Cracking open a boy with the Cold Ones
‘What’ve you done with Harry?’ Em demands when Arthur enters their compartment alone and slides the door closed behind him.
‘He’s next door getting to know the new teacher.’
Ron sits forward at once, and Hermione grasps his forearm. ‘It’s him then? Harry’s uncle?’
Arthur nods. Ron sits back with a whuff. Hermione bites her bottom lip, staring at the adjoining wall as though to burn a hole through it. Ginny looks between them with a frown.
‘Harry’s uncle?’
‘The new DADA teacher,’ Merlin explains. ‘Apparently he knew Harry’s dad. Best let them catch up.’
‘Blimey…’ Ginny mutters. Luna turns her head, watching the conversation like a ping pong match. When she speaks, it’s to Ginny.
‘Would this be a bad time to ask if I can play with your hair?’
Ginny shakes her head no before she seems to have registered the question. ‘I mean, yes,’ she says a moment later. ‘That’s– you can– go ahead.’
Luna lights up. ‘Okay. You have the most lovely hair, you know. I’ve always wanted to touch it. I saw you, and I thought, wow, she’s like the sun in daytime, before the Wombles come out. I always thought the sun would be soft if you could touch it. Your hair’s soft. Hello, Arthur!’
‘Uh, hi, Luna,’ Arthur mumbles, scooching in beside Hermione with a smile. She’s a trip, that girl. ‘I see you’ve met Gin.’
‘Oh, yes! We’re in the same class now. Isn’t that nice?’
‘The same class?’ Arthur frowns. Ginny’s a year under them, though. Luna just nods happily, entranced by the strands of red hair she’s running her fingers through.
‘Yes, I dropped down a year. I couldn’t get the hang of transfiguration. I just can’t see how you can make one thing another when it’s happy being what it was to begin with.’
‘I could help you if you like,’ Merlin offers. ‘Sometimes you just need to hear it a different way.’
‘That would be nice, but I want to try to get it myself first. It’s not so bad redoing a year. I’m sharing classes with the sun, so maybe it was meant to happen that way.’
Hermione looks absolutely horrified at that notion. Ron stomps on her foot before she says anything nasty. Merlin beams warmly at Luna and Ginny, the latter of whom has ducked down to hide behind a curtain of ginger hair. They can all see how pink her ears are, though.
‘Did you bring your cards, Em?’ Ron asks, breaking the silence that’s fallen.
‘Which pack?’
‘Regular ones. You wouldn’t believe what he can do with ‘em, Gin. Go on, show ‘er! No, don’t, actually, I wanna learn and I’ll show ‘er. Can you teach me to do the–?’ He makes a flipping noise with his tongue and mimes the trick he’s referring to with his hands. Daisy kicks him for dislodging her, and he gives her an apologetic pat. Hermione rolls her eyes and relieves Ron of his rabbit.
Arthur taps her shoe with his foot. ‘Em told me you got a cat.’
Hermione stares back at him with wide eyes. ‘How on earth– it was meant to be a surprise!’
After that, conversation rolls on. Ginny is sufficiently amazed at Merlin’s (really quite impressive) card tricks. In true fatherly fashion, he challenges them to figure out how he’s doing it themselves, redoing it as many times as they ask at whatever speed they like. Hermione rabbits on to Arthur about Crookshanks and how she was worried about getting a cat with Daisy around, but she’s been training him religiously all summer and she’s hopeful they’ll get along, and is he sure Harry’s alright on his own? And how have the boys been, and what is it he’s looking forward to this year, and and and… Draco watches it all in observant silence, occasionally rolling his eyes or chuckling. By the time the train leaves, he can do the card trick Ron’s stuck on himself.
None of them have forgotten Harry, though, and they all, at some point or another, shoot glances at the wall they share with the last compartment.
Harry isn’t sure what to do now that he’s sitting across from a dream he’s had all his life. This is that imaginary relative who loved him, taken away by some twist of fate, come to claim him at last. This is him.
Remus Lupin. From the side, he’s just a lump covered in terribly scratchy-looking blankets. As Harry takes a seat opposite him, though, his face is revealed. He’s terribly pale, which makes the soft moles and freckles on his skin all the more apparent. Time has marked this man, seeped into a young face in such concentration that Harry can feel the wear of him just the same as he can the blankets. That particular facet is so stark that it almost overshadows the scars that slice through his features like great ravines, as if to stand in for the age lines he’s too young for. His hair is combed, and it falls in a fluffy wave across his forehead. It looks like it might naturally be the colour of caramel, but it’s faded, and there are premature streaks of grey encroaching on the territory, trying to blend him in with his dull old blankets. There are subtle patches in his suit and loose threads at the seams.
Harry tries to look past all of this at the man underneath, but it’s very hard with him nestled in a cocoon of blankets and a curtain of fluffy hair. Harry’s not sure what to do. He can’t wake him, but… what else is he supposed to do? He looks to need his rest, he might not wake up for a while. But Harry needs to talk to him.
Harry sits there staring and debating with himself for a good long time. Eventually, though, his desperate, overwhelming need to know this man wins out. He places a ginger hand on where he estimates Lupin’s shoulder to be, giving it a squeeze. Lupin snuffles ever so slightly in his sleep, and Harry leaps back into his seat like he’s been burned, watching with wide eyes. There’s a moment where nothing more happens, and Harry’s worried he’ll have to buck up the courage to do it again.
Then Lupin’s eyes crack open. They move to search his surroundings, but the second they land on Harry, they freeze, blowing wide as Harry’s own. Lupin shoots up in his seat, his blanket falling to the floor. Neither of them really notice.
Harry tries, but he can’t keep up with the complicated series of expressions Lupin’s face morphs through. He feels the impact of them down to his fingers, though. He can barely untangle his own emotions, and they both sit in shared turmoil for a minute as it sinks in.
‘...Harry,’ he breathes. It’s reverent, familiar. Like he knows Harry. Like he loves Harry. His eyes– brown, like his hair– twinkle and crease in the corners, an amazed smile dawning over him like daybreak. Harry doesn’t even dare to breathe, not that he could if he did. His heart swells and dips in enormous waves that he’s at the mercy of, stuck on the look of awe in this stranger’s face.
Lupin whispers his name again, only half of it coming out, and he pushes himself to the very edge of his seat as if pulled to him by a magnet. His hands, large and gnarled with the same scars as his face, come up and flounder, unsure what to do. Eventually they fall into his lap uselessly, like leaves from a tree.
‘You look just like your father,’ Lupin breathes. ‘I heard that, but god, you… you look just like him. But those eyes… those are all Lily. Your nose too, I think.’
Harry soaks all this up and feels he might burst with it. He wants Lupin to say more, but he can’t speak to ask. Luckily, after another moment of taking Harry in, every detail of him like he might disappear, Lupin continues.
‘I tried to contact you for so long. I’m so sorry, Harry. You were meant to be so… you had so many people to love you, so many people who were gonna be there, watch you grow up and be in your corner. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It just all fell apart. I can’t believe how badly… and I couldn’t even see you. But I have you now. I’m so glad…’
Harry feels a tear gather in his eye and spill down his face. His heart heaves to do the same. A sudden sob breaks through Lupin’s cracked lips and he covers his mouth with a shaking hand.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘You don’t know me, it must be strange to hear. You just… I’ve been looking for you for so long. I get it, you don’t know me, but Harry, I know you.’
The next tear that comes out is followed by another, and another, and Harry sobs much more helplessly than Lupin did. Happy, manic laughter escapes him, and Lupin finally loses the battle to keep himself in place. If he’s worried about overstepping, he isn’t for long, as Harry leans into the hands that come up to cradle his face desperately, fighting his tears with the determination to not miss one moment of this.
Over that train ride, Lupin tells Harry about his parents. About how Lily told James she was pregnant, and he screamed at the sky until he was hoarse and then ran out to buy a training broom immediately. About how he opened every conversation from then on with, ‘Hi, did you know I’m gonna be a dad?’ Lupin says he must have heard it a thousand times a week. He explains about James’ animagus form and all the little nicknames they made out of it for him, and then for Harry, when he came along. He says the wizarding world trembled when James and Lily got together, because the only thing keeping them from world domination was the fact that they got on like oil and water. When word got out that they were having a child, more than one Hogwarts professor up and quit, leaving the ones that didn’t to shake in their boots. Everyone couldn’t wait to meet Harry and see what he’d do.
Lupin can’t tell Harry all of this without mentioning Sirius Black. The moment they veer from the memory of him to the messy reality, Lupin grows ten years older. Harry watches him sag under the weight of the years that went all wrong. He takes Harry through them all, step by agonising step. By the time they’re done, Harry feels older, too.
Then the train hisses, hisses… stops.
Harry shoots a betrayed look out the window. They can’t be there yet, he’s not ready, there’s so much to talk about! He wipes a hasty square out of the fog in case, by some miracle, they’re not there yet, and is actually surprised to find that they’re not. He can’t see much through the muted downpour, but he can make out the gloomy silhouettes of empty, drowning fields that wouldn’t meet the standards of Hogwarts’ shoddiest stables. They’re in the middle of nowhere.
The lights die. All of a sudden the compartment is just pitch black. The sounds of doors sliding open and confused passengers filter through the corridor.
‘What’s happening?’ Harry asks.
‘I don’t know,’ Lupin hums. Harry can hear the frown in it. He appreciates Lupin’s hand on his shoulder as the train suddenly gets very cold.
Their door slides open and shut again in the dark.
‘Harry.’
‘Arthur? Is that you?’
Before Harry gets an answer, a glow creeps through the great darkness that’s come upon them. Lupin’s cupping a small flame in his hands. The light is warm, but it cuts his face up, spilling into his scars in dramatic fashion. Harry looks over to find it is Arthur that’s joined them. He’s got his wand out. He sits between Harry and the door, giving Lupin a nod.
‘Do you know why we’ve stopped?’ Harry asks him.
‘We’re being boarded.’
‘Boarded? By who?’
Arthur doesn’t answer. Out in the corridor, something moves. A breath shudders out of Harry, and he frowns at the visible puff of it. He can feel the cold of the floor through the soles of his shoes, and beneath him, the seats seem to lose their warmth. The Hogwarts Express is a lot of things, but cold has never been one of them. Without the light and heat, the train feels unfamiliar to Harry, and all of a sudden he’s aware of how few exits there are, how small the compartment is.
‘The others?’ He’s not sure why, but he whispers.
‘Em’s got them,’ Arthur assures him without looking away from the door.
Lupin stands. He starts to say something, but the door cracks like frost, and they all still. More small cracks follow, followed by a squealing hiss as the door, normally in top condition, wails under pressure. It slides open very slowly, and it feels like a gust of Arctic air blows in with it, howling right through Harry’s bones. He feels paper thin. Inconsequential.
Lupin’s flame stutters, only just reaching the person trying to get in. The black folds of fabric in its… clothing(?) seem to eat what light does touch it. By the glow of the frosted windows, everything beyond the reach of the little fire loses colour, leaving only the chill and the towering silhouette in the entryway.
Arthur immediately stands, shielding Harry from seeing more. Harry thinks he hears Lupin move, too, but indistinctly. Things go very fuzzy very quickly, the air thickening into a choking soup. Harry’s heart leaps without reason, suddenly terrified of the cold he won’t recover from, the dark he won’t escape, his own inconceivable helplessness in the face of the tidal wave crashing over and in and through him indiscriminately. He is such a small creature, and this world was always going to eat him. It’s so clear to him now how little hope he ever really had, how lucky he’s been, how arrogant and stupid to think he had a right to live or any power at all. There is no God, no good or evil. This is a world of anarchy, of animals, and Harry is only prey. Harry’s fear consumes him as he loses his inhibitions, as he drowns.
Someone screams. Harry can feel the raw, primal terror of it ripping through him, and he thinks, I get that. That’s the last thing he thinks for a while.
Merlin breathes out a Patronus, keeping himself between the kids and the threat. He keeps it contained to a puff of warm air, but he makes up for it in concentrated magic, and the Cold One can’t get away fast enough. Another shoots after it, chased out of Harry’s compartment by another Patronus. He slams the door shut deliberately.
Merlin moves to knock on the wall next, but Arthur beats him to it. One tap sounds out, a pause, three short taps, and one more. All clear. Merlin knocks it back.
The kids are looking alright, considering. Ginny and Draco have it worst. Ron’s breaths are laboured, and he and Hermione have white-knuckled grips on each other. Daisy is shaking, trying to burrow in between them. Ron throws his other arm around Ginny, pulling her close and trying to stop her shaking. Her eyes are wide and distant, like she’s not here. All the colour has leached out of her. Luna’s on her other side, though, murmuring and rubbing her shoulder until Ginny blinks uncertainly back at her, teeth chattering.
Draco’s gone rigid. He’s so pale and still he might be a corpse. Merlin calls his name gently. Draco doesn’t react, but one more call has him snapping back to attention. He gathers his bearings quickly and gives Merlin a stiff nod. Merlin eyes him for a moment, but he genuinely seems to be okay. When Draco stands and brushes past him, making for the door, Merlin doesn’t stop him. The Cold Ones are gone, he can feel it.
Merlin resituates himself. He takes Daisy with a gentle hold and presses his hands around her with comforting pressure. By the time he starts seeping atmospheric comfort magic into the air, she’s stopped shaking enough for Merlin to hand her back to Ron. The lights flick back on, but the damage is done. The security that was a given before is now conditional, and the lights aren’t so reassuring anymore. Slowly, hesitantly, the warmth returns to them.
‘What the bloody hell was that?’ Ron breathes weakly.
‘Cold Ones,’ Merlin replies evenly.
‘Dementors?’ Luna gasps. ‘Truly?’
Ron looks between them. ‘What are those?!’
‘They guard Azkaban,’ Luna informs him. ‘Their wavelengths offset those of humans in such a way that… they shouldn’t really interact. The humans go all off-key…’
‘In English, please?’
‘Ron,’ Ginny hisses. It’s quiet, unintentional, but it seems to give her back some life.
Hermione opens her mouth, but Merlin cuts across her. ‘Harry’s fine. Arthur knocked the all-clear.’ She opens her mouth again, and he reluctantly continues. ‘I… don’t want to talk about the Cold Ones yet. Not until I know what they were doing here.’
‘So you don’t know?’ Hermione blurts.
Oh, Merlin has theories. He hates each one worse than the last. He is not about to indulge them now, not when they all need cheering up. If Merlin addresses the fact that there were Cold Ones allowed on a train with children, with no warning or consent, he will get angry. And no one will be happy if Merlin gets angry. No, the kids come first. The anger will go in a box, and Merlin will bury that box in his mind until he can ensure they are out of the firing range of his wrath.
‘Ginny’s gonna be alright, though?’ Ron asks.
‘Right as rain. Cold Ones–’ Merlin gestures to Luna, ‘-- dementors , if you like, are capable of killing. That was just them poking around, though.’
‘What did they want?’ Hermione asks. Merlin shrugs.
‘They are one of the rare creatures that can interact with certain components of the human soul. They feed off of the same potential energy that we turn kinetic when we perform magic. While a wizard’s ability to turn that energy kinetic is biologically identifiable, the naturally replenishing stock of potential energy in a wizard is sourced in the soul. Squibs are people who have this stock of energy in their soul, but not the biological makeup required to turn it potential. Anyway, Cold Ones feed off of that energy. What makes them dangerous, though, is their ability to interact with the soul. By affecting your soul, they make you vulnerable, more open. It’s like cracking open a nut to get at the good stuff inside. They do that by digging into your weak spots. For some people, that means their worst memories. For others, it might mean a surge of intense paranoia rooted in their long-term subconscious. A PTSD episode, mania– it manifests differently for different people. Those more prone to such things typically experience it more keenly. It’s a cruel thing to subject anyone to, though. The effects…’
Silence falls. Merlin purses his lips. So much for cheering them up.
‘The hell were things like that doin’ ‘ere?’ Ron breathes. Merlin shakes his head listlessly. After another moment, he stands.
‘I’ll go and check on the other compartment, yeah? No, no, don’t get up, they’re fine. I’ll be back soon.’
Merlin hopes they let him go without a fight out of trust and not worry. Cold Ones pack a punch, but Merlin likes to think he’s not so terrible at keeping a lid on his shit that untrained high school kids can pick up on it. It’s been a while since he’s met a Cold One though, and if his movements are a little stilted, no one need know.
Merlin’s hand is outstretched and Arthur’s is catching it before he’s even fully slid the compartment door open. They gravitate magnetically to each other, and only once Arthur’s hand is in his does Merlin feel the weight of the body he held at Camlann ease, the phantom flames of the pyre recede, and the howls of people long dead fade from his ears. Arthur squeezes his hand, and Merlin strokes his thumb over Arthur’s knuckles lovingly to make up for the closeness they can’t indulge in here. Their eyes meet for a moment, and that’s enough. Merlin is whole again.
It all happens in a second or two. Merlin turns his attention on Harry then, laid down on the seats with a soft crease in his brow. His consciousness is buried shallow– he’ll be up soon. Still, it pains Merlin to see him in unconscious distress. It’s just them in here, Lupin must have left, so Merlin puts a hand to Harry’s forehead and injects some ease into his system. Harry’s brow doesn’t unknit completely, but he untenses. Draco watches it all closely before asking.
‘He’ll be alright?’ Merlin nods and takes a seat by Arthur, pressing their sides together. ‘Why did it have such a strong effect on him and no one else?’
‘Tl;dr: generally speaking, the heavier your soul, the worse you’re affected.’
Draco snorts, carefully removing Harry’s glasses. ‘And what great sins has Saint Potter committed, burning his toast?’
‘No no, it’s not a guilt thing,’ Arthur corrects. His voice, soft and fatherly, injects yet more warmth and security into the space. The cold recedes. Arthur was always so good with kids, knowing just how to make them feel safe. ‘It’s a psycho-spiritual thing. If it’s hard to be you, you know, psychologically and/or emotionally, it’ll hit you harder.’
Draco lets out a slow, quiet breath, eyes trailing down to Harry, scanning him over, picking him apart. Inscrutable as Draco’s expression is, Merlin’s certain there is no judgement in it. His hand goes absently to the ends of Harry’s wild hair.
‘Always the martyr, eh, Potter?’ It takes him half a moment more to catch himself moving to pet Harry’s hair. He snatches his hand back like he’s been burned at once, scowling at it deeply. Before he can decide to cut it off for its betrayal, though, the train jolts back into motion, and Harry jolts with it, threatening to tip over onto the floor. Draco’s hand snaps out to stop his fall. He pulls it back, but more movement threatens to throw Harry again, and with a quiet stream of grumbled cursing, Draco gingerly pulls the boy’s head into his lap. He pointedly avoids Arthur and Merlin’s eyes, instead turning to scowl out the window. Merlin would put money on it being more out of pettiness than embarrassment; Draco is definitely more the type to be in someone’s lap, having his hair petted like a prized pet, than the one to do the petting. His hair certainly lends itself more to the idea than Harry’s.
This is what Remus Lupin walks into upon his return. He blinks, surprised at how many people he’s found in the compartment, and Merlin takes the moment to scan him over. Tall and rail-thin, but not emaciated. Ragged, but groomed. Scars are most if not all animalistic in nature, suggesting regular exposure to– well, there’s no need for conjecture there. The man’s a werewolf. His eyes are terribly soft, and they dart immediately to Harry to check he’s alright. Interesting.
Arthur shuffles over to let the man in, and he takes a seat across from Harry. His gaze goes with interest to Draco, who is equally sizing him up.
‘Professor,’ Arthur acknowledges. ‘This is Em and Draco. They came to check on Harry.’
‘How do,’ Merlin hums lightly. Lupin gives him a nod, and then Draco. Then he produces a discordantly brightly wrapped rectangle from his shabby jacket. Muggle chocolate. He breaks a bit off for each of them and hands it around.
‘Should help with the,’ he makes a vague gesture and trails off.
‘You knew they’d be here,’ Merlin notes. Lupin looks up. Before he can cobble an answer together, though, Harry shifts. Immediately, all attention snaps to him.
Quiet as the boy is known to be, even in waking, the small groan that pushes out of him has Merlin leaning forward on instinct. Arthur puts a calm hand on his chest. He’s fine. Relax. He’s right of course, and Merlin huffs inwardly at his own mothering. Harry rights himself, eyes opening and nose twitching like a bunny’s, to take stock of his situation. Realising how close he is to another living person, he whips around so fast that Draco gets a solid faceful of wild black curls.
‘Oh, relax, it’s me, ’ Draco huffs, batting hair out of his face and mouth. His hand stabs out in front of Harry to hand him his glasses, which Harry sheepishly takes, mumbling an apology.
‘Hey shortstack,’ Arthur rumbles. ‘How ya feeling?’
Harry blinks at him, eyes darting to Lupin and back to Arthur. His hands sink down onto the seat on either side of him and press down into the fabric as if convincing him to feel it. Harry clears his throat with some difficulty. His voice comes out small enough to send Merlin back to the boy they pulled out of an abusive household.
‘What happened?’
‘You fainted,’ Merlin informs him softly. ‘It can happen with Cold Ones. Eat the chocolate, Harry, you’ll feel better.’
‘Fainted?’ The boy echoes, taking his rations from Lupin but ignoring the advice. He doesn’t seem to notice he’s even accepted anything. ‘...is everyone alright?’
‘Fine,’ Lupin assures him.
‘’Who screamed?’
Draco frowns. Arthur straightens, eyeing Harry thoughtfully.
‘No one.’
Merlin inclines his head. ‘You heard a scream?’
Harry shuffles uncomfortably, looking to Draco for reassurance. ‘Didn’t you?’
‘Auditory hallucinations, pulled from your subconscious,’ Merlin offers. ‘Did you recognise the scream?’
‘No. It was a woman. I’ve never heard it before. I think…’ Harry trails off uncertainly. Merlin hates how quiet he’s gotten.
‘Well, they’re gone now,’ Draco states bluntly, making up for Harry’s skittishness with his own brand of unabashedness. ‘Horrid things. Where do they get off, sending creatures like that on a train full of students? I’ll be speaking to someone about that, be sure of it. Eat your bloody chocolate, Potter.’
Harry’s got it in his mouth before he even realises, and he shoots Draco a half-smile. Considering how he must be feeling right now, it’s the equivalent of a full beaming grin.
‘So, everyone’s fine? Ron, Hermione, Ginny–?’
‘Completely,’ Merlin hums fondly. ‘I said I’d get back to them soon, I just wanted to check on you, say hi to our new professor. Hi,’ he waves at Lupin, who nods bemusedly back.
Arthur spreads his arms to either side in mock hurt. ‘And here I thought you came for a cuddle ‘cause you were scared.’ Merlin levels him with a flat look.
‘Yes, I came straight for the big strong thirteen-year-old, it just so happened that our terribly helpless but undoubtedly qualified defence professor was here as well. Thank the Goddess you were here to catch me in your powerful pre-teen arms.’
‘Is that cheek? Git–’ Arthur lunges for Merlin as the boy dashes out the door, scarf snapping behind him. Arthur’s hand closes on thin air and he growls playfully. He hears Harry breathe out half a chuckle behind him, sounding a bit more present. Mission accomplished.
‘He can run, but he can’t hide,’ Arthur assures the room at large, plopping back down beside Lupin. ‘Now Harry, d’you want us to scram? There’s still a bit of time before we get to Hogwarts if you wanna spend it with your uncle.’
Harry’s uttering a ‘no’ before his head completes its instinctual turn toward Draco, who raises his eyebrows at him. ‘You guys should meet. I want you to…’ he deliberately resituates himself, straightening up and gaining a bit more of himself in the set of his shoulders. The Harry they know and love begins to come back. He looks to Lupin. ‘These are my friends. Arthur, Em, Draco, Ron, and Hermione– the rest of them are in the other compartment. We’re really close. Actually, Em… Em and Arthur’s family just, um… adopted me.’
‘Adopted…?’ Lupin breathes. ‘But… your cousins…?’
‘They’re fine,’ Harry’s quick to assure him. ‘They’re as happy as I am to see me go. I’m much happier with Em and Arthur. They’re really good to me, and we’re such good friends… I was so happy to find people who wanted me. I never knew that…’
‘We’ll talk,’ Arthur assures the two of them, as Harry trails off, standing up. Draco follows suit. ‘We have time, Harry. For now,’ he pulls his hoodie off and, despite some mumbled protests, settles it around Harry’s shoulders. ‘We’ll be right next door.’
‘Professor,’ Draco nods as he goes. ‘Potter.’
Hermione’s on her feet as soon as Arthur gets back, as if Merlin’s hasn’t already assured her that Harry’s fine at least three times. Draco rolls his eyes and settles back beside her, turning his attention on Daisy. Merlin’s already got his cards back out, and Luna and Ron hardly look up when Arthur enters, transfixed on some trick or other.
It’s hard having kids, but Arthur knows he doesn’t really mind.