A/N: Dude. I have absolutely no excuse for leaving this as long as I have. (Well, I actually DO but you're not going to care.) If I leave this again, feel free to poke me. With red hot pokers. Yes. As always, I, the review whore, welcome your comments, your critiques and (yes) even your flames (as long as you give a valid excuse for flaming me!). Happy reading. And if you remember me, or this story at all, then I love you and you get cookies. The chocolate chunk kind.
Chapter One: Arrival
Harry stared at the door to Number 12, Grimmauld Place with a feeling of doom. He really did not want to go in there.
Sirius was everywhere in that place; he wouldn't be able to breathe without seeing his godfather wherever he
went.
He'd been putting this off for over a year, ignoring Lupin's gentle pleas to come and visit. Dumbledore and
the Order still used the house as headquarters, and Lupin lived there now as an unofficial caretaker in addition to
performing his other mysterious duties. Harry didn't know how they could stand being in this house, with reminders
of Sirius everywhere. But then, he thought, not everyone cared about Sirius like I did.
"C'mon, mate, are you going to just stand here staring all day or are you going in?" Ron pushed his way
past Harry, heaving his trunk up the stairs and over the threshold. There was a soft chuckle and Harry turned to face
Hermione.
"Despite his insensitivity, he does have a point," she said gently.
"Don't make me," Harry pleaded. Hermione just looked at him with that patient smile of hers, waiting.
Harry sighed and muttered a silent prayer. It was either go in, or go back to the Dursley's and explain why he was
home early.
Nuts. He grasped his trunk in one hand, Hedwig's cage in the other, and marched in, Hermione in his wake.
The familiar gloom and doom enveloped him. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness. The
door's many magical locks clinked and clanked into place behind him.
"So pleasant, isn't it?" Lupin's wry voice came out of the shadows as he walked out from the drawing
room to join them. "I tried to make it more cheerful, but every time I tried. . . " He shrugged toward the
wall, where Harry knew the horrible portrait of Sirius' mother hung, quiet now behind moth-eaten curtains.
"Better to be a bit gloomy than invoke the wrath of the Black Banshee," Hermione said.
"Right you are, Hermione," Lupin smiled. "How've you been?" He moved forward to shake her
hand.
"Not bad, considering," she said, glancing sideways at Harry. "Where did Ron run off to?"
"The twins are experimenting in the kitchen, and you just missed an explosion," Lupin said wryly.
"Ahha. Enough said." Hermione rolled her eyes and grinned.
"Hello, Harry," Lupin said softly.
"Hello." Harry stared at the floor, shuffling his feet. He was suddenly embarrassed; he didn't want to
explain why he'd been away for so long.
"I'm very glad you came." That soft voice was invading his thoughts, making his stomach churn. Harry
opened his mouth to say something, anything, but was spared of trying to think of what by another explosion from the
kitchens. The walls themselves shook with the force of it; and nobody was very surprised when the moldy curtains flew
open to reveal the shrieking monster that was Mrs. Black.
"SCUM! FILTH! WRETCHED FOUL BEINGS!"
"Go! Go! I'll take care of it!" Lupin cried over the din. Harry and Hermione grabbed their things and
fled upstairs to their rooms. Harry collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling, listening to the dim rants of Mrs.
Black and Lupin's fruitless attempts to silence her far below.
Home sweet home, his mind whispered sadly.
Chapter Two: Drunken Nightmares
Remus twirled his fourth glass of gin and cranberry juice, watching the candlelight flicker in the red liquid.
"Bloody wonderful," he muttered.
"Wow." Remus jerked quickly and saw Harry standing in the doorway. "That drink must be one good
talker."
With his mind the swirling mush it was, it took Remus a moment to realize Harry was making a joke . . . his first in
over a year. From the boy who hadn't truly smiled since Sirius fell, it was an enormous step.
"You have your mother's humor," he said without thinking. Damnit. Harry's eyes widened
behind his spectacles and Remus winced internally.
"Why are you up, anyway," he asked quickly.
"I couldn't sleep," Harry said.
"Well, come sit with me." Remus gestured to one of the several empty chairs around the table. Harry picked
the one directly across from him and sat down, looking at his hands. The silence was thick and uncomfortable, since
neither really knew what to say. What the heck. Dive in head first.
"I know it's hard for you to be here again," Remus said softly, "but I meant what I said before.
I'm very glad you decided to come."
"Dumbledore decided for me," Harry said bitterly.
"Oh," Remus said sadly. He hadn't known that, and the knowledge that even after one year Harry
hadn't chosen to come of his own accord struck deep. Part of him wasn't surprised, though. And to think,
I'd been foolish enough to believe Harry wanted to see me. Why would he? I'm not Sirius. I'm just his old
teacher. "Well--" he said slowly. Some of his hurt must have crept into his voice, for Harry's face
dropped.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly.
"Don't be. I wouldn't want to be here either."
"Its not you," Harry started to say. Remus didn't think he could bear that conversation just yet.
"I know Harry. It's this place. It's haunted by things more powerful than ghosts and mad
portraits."
There was silence for a bit as both man and boy considered the depth of that statement. Remus saw Harry's eyes
glance around at anything and everything but him. He sighed and went back to swishing his drink around.
"What is that?" Harry asked. Remus looked to where Harry was pointing. Wads of parchment littered the far
end of the table; the remnants of an earlier meeting of the Order he had not bothered to clean up. Harry was pointing
at a large drawing of a creature, a grayish-white form with long bulky limbs and great bulging eyes. Remus felt himself
go cold.
"You're not--" he started, but then he paused and eyed the boy sitting across from him. Bloody hell.
He's the one who will end up doing most of the fighting in the end, if what Dumbledore says is true. He may as well
know what he's up against.
"They're called Mizeria," he began quietly. "They first appeared in Greece about fourty years ago,
and the name comes from them. It means `misery'. It's fitting, because that's what these creatures bring
wherever they go: misery." Just like some people. -- Don't go there Moony. -- Why not? We're already
in Hell. -- Leave it alone.
"They're Dark creatures of the worst sort. They have similar traits to Dementors, mainly because they live in
the shadows, especially in cold places. Some are even rumored to lurk at Azkaban prison, but there isn't really any
proof of that, and the Ministry would never confirm it even if there was." He let his voice get bitter again at
the mention of Azkaban and the Ministry. Harry's face showed understanding. Remus figured his should do the
same.
"So, what do these Dark creatures have to do with the Order? D'you think Voldemort might try to get them to
join his side?"
Remus still marveled at the fact that Harry said the name without the slightest twinge. It gave merit to the boy's
inner strength. He was strong, like his parents had been. Remus decided to see just how strong he truly was, and
dropped the bombshell on Harry.
"Voldemort created them." He waited as Harry's eyes grew wide and his face went pale. The reaction most
people got when they heard that, but Harry didn't gasp or shudder like so many did. He was silent, his attention
riveted on Remus.
"He bred them, using various Dark creatures, experimenting until he had his desired results. A bit like
Frankenstein, really. These things, these being, they live only to serve him. They know no emotion, no feeling. Their
sole desire is to bring pain, suffering, misery, to anyone and everyone they can. We think there is something
controlling them, something that stand between Voldemort and the monsters themselves, but we have no proof of anything.
Just rumors. If you become their target, your life is essentially over. They never stop coming. You can kill as many as
you like, they just keep coming and coming until their mission is fulfilled."
"An army of creatures whom all fear," Harry whispered. "This is what he meant. These things, he plans
on unleashing them on us, doesn't he?"
"We think so."
"Why now? Why hasn't he done it before?" Harry wondered.
"We don't know," Remus sighed. "Its part of the mystery. Not even Dumbledore knows."
"Dumbledore without a shrewd idea? I'm stunned," Harry said. He almost smiled when he said it.
"Tell me about it," Remus said lightly. They fell into silence yet again, but it wasn't so uncomfortable
now. Each thought about the monsters Remus had described, and the effect they could have on the war.
"What're you two doing?"
Remus and Harry both jumped a mile; Remus' drink slipped from his hand and shattered, glass and drink covering the
floor at his feet. He heard the boys talking, but they sounded miles away. Remus couldn't take his eyes off the
glass, like glistening diamonds in the congealing red liquid. He remembered glass sparkling like this, but it had been
in someone's hair then. He had thrown things at her, screamed at her. There had been glass on her arm, too. Her arm
had been covered in blood because she refused to answer the call of her Master.
"LUPIN!" Harry was shaking his arm roughly, bringing him back to earth.
"Yes?" he said shakily.
"Are you alright?" Harry's eyes bore into his, demanding nothing but the truth. Dear Merlin, he
really does have his mother's eyes. It had been impossible to lie to Lily when she looked at you like
that.
He didn't trust his voice, but he nodded. Harry appeared satisfied and went to join Ron, who had been the one to
scare them both.
"Come on, mate," Ron yawned.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," Harry said. "G'night," he said over his shoulder to Remus.
Ron yawned again and flapped his hand in Remus' general direction. Remus nodded to them both and watched as the
door swung shut behind them. The door didn't block their voices, however. He heard Ron first.
"Who's Calista?" No. He must have spoken out loud during his little flashback.
"No clue," he heard Harry say. "Lets just go to sleep."
"Great plan. I'm exhausted."
Remus listened to their voices grow faint as they went upstairs until he couldn't hear anymore. He would have to
be more careful; he could not afford to let himself slip again. His eyes drifted back to the congealing red liquid on
the floor and he felt his knees go weak.
His head sank into his hands as he fell back into his chair.
"Cal." It was the cry of an eighteen-year-old boy still dying inside. "Oh, Cal."
He wept.
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