, and so by the dim starlight, the man and the dog made their way back alongside the stream; they came to a small cottage that stood half hidden in a slight dip in the land. Although it was the height of summer, entering, they both seemed happy to be hit with the blast of warm air from the fire still burning defiantly in the great of the small hearth.

"You can change now, Sirius; it's safe. There isn't another soul for miles." With that, the big shaggy dog promptly transformed into a big, shaggy wraith of a man with lively, dancing eyes.

"Remus, it's good to see you," he said jovially. "You haven't by any chance got something to eat? I had almost despaired of finding you tonight."

"Yes, I have, but somehow, I doubt it will be enough." The one called Remus ran an appraising eye over his companion. "Perhaps you would like to clean up first. You look like hell." The last words seemed out of place, having been spoken in the same soft tone, but if the former dog had noticed anything amiss, he gave no sign.

"From that look you're giving me, I think I stand a much better chance of getting fed if I do." Grinning through his shaggy beard, the speaking man gave a light chuckle.

"You know me too well, Sirius. The shower is in that room. Be careful of the hot water; it's very hot when it comes. Oh, and the shower head can be a bit temperamental."

"That is the inevitable consequence of planting yourself a million miles from civilization."

At this, the fairer man gave him a reproachful look as if he had truly expected better of him.

"Come, Sirius; you know I couldn't do that. I would be putting people unnecessary danger." The calm of his voice was coloured with just a tinge of huSiriSirius frowned through his beard and mumbled an apology before turning in the direction of the bathroom. Half hidden by the mass of dark hair that straggled down from his chin, Sirius looked remorseful. Closing the bathroom door behind him, he let his shoulders slide a bit, relaxing the ever-present tension that was bred of living in fear of recapture.

The bathroom like the rest of the house was clean and sparsely decorated but still managed to reflect a welcoming feeling of safety and reassurance, much like its quiet owner. There was a cupboard of near threadbare towels and an old straight razor that would have long since lost its edge, but for the occasional sharpening charm; the soap, though cheap, gave off a nice, pleasant smell.

Shedding his clothes in an untidy heap on the cold worn tiles of the floor, Sirius stepped into the small, griffin-footed bathtub. The knob squeaked as the water gushed out of the old tap; it was, at first, unbearably cold . so cold that the man curled his toes and scooted to the other end of the bathtub. After a minuet, the water grew warm, and finally hot. Drawing the curtain, he pressed the lever that diverted the water back up into the showerhead, to spurt out in great droplets over the overly lean form. For a moment steam wafted in pleasant waves, with the tub occupant obviously just content to stand under the warming flow.

This pleasure was not to last. With a sudden shudder, the pipe shook and the water once more gushed out the faucet. Sirius pressed the lever down a second time, a baffled look on his face. A thunk . then, again, nothing. A horrified expression crossed over his face and swearing, he glanced guiltily around the bathroom.

"Remus, I don't know what happen but the water won't work," he called tentatively. Moments later, steps shuffled up to the bathroom door and it opened, carefully.

"What is it, Sirius?" Remus asked. "You didn't burn yourself, did you?" He looked concerned as he glanced over his sodden and naked friend. His wet robes had now exchanged for fresh dry ones, but of the same worn variety. If he was at all embarrassed by the other other's lack of dress, he did not show it. Stepping into the room he examined the faucet that was now making strange chugging sounds.

"No. I'm fine. But the ruddy water won't run." He seemed to pause, as if hesitant to ask. "It isn't broken, is it?"

Remus looked amused. "No, but I think the binding charm that held the lever down has given up." Deftly taking out his wand, Remus re-charmed it with a wave and moved to go. "Will you be all right?" he asked as the water once more ran in a steaming rain over Sirius's form.

"I'll be fine," he mumbled.

As Remus left, he stooped to pick up Sirius's discarded clothes as if by instinct, and spoke again. "The potions are all on the stool on the other side of the bath. The purple one is a simple cleaning one; the other is for your hair. There is a comb too. Do you want me to trim your hair after we eat?"

A waterlogged affirmative could be heard from behind the curtain. With that, Remus left to search out some robes, having come to the obvious conclusion that the present rags he held were far beyond even his skill to salvage.

***

Sometime later, when the water would no longer run warm and was descending by degrees into a state of near frigidity, the shower could be heard to stop. Sirius emerged, damp hair still matted, and wrapped one of the faded towels around his gaunt frame.

"Remus, I know that no one can resist me, but you didn't need to steal my clothes to get my attention," the man called as he stood dripping and all squeaky clean before the little living room's tiny hearth. Slightly pink, the other man approached, his arms full of what looked at first glance to be a bundle of rags.

"Sirius, please," he said, holding out the rags, which turned out to be a set of very worn robes. For all their age, they wafted an air of clean fresh cotton and summer sunshine that made one feel comfortable. Taking them, the taller man let his towel fall into a damp puddle at his feet, and deftly pulled the under-robes over his head and up around his waist. The over-robe was several inches too short in the arms and had Sirius not been so malnourished it surely would have caused problem oth other places, despite being visibly two or three sizes to big for the fair middle aged man to whom it belonged.

"Thank you, my dear Moony; knew I could count on you. But, really, there is no need to be so chaste," he finished, with a grin, his eyes holding an unholy glee when he perceived his long time friend's blush.

"I thought you were hungry," the other replied, nonplussed.

"Thvil vil himself would be hard-pressed to find to find a hungrier soul."

"In that case, come sit down. I hope you don't mind eating in the kitchen; I always find it so much more comfortable. Seeing as you must have something of great importance to tell me, judging from your spontaneous appearance, why not be comfortable while we talk?" For a moment, Sirius just looked struck, as if he had forgotten something very important indeed - which of course he had. Then he cursed, but his words held more fear than anger.

"Merlin's bloody bones, how in the world I managed to forget is beyond me, but, yes, the kitchen seems the best idea. You might want to find some Goblin's Old before you do too. I have a feeling that we will be needing it." He scowled darkly, all traces of humour gone, causing Remus to shoot him a worried look as the two moved through the doorway separating the living room from the kitchen to begin dinner.

***

The cottage was tiny and of a rectangular nature, only big enough to boast three rooms and a tiny hall, bathroom and hayloft. This, of course, meant that each room had two windows offering different views; seeing as our story is at present set in the dead of night, however, nothing was visible. The dark void in the otherwise friendly walls seemed to add a foreboding presence to the otherwise pleasant room; Sirius' glance seemed to often stray to it nervously as he waited finneinner to be prepared.

At last Remus entered, smiling proudly as delicious scents accompanied him caused the man on the couch to tear his eyes from the empty window and fan out his nostrils in appreciation. As the two entered the kitchen, they were assailed with more pleasant odours, of things that bake and sizzle and bubble.

Casting his friend a worried look, Remus moved to scoop the bubble and squeak onto a large earthenware plate that had been warming on the stovetop. He also dolled out generous portions of stew into mismatched bowls and fishing in a drawer for cutlery as he did. Sirius had taken a seat and was scowling at the scrubbed tabletop.

"Here, eat. You can explain later. There's stew too. Bread?"

Sirius nodded. "Yes, thank you." He mumbled distractedly, shovelling the fried cabbage and potatoes into his mouth with his hands. Setting the steaming stew bowl beside the fast emptying plate, Remus moved to catch Sirius. The other man snarled.

"What in the name of the nine." Sirius snarled, glaring at Remus for interrupting his brooding and his eating. The fair man merely looked passively put out as he held out something to Sirius in his left hand

"This is a fork; we use it to eat." He set it gently beside Sirius's plate. "And that," he said pointing to a worn silver spoon that rested beside his bowl, "is a spoon. I'm sure you'll recall how to use them both." With that he released his friend, who was now chuckling. "And slow down," Remus added, "or else you'll end up bringing it all back up later. " This however seemed to fall on deaf ears, since the object of his reprimand appeared to have resumed his all-out attack on the bubble and squeak.

***

Dinner having slowed down a bit after an interesting episode of sudden ill health on the part of the famished party, they had turned to talk. Remus was now pressing Sirius for the reason behind his sudden presence, while the latter seemed more intent making on the former relinquish his firm grip on the keys to the lacquer cabinet, which stood in the library visible through the open kitchen door. It would have perhaps been funny if each were not so deadly earnest.

"It's Harry, isn't it?" Remus demanded. "I can tell by the way that you just flinched when I mentioned his name. Tell me what's happened!"

"And as I said before, I am not going to tell you anything until both of us have had a drink," Sirius replied, looking grim.

"Dumbledore must have sent you; he's the only one who knows were I am. What could have possibly facilitated such a necessity?"

"It's been a wonderful dinner and I thank you heartily, but on reconsideration I think it would be best if I don't tell you tonight, because I, for one, want to avoid thinking of my news at night as much as possible or be sober, for that matter."

"Fine then, if getting you drunk is the only way you'll talk, but I want you to know that I hate it when you do this. You have no idea what an unmanageable drunk you are." At Remus's last comment, a sickened grin broke through Sirius' hitherto grim expression.

"Here I thought you quite enjoyed it, " he added, the twinkle back in his dark eyes.

"Now, Sirius," Remus said firmly, but unable to hide a furious blush. "I am not going to let you distract me. Now tell me what has happened that is so dire that Dumbledore did not simply sent me an owl."

Sirius merely gave a tap to his empty water glass.

Sighing heavily, the fairer man rose heading through the door, fumbling in his robes for his keys as he did so.

"In all honesty, I don't understand why you leave it locked when there is never anyone here," Sirius's voice called from the kitchen, over the clatter of plates.

"Old habit," came the somewhat wistful response.

"You always were too responsible for your own good."

"It comes as penance for a misspent youth," was Remus' rueful rejoinder. At this a decidedly derisive snort could be heard above the sound of running water. There was a squeak and a splash as plates slipped into the water; then, for a moment, there was silence. Perhaps both parties were lost in memories of times past, but as the author does not think it is moral to use her powers to look inside their minds over anything so private and nonessential to the plot, it is impossible to tell the true reason and silence rested, uninterrupted for several minutes.

"Are you coming in here or am I to go in there?" Sirius called, breaking the hush.

"Er - I'm sorry." Keys jingled and the old hinges of the liquor cabinet squeaked. "Do you have a preference as to which facilitator you use to reach your longed-for state of inebriation?"

"You know what I like. Stop talking like a pompous ass; you sound as bad as that batwings vampire impersonator Snape."

"Goblin's Old it is then." Remus chuckled. "How is the old devil, and when are you going to stop this stalling and tell me why you are here in the first place?" Here he paused before adding almost coyly, "Not, of course, that I object in the least." Sirius merely burst out laughing.

"Where are all your precious morals now? So, the hermit is not quite as adverse to the pleasures of the flesh as one was led to believe." Sirius sat smirking in at his friend, who was an even deeper shade of red then before. Stuttering, Remus made his hasty retreat to the kitchen under the pretence of getting glasses.

"Honestly, Sirius, I do not understand how you can manage to read so much into such a simple statement," he called from the safety of the next room.

Sirius only continued to laugh.

Remus re-entered the kitchen to find that Sirius had now finished the dishes and was vigorously drying them with one of Remus's threadbare dish clothes. Bottle in hand, Remus made for one of the open cupboards; grabbing two tumblers, he motioned for Sirius to follow him.

"You don't mind if we move back into the living room, do you?" he asked over his shoulder as Sirius put down the towel with visible reluctance as if he were about to face a great ordeal.

"No . no not at all." Sirius said as he lowered himself onto the extremely low-slung couch. Remus rested comfortably into an armchair, setting the bottle and glasses on a small coffee table. He uncorked the bottle and filled the tumblers half full. Picking one up, he warily offered it to Sirius.

Sirius examined it for a moment (understandably so, for it was of a very peculiar colour somewhere between beige and gold, and of a semi-opaque nature that made it startlingly different from most other more common sprits, though equally potent). He gulped it down in one fell swoop, eyes widening as the sour milk taste hit him. Remus remained still, his eyes fixed expectantly on his companion.

"Another," Sirius spoke, looking up.

"No. Not until you start telling me what you came here to tell me. I want you to reach the end of whatever it is you're going to say before you are too intoxicated to make sense," Remus replied with finality.

Shrugging his shoulders in a resigned way, Sirius took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I am sure you have heard of the Triwizard tournament that was held at Hogwarts this past year and how Harry was in it."

"I had heard of the tournament, yes, but I thought the rules were changed so that younger wizards could not participate."

"They were," was Sirius' grim answer. "Didn't Dumbledore tell you?" One look at Remus's face told him that of course Dumbledore had not. "Just like him, never mind. The old fool. Tells you everything in riddles, and then only when you're in a fix; God forbid the rest of us should be a party to his omnipotence.

"I have been corresponding with him all year; getting information out of him is like trying to get mercy from a Deatheater. But never mind. Yes, Harry was in the tournament; didn't you read about it in The Daily Prophet?"

"Unfortunately, it's very hard to get newspapers owled to this area, so I gave up. Pity. I could have been of some help, I'm sure."

"Don't worry; Harry had enough help as it was. More then enough as it turned out." Sirius was looking unhappily into the fire. "Harry has it too rough, what with all the publicity and everyone always trying to barge into his life. It just isn't right for a boy his age to have to deal with all that on top of everything else." He glanced up at Remus. He looked out of place in the comfortable homeliness of this man's cottage: a haggard messenger of ill tidings in a place that should be filled with playful children and mothers knitting. Life was not fair, but then again it never was.

Lupin remained silent, and seeing that his friend obviously was not about to make any immediate comment of refill his glass until he continued, he had no choice but to do so, and did.

"Harry got through all right, but as it turned out the Dark Arts teacher, Mad-eye Moody. You remember him - the one that used to come round sometimes and scare us senseless back in our first year. Well, he turned out to be working for Voldemort." Sirius paused; he must have noticed the look of sheer disbelief on his listener's face. "Oh. Sorry I forgot to tell you, but he was of course not the real Moody. He was none other than Bart Couch; remember the Deatheater who got thrown into Azkaban back when they were doing those mass trials, rounding up the last of them? His own father threw him in but that I'm sure you know."

Remus nodded that yes, he did know.

"Well, the bastard used a Polyjuice potion and kept the real Mad-eye Moody locked in his own magic trunk all year. I suspect the old loon will be even more paranoid noen een ever before. But anyway, Moody, the fake one, pulled some very nasty stunts and offed two of the three other competitors in the last task." Here he paused for a moment, tapping his glass pointedly. Remus refilled it without pause this time and Sirius continued.

"Did you teach a student by the name of Diggory while you were there, by any chance?" Sirius asked somewhat tentatively. Remus must have noticed this, for he paused before nodding.

"A Hufflepuff; very good student, upright, noble, and a fine boy. Wasn't he to graduate this year? I think he told me he wanted to become an Auror. I told him it was thankless work but he seemed eager; that was the type of person he was. You have to respect him for it. Why did you ask?"

"He was the other that participated in the tournament. He and Harry both apparently reached the cup at the same time; as it turned out, the fake Moody had made the cup a Portkey." He paused again, taking a long drink before he continued.

"I remember Harry telling me that he had had these dreams . dreams of Wormtail talking to someone. His scar had started to bug him again. I told him to go to Dumbledore, but, as you well know, I am no expert in dreams; that was always more your field, and well, he's a teenager. Strange dreams are natural.

"The Portkey took both him and Diggory to some Godforsaken graveyard. I can't remember all of what he told me, but somehow Wormtail, that bloody little rat, preformed some damned dark spell and it gave physical form to Voldemort, who tried to Ava Kedavra on Harry, or was that before? Merlin's beard, it was all too awful. The Diggory boy tried to protect Harry and intercepted the curse and is now dead. Then Voldemort apparently called the Deatheaters, and challenged Harry to some sort of bloody duel. Harry's wand ended up reacting to Voldemort's. Did you know that they had the same core? And by some stroke of fortune, Harry managed to get away and used the Portkey to get back to Hogwarts with Diggory's body. Dumbledore heard this and uncovered the fake Moody. Everyone had been in a real uproar when the two had disappeared. You have no idea; the wait for them to return was almost unbearable. I think Dumbledore must've knocked me out because I don't remember most of it, but I truly feared for his life as I have never done before, even back when we had known that Lilly and James were in danger.

"Nevertheless, he came back, and thank all the gods and fates that helped him, not excluding Mr. Olivander. He was horribly shaken when he got back and Dumbledore confronted Fudge, who of course had been there for the tournament, and tried to get him to take some action. He wants to see the Deatheaters out of Azkaban once and for all and re-extend the branch of friendship to the giants. Neither of these things Fudge was willing to accept so they have parted ways.

"I, along with others, have been sent out to rally all those known to be loyal to Dumbledore . to prepare. It looks like bad times are ahead, and to tell the truth, I am starting to see why Fudge was so willing to deny the possibility. It is almost too horrible to think that He is back. But from Dumbledore's reaction, I can't doubt it.

"It looks like war, old chap, just like back when we were just out of school. I had hoped that it would be over when Harry vanquished that snake the first time but ess ess it was too good to be true. I just don't see how it can be possible, and here we are unable to even find him, with the Ministry of Magic vetoing all action. There's nothing to do, leaving all of it to Harry and Dumbledore; can't they see." Sirius trailed off, fists clenched. Once he had started, the words had come tumbling out of him like a burden he had been forbidden to share but was too heavy for him to bear alone - something that, once triggered, could not be stopped. Now, however, he looked exhausted and hopeless; his shoulders slumped pitifully, his being radiating an almost tangible aura of despair and helpless frustration.

For the first time Remus picked up his own glass and took a very long drink of Goblin's Old.

***

Many thanks to Selendrile who looked over this chapter for me. Comment and criticisms are very very welcome, also, if you could don't just give me five stars, give me the rating you think I actually deserve.
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The House on the Moor