Out of the Night that Covers Me

Out of the Night that Covers Me

by Mephistedes


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II. The Wisps of Adventure

.:.


It was a little after eight in the morning when he appeared before the battered front door of Grimmauld Place. Exhausted, Harry resolved he’d snog his pillow for at least two hours before he checked in at the Ministry. Cottenham owed him that much for having to deal with McLaggen for more than an hour at most. Yet, even worn out, Harry knew from the moment he set foot in the dour residence, something was amiss.

Darkness greeted him first as Harry softly shut the door behind him, careful not to make a sound. The chandelier was uncharacteristically dim, the gas lamps, off, and even Mrs. Black’s portrait was quiet, her snoozing breath barely twitching her moth-eaten curtains.

But it was after eight; by now, Kreacher would have turned up the lamps and the scent of breakfast would have slithered up the staircase to enfold him in an enticing embrace, luring him down from his second-floor bedroom. Instead, Harry was met with silence and the aroma of old bile and sharp polishing solution. Perhaps Kreacher was just busy?

“Kreacher?” he softly called, darting his eyes to the shadows, wary. He waited, with no answer. Taking that as a warning, Harry snapped his wrist back, acclimating to the warm security of his wand in hand. He wet his lips and widened his eyes as he ducked behind the umbrella stand, wand aimed straight ahead of him as he slunk along the wall towards the dining room.

That inspection went quickly, as there was nowhere to hide except for the dresser with Black family china. “Huh.” Harry huffed silently before he stood up. Maybe he was being paranoid. After all, the last full night of sleep he’d had was several days ago. He would also confess he was feeling a bit mistrustful after coming off a murder case, but he —

FWUMP!

There was someone in the house. Someone was here. It had to be a wizard-someone, as the place was Unplottable. A strong sense of alarm stole up his spine as Harry directed his wand at the sound. It came from above him, which would be the drawing room. Someone was in his house, sitting in his drawing room, with his house-elf.

If Mundungus had broken in again, he was quite sure Kreacher still had that frying pan with his name on it. But if it wasn’t.... Someone definitely picked the wrong house to burgle.

Anger took residence where exhaustion once welled, and Harry dashed across the entry hall as quietly as possible to the foot of the stairs. Using all the practices battered into his brain from Auror training, Harry silenced his breathing and murmured a spell to muffle his footfalls before slowly ascending the steps. He needed to be calm and rational, to seek out Kreacher first, and get him safely away while he handled the intruder. If he had taken anything from S.T.A.G. training, it was the importance of planning: of keeping focus when the world around him was crumbling, of sticking to strategy when —

THWAP!

“Sod it.”

Abandoning strategy, Harry took the stairs two at a time, flying past a blur of mounted house-elf plaques before he leapt into a crouch on the landing, swinging his wand around at all the closed doors. There was naught but unlit darkness beneath the spare bedroom and bathroom doors.

But he could see light seeping around the crevices of the drawing room door across the landing. He steeled himself, gripping his wand tightly as he inched along the gloomy wall and eyed the grey and white lights beneath the door dancing on the worn carpet.

His first task was to find Kreacher and get him, then run headlong into danger. Hopefully, he’d remember to form a plan somewhere in between that time. But for now, Harry eyed the flickering shadows, getting ready. Be it his moody house-elf or a body, he was going to save Kreacher.

One ...

His holly wand was pulsing in his clammy palm.

Two ...

Though his breathing was level, as was taught, Harry couldn’t relax his pounding heart, which seemed to be lodged in his throat. The Stealth Auror bit his bottom lip hard and swallowed the coppery tang bursting on his tongue as he inhaled deeply and nodded staunchly to himself. This was it. His thoughts were solely on Kreacher, dead or alive.

Three!

He booted the door open with a powerful kick (he was certain he’d feel the ramifications of that after his adrenalin wore off) and burst into the room, wand poised to blast a Stunning Spell at the intruder who yelled —

“UNCLE HAAAARRRRRY!”

“Oof!”

— and tackled him with such force, Harry overbalanced and tumbled into the shabby armchair near the door. Eyes wide and wand still tight in hand, Harry looked down at the blur currently holding his legs hostage ... and finally dropped his wand as he watched the murky brown mop of hair sprout into vivid orange locks.

Immediately the little boy dove into a litany of, “Look what I can do! Look, Uncle Harry, look!”

Relieved, Harry allowed himself an embarrassed snicker as his godson’s rosy-cheeked face emerged from beneath his robes. “Good morning to you, too, Teddy.”

“G’morning! But look what I can do, watch, just watch.”

“I’m watching.”

“Are you watching?”

“See?” Harry breathed deeply, motioning to his face. “Eyes open, I’m watching you.”

“Watch.”

Harry bit back an amused chuckle as an intense look of concentration came over Teddy’s face. The six-year-old squeezed his eyes shut and pursed his lips, tightening his hold around Harry’s legs — just enough to keep the blood flowing, Harry supposed.

After a few pensive moments, Harry vaguely wondered if Teddy simply had a momentary loss of restraint over the strange ability inherited from his mother. He remembered reading (or was forced to read by Hermione) that magical outbursts were rampant for young wizards Teddy’s age and younger.

Right away Harry began to dread the task of explaining to him that he might have better control over his Metamorphmagus talent in a few years, when all of a sudden, it happened.

Bristly dark hairs began to sprout from baby-smooth skin, elongating beneath the boy’s nose to curl over his top lip and past his mouth. Though Teddy still had a ways to go with control, he had the makings of a very comical, very long, handlebar mustache with stray green hairs.

“Fantastic, Ted!” Harry praised as he rubbed the coarse hairs between his fingers.

As the bouncing six-year-old flashed him a hairy smile — which was complete with missing teeth — Harry heard a familiar voice add, “Ha, you look like my Great Aunt Muriel....”

“Oh, Ron,” Hermione chided from across the room. “Be nice.”

“What? It’s true,” the ginger-haired wizard groused. “Oi, Teddy Lupin! You get your furry face back here and let me thrash you properly. Oh, morning, mate.”

The dark-haired Auror offered a lopsided grin in return as he ran his fingers through the soft fiery strands atop Teddy’s head, watching him screw his face up again and retract his facial hair.

“Ron, Hermione,” he nodded to each in turn. Ron was sitting at the table, a chess set in front of him; as usual, he was winning. (Ron wasn’t the type to throw a match to a dying man, let alone a child.)

Hermione was sat on the floor under the window, soiled rag in hand as she was evidently helping Kreacher polish silverware. A good distance from her stood said house-elf, Harry noted, shooting the bushy-haired witch strange looks. Six years on, and even though both Ron and Hermione dropped in quite frequently, Kreacher still had his misgivings about Hermione, though he treated her with respect. Maybe she was polishing the spoons wrong?

“Crookshanks not back yet?”

“No,” answered Hermione. “He’ll be back soon. You know how he likes to wander.”

“Not that this isn’t a pleasant surprise, but ... what are you all doing here?” Harry asked as he untangled Teddy’s arms from around his legs and heaved the beaming boy up with an exaggerated groan. “Ohhh! Someone’s put on a stone or two since last week.”

Teddy vehemently shook his head in response. “Mm-mm!” Harry thought he could see the tip of his nose growing and wryly grinned.

“Where’s your grandmum?”

“London, at the old cottage,” Hermione answered for him, looking up from her pile of shiny spoons. She smiled sadly before resuming, “It’s ... time.”

The dark-haired Auror nodded and hefted Teddy a bit higher in his arms as she said nothing more. She didn’t have to. He knew what that meant: Andromeda was finally going through Remus and Tonks’ old flat. She had been putting it off since their deaths at the end of the war, care of Teddy and grieving for her husband and daughter taking up most of her time.

“We got here first,” Ron explained to cover the somber silence.

“I-I waked up — ”

“Woke up,” Harry gently rectified.

“Yeah, I woke up really, really early,” Teddy dutifully informed, his eyes bulging with emphasis.

“Oh, yeah? What time?”

“Um ... well, the big wand was on the three,” he carefully described, “and the small wand was on the si — seven! It was on the seven, ‘cause grandma wakes me up when the small wand is on the eight, not the seven.” He finished with a pleased grin.

“Wow, can tell time and grow a mustache,” Harry commended with an expression brimming with pride. “Pretty soon you’ll be getting married and teaching at Hogwarts, what, next year?”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, as Teddy pulled a disgusted face, thrashed wildly in his arms, and cried, “Eww! Girls are gross, Uncle Harry!”

“Ha! You say that now,” Ron sniggered as he reset the chessboard. “Pretty soon you’ll have girlfriends and you’ll be kissing in empty classrooms and getting viciously mauled by a flock of canaries....”

“EWWW!”

“Ron, I think you’re making it worse.” Harry arched his eyebrow at the steadfast little boy.

“Am I? Good.” Ron cheekily replied.

“Anyway, as we were saying earlier, Andromeda dropped in a few minutes after us,” Hermione said as she rubbed more polishing solution on her cloth. Luckily she didn’t see Kreacher’s frown before he shifted the tin canister away. “She says sorry for the late notice.”

Harry waved it away, narrowing his gaze at his armload. “Not a problem. Now that Teddy’s here, I’ve got food for that dragon on the top floor.”

“A dragon? You got dragons? Really? What does it eat — does it eat chocolate? Pumpkin pasties?” the young boy badgered, bouncing up and down in Harry’s arms.

“Oh, I dunno ... big, fat roasts, kitchen tables, toothless little boys.... Right, Hermione?”

“The ideal diet,” she agreed with a sharp, mischievous nod.

He watched in amusement as Teddy pursed his small lips and studied him from the corner of his honey-colored eyes. They glimmered with an innate wisdom that sadly reminded Harry of the youngster’s father. “Uh-uh, you’re telling a lie, and that’s wrong.”

Harry mocked a gasp and gawped widely, much to the little boy’s entertainment. “You’re going to disagree with Hermione? That’s never been done before.”

“Dangerous territory, little mate,” Ron chimed in, affecting a worried air. “Not even I’ve tried that.”

But Teddy rubbed at his nose and knowledgeably replied, “I-I asked Grandma a long time ago,” he seemed to have a knack for emphasizing certain words nowadays and even extended his arms to show just how long, “I said, ‘Grandma, what do dragons eat?’”

“Uh-huh?”

“And she — she said — ”

“Take your time, now.”

“Guess — guess what she said?”

“I dunno. What’d she say?”

“She, she said ‘Knotty little boys — ’”

“I think you mean ‘naughty,’ Ted.”

“‘ — who don’t obey grandmas and take their baths.” He finished with a proud, toothless grin.

“Ohh, I see,” Harry played along, prodding the youth in his belly as he asked, “and do you obey grandma and take your bath when you’re asked?”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh!” he breathlessly answered through a spastic fit of giggles.

Harry patted Teddy’s side, letting him catch his breath. “Good boy. Ah, well, we can’t argue with your grandmum, can we? Must’ve mistaken it for the Common Toothless Child-Eating Dragon. Smart boy.” He gave Teddy a crooked grin before mussing his now tousled blue hair. He really needed to consult with Hermione on the frequency of his appearance changes.

Lest he take him to the playground and nearly make Muggle headlines again for toting around an aqua-haired child with a duck’s bill. He almost didn’t Obliviate the eager man in time before he reached the Underground station. Harry had made sure to be extra careful with Teddy since then.

“We sat round while we waited for you to show up,” Ron continued, a tiny smirk playing at his lips. “Teddy made a valiant effort to beat me at chess — jumped around in right state, too — but as it stands, naught-four, me.”

“Hermione, you do realize in two months you’ll be marrying a man who’s proud of beating a six-year-old at chess, right?” Harry dryly mentioned.

“And one who refused to help Kreacher and I polish.” Hermione interjected with some annoyance. Kreacher, on the other hand, wore a scowl that to Harry said he’d much prefer to do the polishing himself.

“I didn’t refuse! You just seemed like you were sorted and it’d be rude of me to disturb that.”

“Yes, because you’re so considerate.”

“Call me Mr. Selfless,” he cheekily replied as he sprawled on the armchair.

Hermione cast him an incredulous look. “Mr. Lazy, more like it.”

“And you love me for that.”

“Unfortunately.” She countered, but the effects of her annoyance were lost in her fond smile.

Harry rolled his eyes: they were still so smitten after all this time it was somewhat sickening. “Oi, either get a room or get married already and leave the rest of us lonely sods to wallow in isolation.”

They were still staring at one another with besotted grins, clearly ignoring him. “We’re in a room, mate,” Ron’s tone was light and gentle. “Or haven’t you noticed?”

“Oh, God ... not on the sofa. And not in front of the child.” Harry feigned disgust.

“You can handle it, mate.... Oh, you were talking about Teddy.”

“Funny, Ron. Har, har,” Harry playfully scowled at his friends before setting Teddy down and announcing, “Right, then. What do you want for breakfast? No, it’s all right, Kreacher, you don’t have to stop what you’re doing, thanks.” He spoke as the ancient house-elf set down his polishing rag and made to leave.

Kreacher said nothing but looked very much put out, and Harry didn’t understand why until Hermione set down a spoon with a loud ‘thunk’ and made small talk with the glowering house-elf. “Hermione? Can you help me in the kitchen? The more hands at this, the better. Plus, Ron can’t boil water without burning it.”

“Hey, no need to get nasty,” the affronted redhead scowled.

“What do you want for breakfast, Teddy?”

“CHOCOBALLS!” the blue-haired boy excitedly proclaimed.

“Um...”

“CHOCOBALLS!”

“So early in the morning? Levicorpus!” Harry swung his wand at the giggling boy, who squealed as he was hoisted into the air, dangling by an ankle. His own laughter was cut short as Hermione frowned, still quite sore about him using Snape’s old spells.

But he was saved from her reprimand as Ron distracted her with a gentle hand on hers, and disarmed her with a smile. Relieved the diversion worked, Harry enjoyed the wild laughter bubbling from Teddy, his robes flopping over his turquoise head as blue-socked skinny ankles emerged beneath corduroy trousers.

He minded the child’s kicking legs as he led them out of the drawing room and down the stairs, watching the boy for any discomfort. Teddy’s face was bright red, either from rushing blood and bubbly emotion or another Metamorphmagus trick, but the handful of times they had done this they hadn’t had any problems.

As his small hands batted at the house-elf plaques along the wall, Teddy nasally shouted, “Can we go to the park? Canwecanwecanwe?”

Harry arched an eyebrow and guided him to the floor with a murmured, “Liberacorpus,” answering his enthusiasm with a noncommittal, “we’ll see.”

Once in the kitchen, Harry thwarted Hermione’s questions about his sleeping habits by making sandwiches for Teddy — who’d pouted when he realized he wasn’t having sweets for breakfast — and for Ron, who was currently sitting beside the youth, happily munching on his roast beef toasty. He’d asked his friends about everything from wedding plans (Hermione had given him an earful) to the Weasleys (“Mum and Dad say hi. George’s doing all right; still hard for him, but Angelina’s done him a world of good. They send their regards.”). Which, of course, brought up the subject of his old girlfriend: Ron’s sister, Ginny.

“Ginny sends her love, by the way,” Ron revealed with an evocative smirk.

“Did she? Give her mine,” Harry shrugged as he bit into his meager breakfast. He loved Ginny, but more in the vein of fond friends or siblings.

After the war, things hadn’t been the same. She’d gone back to school, and he was waist deep in N.E.W.T. study drills, courtesy of Hermione. When he’d passed his exams and started the Auror program, they only had time to meet on Hogsmeade weekends, and afterwards, Ginny’s hours were occupied with auditioning for several Quidditch teams. In the end, they’d amicably parted, and occasionally kept in touch by owl.

They would always be good friends; Harry was quite sure of that, regardless of their breakup. What's more, Ginny seemed happier alone, as he did, and he did not want to be the one held responsible if she ever lost her cheek or free-spiritedness. Times after the war were sad and bleak, yet even while mourning the death of Fred, Ginny somehow managed to stay true to who she was. For that alone, Harry knew he’d always have a soft spot for her.

“Oh, I completely forgot,” he burst out, interrupting Teddy’s philosophy on why Chocoballs were better than girls. “Ginny sent you a Harpies robe, jumper, and bear wearing the Harpies’ uniform. Remind me to give it to you before...”

Harry trailed off, his eyes finding their way to the darkened fireplace. He was positive none of them had tried to start a fire when they’d arrived ... so why would he be seeing a mist of smoke?

“Harry?” His attention was drawn back to Hermione’s concerned face, and he noticed then that she held up a handful of colorful pamphlets. “What are these?”

“Those? Oh, um...” he’d forgot he had picked up those pamphlets on his way home from work a few weeks ago, so as to help with his Animagus ... issues, he’d deemed them.

McLaggen hadn’t been completely right when he claimed the Stealth Auror had no Animagus form. In fact, Harry did have one, and he knew exactly what it was, knew for about a year, in all honesty. He started practicing three years ago, right when he’d been recruited to join the S.T.A.G. under the Special Protective Operations and Observations Keepers (S.P.O.O.K.s for short) under Minister Shacklebolt’s revamped Law Enforcement regime.

McLaggen was — regrettably — correct when he’d said the Animagus transformation was a requirement for all S.T.A.G.s. It was what set them apart from general Aurors and S.P.A.R.C.s: there were only five agents in the S.T.A.G. sect and any open spot was greatly coveted. To even be considered for a trial basis was an honor Harry held in the highest regard.

Problem was, he just couldn’t seem to transform as was the main requisite. Hence, the pamphlets. He thought if he toured the areas and studied the wild form of his animal closely, it might help to trigger the transformation and secure his place amongst the esteemed S.T.A.G.s.

But if he could not prove to the department heads he could do it, the next in line for his spot was McLaggen. Harry would rather face down two Dark Lords before he trusted national wizarding secrets in the hands of Cormac McLaggen.

“Those are leaflets,” he eloquently replied with a flat smile.

“I can spell leaf!” Teddy proudly burst out. “L-E-A-F! See? I spelt it!”

“I can see that they’re leaflets,” Hermione dourly replied. “But for what?”

“Pssh ... reading?”

“I can read! Wanna hear me read, Uncle Harry?”

“Harry!”

“Don’t get her upset, mate. I’m the one sharing a flat with her, remember?”

“Oh, Ron Weasley!”

“C-A ... V-E-R-N-S! Cah — cay-ver-nuhs...! See? I’m reading!” Teddy happily declared after gulping down a glass of pumpkin juice.

Offering Teddy a wan smile, Harry propped his head on his hand and tiredly watched Hermione’s and Ron’s soft, but heated exchange. It felt uncomfortably like school again for him, with the odd snog between the fuss, but he was glad he didn’t have to choose sides this time. If it came down to it, he’d just side with Teddy, and they’d have to — there it was again!

Harry sat up straight in his seat. This time, he was sure he saw a wisp of smoke spurt from the darkened fireplace. Only, he had never seen smoke so pure and silvery-white before. It was almost as if it were a ... Patronus?

Of course! He inwardly barked; someone from work was trying to contact him! He could’ve smashed himself over the head with the pitcher of pumpkin juice for being so dense. At once, Harry sobered: if someone was sending him a Messenger, there could have been a break in the case.

Harry stood gracefully and calmly, absently announcing, “I’ll be back in a minute. Forgot to do something for work.... Teddy, don’t touch the knives, and come find me if Ron and Hermione start using them, yeah?” Harry gave him a split second smile and patted the child’s dark head.

“Harry! You can’t leave me here like this!” Ron nervously hissed as he walked past the squabbling pair and up the stairs.

“Sorry, mate,” the Stealth Auror murmured in an undertone. “You made your bed, and you’re gonna lie in it. Alone.”

The drawing room was empty when he returned. Harry supposed Kreacher had probably dragged the silverware to some place deep in the house where Hermione couldn’t find him.

He wove closed the door and locked it, throwing up a Privacy Ward for good measure. After all, Teddy was at that age where he was keen on rushing into rooms unannounced; and now that Harry thought about it, so were Ron and Hermione.

As if it was waiting for him to finish setting up, the ghostly figure suddenly bounded through the warded door and cantered to a halt before him. It was a Patronus, all right: a shaggy grey wolf, with sharp silver eyes and glistening teeth. Were it not semi-translucent and white, Harry thought it would have made a great Grim.

The wolf Patronus seemed to scrutinize him closely before opening its mouth wide. From the jaw of pointy teeth emerged a voice familiar to Harry: “State authorization,” Cottenham’s lazy brogue demanded from the wolf Patronus.

“Potter, Harry James, access code STAG-011.”

“Present wand.”

Harry slid his wand out from its holster on his forearm and set it between the ghostly figure’s sharp canines, where it was held. He watched as the wolf’s shining eyes filmed over for a flash before he was allowed to retrieve his wand. “State your password.”

His heart throbbed particularly hard against his ribcage as he said, “Hedwig.”

After a tense pause, the silvery phantom declared, “Authorization confirmed. Is this region secure?”

Brow furrowing, Harry answered, “Yes.”

The Patronus snapped its jaw loudly before saying, “That is an unacceptable response.”

“Oh, right. Er....”

Again, Cottenham’s voice maintained, “That is an unacceptable response.”

He’d forgotten the additional security measure of the secret watchword, and Harry knew he should have known it. Granted, this had been the first time he’d had to use it since joining S.T.A.G.s four months ago. He was ready to cancel protocol and Floo to the Ministry in person when what seemed like a Wildfire Whiz-Bang went off in his head.

“‘Out of the night that covers me!’”¹ Harry quickly shouted, waiting with bated breath for its reply.

The great shaggy Patronus rumbling in his director’s voice answered, “Response accepted.” Pleased, Harry slumped against the angular mantel of the hearth, awaiting the information.

This time, Cottenham’s voice was less formal and hastier as he instructed, “Playground, corner of Tylers Way, Watford. 11.00 hours.” With a stern look that reminded Harry strongly of the man who’d sent the Patronus, the wolf dispersed into a fine, greyish mist.

“All that security for a location? Useless,” Harry grumbled, dismantling the Privacy Ward as he jogged downstairs. Whenever he was in a pinch, he could always count on Ron and Hermione, and luckily, that hadn’t changed much since their old schooldays. On the other hand, it would take Harry a massive amount of Chocoballs to convince Teddy he was actually going to work and not on an exciting adventure. Harry was prepared to lower himself to groveling if it meant that he persuaded Teddy otherwise.

But the minute Harry pushed open the kitchen door and heard the considerably raised voices of Ron and Hermione, he knew it would be a while before this argument was resolved. And he really didn’t want Teddy to be around for what Ron and Hermione defined as a ‘solution.’ Andromeda would probably curse him with welts the size of Pumpkin Pasties in unmentionable places.

As he rolled his eyes at Hermione’s harsh lecture on women’s rights, the Stealth Auror beamed widely at his amused godson and rushed, “Hey, Ted: you up for a trip to the playground?”

For a short moment, Hermione and Ron’s row paused, both disputants seemingly befuddled that Teddy’s joyful shout could eclipse their heated exchange.


.:.

1. Quote taken from William Ernest Henley's poem Invictus.