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SIYE Time:2:00 on 19th March 2024
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Restless Heart Syndrome
By notadryeeye

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Category: Alternate Universe, Post-Hogwarts
Characters:All
Genres: Angst, Drama, Romance
Warnings: Mild Language, Sexual Situations
Rating: R
Reviews: 429
Summary: 17 Years have passed since the fall of Voldemort. Just as the world thinks it has finally started to heal and move on, some things thought long lost begin to awaken.
Hitcount: Story Total: 102975; Chapter Total: 4690





Author's Notes:
Sorry, this is a bit late. The chapter I intended to finish writing and submitting a few days after the last post, turned into a monster 40 plus pages that I had to edit and break down. It'll actually be two chapters and You'll get the next one tomorrow morning. I promise. And you'll more than likely get another at the end of the weekend, with lots of the goodness of a certain person you've all been waiting for. And another side note: I hadn't intended on including Teddy as one of Remus/Tonks' children in my tale. But I've decided I want him for later. So there's a mention of Teddy in this chapter. His birth is to canon. He was born in May months before the battle happened in this story.




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Ron's boots clicked loudly against the stone floor, the sound echoing throughout the deserted halls. But it didn't matter how loud he was being, the corridor he was in–or most any corridor in the school–was quiet and empty.

Today was the first trip into Hogsmeade for the semester and most of the students had headed out to enjoy a little weekend freedom from the doldrums of the school year. Those who were not yet old enough to venture out into the village were either holed up in the library or common rooms finishing neglected schoolwork, or enjoying the expanses of the Hogwarts grounds and the many opportunities it afforded.

Ron was, of course, not at Hogwarts for either of those reasons. He was at the school on a routine trip on the behalf of the Ministry. As Ministry ambassador and member of the school's board of governors, Ron had come to gather a current state of affairs of the school from Professor McGonagall–which in reality meant a five minute conversation concerning what was going on at the school before it turned into talk about his children and family.

Although having his relationship with McGonagall go from teacher-student and evolve into something more friendly over the past decade or so was strange, he quite enjoyed not having to worry about her handing out detentions and was grateful that the stern glare she could give through those glasses perched on her nose was not being directed at him.

When he'd arrived this morning, McGonagall had not been in the headmistress's office and the stone gargoyle had told Ron that she had gone down to the dungeons about 20 minutes before he'd arrived.

So grudgingly he'd headed down to the depths of the school. It wasn't somewhere he really wanted to visit on a regular basis.

The dungeons were still where potions class was held.

It was still where the Potions Master's office was.

It was still where Snape was.

Although Snape had supposedly been a double-agent during the war, playing the role of a Death Eater while actually working as Dumbledore's right-hand man–Ron still didn't like or trust the man. He was as sneaky and as slippery as he'd always been and the few times he'd been forced to interact with his former professor over the past few years, the tension and dislike between the two had been palpable.

Directly after the war, when they'd been trying to piece together the details of what had happened, how Harry had actually defeated Voldemort and why it had all gone so horribly wrong, Ron had heard rumors that Snape had helped Harry out near the end somehow. It had only been rumor and Ron had heard no further details of what the involvement may have entailed. He had chalked any talk as Snape trying to redeem himself further in the eyes of the Ministry post-Voldemort.

Ron didn't really care either way. Nothing could make him like the man. If he had helped Harry at the end–even if it meant that he'd had a hand in bringing down the Dark Lord–he'd been directly involved in Harry's death.

If he had helped–he was part of the reason why Harry wasn't there with them.

Nothing could redeem him in Ron's eyes for that.

The last of his angry thoughts seemed to swirl around Ron's head as he reached the last flight of stone stairs before reaching the dungeons. He pulled his cloak closer to himself as the chill of the damp dungeon atmosphere swirled around him and the temperature change became apparent. His footsteps seemed even louder as the sound bounced off every available stone surface, ceiling and walls with no outlet.

But even over the noise of his own footsteps, Ron stopped at the sound of raised voices coming from a classroom not ten feet away. Ron paused and listened for a moment, wanting to hear some details of conversation that might key him into whether he was interrupting something important or that he shouldn't be hearing.

“You're sure that's what you saw?” a voice that Ron instantly recognized as Minerva McGonagall's floated to him from the open classroom doorway. She sounded worried and slightly disbelieving of whatever she was looking for confirmation for.

“I'm positive,” another voice reassured her and Ron again recognized it. The slightly tired and hoarse voice of Remus Lupin was immediately familiar to him and it wasn't totally out of place.

After the war Remus had retaken his post as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He had retired about 4 years ago, but he still occasioned as a guest lecturer every once in a while to help out Bill, who had taken the job upon Remus's retirement. It made sense for him to be here.

But why he was meeting McGonagall in the dungeons and not her office was beyond Ron. Unless...

“I thought this thing was done–that everything had resolved itself?” McGonagall asked hesitantly.

“It's been nearly 18 years,” Ron heard the sickeningly sardonic voice of Severus Snape sneer back. “Who's to say that anything's changed? I see no reason for worry. Just because you say you've seen--”

“Then how can you explain how everything's suddenly come back as clear as day, Severus?” Remus cut him off, his voice rising in desperation. “How can you explain away the fact that he's been found and our marks have all gone?”

“A coincidence,” Snape replied, his voice dismissive.

Ron stood stock still in the hallway, leaning on the stone wall for support as he listened and tried to make heads or tails of what was being discussed.

“A coincidence?” Remus repeated exasperatedly. “It's not a coincidence that it was his son--”

“The boy was merely lucky,” Snape refuted any of Remus's next words. “He stumbled upon something purely accidentally--”

“No,” Remus said in disagreement, and Ron could almost see Remus shaking his head in his mind's eye. “I saw him when he came back. There was something deeply bothering him and it was as if some part of him truly believed that he'd--” Remus continued.

But again, Snape cut across him.

“Believed what?” Snape asked heatedly. “Everything is as it should be. The world believes that Potter is dead and nothing has changed about that...”

“Something has,” Remus said sharply. “Something is different about the whole thing. If it wasn't–Jackson wouldn't have been able to get so close. If the Vow and the Fidelius and the Memory Fade Charm in place were still working as they should be–he never could have had those thoughts and we would have continued to forget.”

Ron couldn't put together what he was hearing fast enough. His brain was working a mile a minute, fragments of the overheard conversation bouncing around his head, begging to made sense of.

But he really couldn't believe what he was hearing.

If he was piecing things together in the right order...

His feet were moving before conscious thought had caught up and he had entered the classroom with his wand out before the other three could even comprehend his sudden arrival.

“What the fuck are you three on about?” Ron roared angrily as all the anger and venom he had in his body seemed to rise to the surface all at once. His blood was boiling and every muscle in his body was coiled ready to spring, his senses alert and ready for any reaction they might have.

“Ron,” Remus said in reply, the surprise on his face palpable. “Minerva was just saying that she'd been expecting your visit this--” he continued, as if trying to make light of the situation and cover up what they'd said, but Ron interrupted abruptly.

“Don't even try that,” Ron spat at Remus, as he took a threatening step closer to the older man. He had several inches and quite a bit of bulk on his former professor and he knew himself to be an imposing figure when he needed to be. And although Ron knew that with Remus being a werewolf, his size advantage wouldn't be that great if it got physical, he really didn't care at this moment. He was too angry to care.

“I'm not sure what you heard...” Remus said after he swallowed heavily, looking flustered.

“Everything,” Ron shot back. “Everything about something that you three are involved in and have been hiding. But all I care about is the fact that you've mentioned my nephew amongst all your secrecy. So somebody better start talking and explaining what's going on--”

“Ron, I'm not sure we can explain completely. There's a lot that we don't understand ourselves,” Minerva interjected, this time speaking instead of Remus.

“Well you better start trying to explain,” Ron said shaking his head. “I walked down here, hoping to talk about the school–and instead I hear some nonsense about a Fidelius and marks and how the world believes in my best mate's death, as if the thought is somehow ridiculous.”

“So what the hell is going on here?” Ron repeated loudly, this time his gaze focused solely on Remus as he asked the question.

“Ron, I know whatever we may have to tell you...” Remus began after a few moments of silence. “you probably won't believe...”

“I've seen a lot over the years,” Ron replied sarcastically. “There aren't a whole lot of things I'd consider impossible in this world.”

Remus seemed resigned at Ron's sarcasm and sighed out heavily.

“Things aren't as they seem,” Remus said quietly.

Ron furrowed his brow.

“The battle didn't end the way everybody thought it did,” Remus continued solemnly.

“What are talking about?” Ron exasperatedly, extremely irritated by the runabout he was getting. This stalling and trying to brace Ron for whatever was coming was getting old quickly and he was not sure that he would be able to hold his temper much longer.

Remus paused again, gauging his next words carefully.

“Harry came to me a week or so before the battle...after you three had returned from hunting for the Horcruxes,” Remus began quietly. “He'd figured something out...and needed help...”

“What sort of help?” Ron asked automatically. He had no idea that Harry'd gone to anyone for assistance. They'd spent nearly 9 months on the run, living on the edge while searching for the last few pieces of Voldemort's soul. They'd been through hell together and shared everything. He'd have known if Harry'd gone to someone for help...

“Help with a spell...a spell he would need in the end,” Remus answered. “He came to me...but I didn't know enough on my own. So I asked him if I could go to others. That's how Minerva and Serverus became involved.”

There was a stretch of silence that enveloped the small dungeon classroom as Ron digested Remus's words.

“And what was this spell supposed to do?” Ron asked as calmly as he could. “Why did he need it?”

The questions were asked partly out of curiosity and partly out of the disbelief that there was a chance that Harry had kept something from he and Hermione.

“Finding the Horcruxes that you three knew about wasn't going to be enough to end it,” Remus replied bracingly. “Harry figured that out–and we helped him...”

Ron's mind reeled at the revelation.

“We only had the diadem and the snake to kill that day...” Ron blurted out in disjointed disbelief. “That was it. Then Harry could do away with him.”

Remus shook his head slowly in disagreement with Ron.

“What do you mean, 'no'?” Ron asked loudly. “That's the way it was. There's nothing else for it.”

“Things were never completely laid out as they were supposed to be,” Remus corrected him in a voice full of reason and calm. “Harry figured it out and...”

“He would have come to us–me and Hermione,” Ron said, as though he was trying to convince not only Remus, but himself. “We would have known if something was up. We were always together–we shared everything--”

“You obviously weren't with Potter at all times,” Snape sneered from his post where he stood leaning against the stone wall. “He managed at some point under your watch to father a love child with you kid sister, did he not?”

“Shut your mouth,” Ron snapped back. “Don't you dare talk about my family, you filthy snake...”

Snape did not retort, but slunk back against the wall with the slightest hint of a satisfied smirk on his face, clearly relaying the enjoyment he had gotten from pushing Ron's buttons.

“He was scared, Ron,” Remus relayed, ignoring Snape's comments. “And he knew that you and Hermione would try to intervene...try to stop him...”

“Damn right we would have,” Ron replied loudly. “You three got him killed,” he added harshly.

Remus shook his head slowly, as if again to refute Ron's assumption.

“That was one of the possible outcomes...” Remus said quietly. “But that's not what happened.”

“Outcomes?” Ron shouted incredulously. “There was only one outcome–he died!”

“He didn't, Ron,” Remus said steadily.

“Harry's alive.”

The words rang out unnaturally loud in the dungeon basement classroom and no one seemed to breathe.

And then the laughter started.

Ron's mocking laugh pierced through the silence, bouncing off of the walls and magnifying in intensity.

“No he's not,” Ron said shaking his head.

“He is,” Remus corrected him again. “We weren't sure at first...but I've seen him...”

“You're all nuts, the three of you are,” Ron said as his laughter cut out and he shook his head. “You're up to something...but this is just crazy.”

“I know it sounds that way...” Remus began.

“That's because it is!” Ron yelled. “You're going to sit here and try and tell me some bullshit about my best mate having been alive for the past eighteen years without anybody else in the world catching on, and expect me to just go along with it?”

“You're all cracked....” Ron said as he shook his head in disbelief.

“Nobody knew because that's the way it was meant to be,” Remus implored. “Harry didn't expect to make it, Ron. But he feared more than anything what would happen if he survived the separation.”

“Separation?” Ron questioned without thought.

There was only silence in the wake of the initial response.

“What do you mean by 'separation'?” Ron repeated in angry confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I said before, Ron,” Remus began. “The Horcruxes you knew about...were not going to be enough. There was another...”

Ron found himself shaking his head in disbelief. There was no way they had been mistaken–that he'd gone the past 18 years being wrong about everything...

“On the night that Voldemort killed James and Lily...the force of the spell and the reaction with the powerful magic unleashed with Lily's sacrifice...” Remus began to explain. “It did more than destroy Voldemort physically. He left a bit of himself behind...”

“It attached itself to Harry.”

“Come off it,” Ron mumbled in reaction. But his voice was low and quiet, the pure anger and shock in his voice masked by his confusion and the numbness his brain was now experiencing.

“Harry held the final bit of Voldemort's soul entwined in his own,” Remus forged on. “Harry figured it out and came to me–to us–for help on what he could do to destroy it.”

“That doesn't make any sense. How is that even possible?” Ron breathed out in shock.

“The Horcrux only needs a vessel to survive...living or not,” McGonagall explained, interjecting herself into the conversation for the first time in many minutes. “Harry was the nearest thing for it to cling to and considering the act that had been attempted on him just minutes before–it made sense for the two to be attracted.”

“And it explained the connection they had–their abilities to see within each other,” Remus went on. “And why, perhaps, Harry was able to speak Parseltongue as well...”

Ron found himself still shaking his head as he digested all of this.

“Nobody knew about this?” Ron asked out of a shocked curiosity. “Nobody thought of this possibility beforehand?”

Ron looked up to find Remus and Professor McGonagall exchanging knowing glances with Snape.

“What?” Ron asked sharply.

“Dumbledore knew,” Snape said, not dismissing completely the air of arrogance in his explanation. “Or at least he had a good idea about what may have happened that night and that Potter held that final piece.”

“And he never...never said anything to Harry–to any of you?” Ron asked in a measured voice.

“Potter wasn't to know until the end,” Snape said. “Dumbledore foresaw his own death coming and laid out instruction that Potter was to be told when all else was taken care of. I was to tell him then...but as Lupin said...he figured it out on his own before.”

Ron brought a hand up to his face and rubbed it tiredly.

He didn't want to believe any of what they were telling him. But none of them looked as if they were having him on...there was just too much that fit.

“So what was this spell that you three came up with supposed to do?” Ron asked numbly. “Did it work?”

“We weren't sure what was going to happen,” Remus admitted quietly. “But what we all agreed on and Harry was adamant about, was that the bit of soul be destroyed–at whatever cost.”

“The spell we found was ancient and meant to deal with the stripping of one's magical core,” Remus added. “They used to use it as a way of punishment–before the use of dementors and The Kiss.”

“Why the hell would you even look at something that would do that to him?” Ron blurted in outrage.

“That was just the original spell, “ Remus clarified. “We adapted it to try and attack and separate the souls that way. But there was no way to test if we'd gotten it completely correct.”

“So you let him go into it with a spell that you didn't even know if it would work?” Ron said exasperatedly. “I can't believe he'd agree to any of it.”

“Harry understood all the uncertainty and he only wanted to end the war and get of Voldemort for good,” Remus countered. “He understood all the possibilities of what the outcome might be for himself.”

“Which were? Get himself killed or....what?” Ron asked in desperation.

“That was the most expected outcome,” Remus admitted. “There was the greatest chance that the sheer power unleashed by the spell or the trauma of the separation itself would kill him, but take Voldemort down with him.”

“Fuck,” was all Ron could manage as he listened to Remus.

“Another possibility was the spell would do as intended–strip him of his magic, as well as complete the splitting of the soul from his own,” Remus continued. “It would end things...but leave him--”

“A Muggle,” Ron finished. Remus nodded.

Ron could scarcely breathe. What he was hearing now, was terrifying. He couldn't, for the life of him, fathom how Harry had made this decision.

“But what happened then?” Ron asked quietly. “You said he didn't die...and him losing his magic wouldn't have been enough to keep him from us. We could have gotten past that–”

“There was another possibility,” Remus admitted. “It was what Harry feared the most, Ron–more than death even,” he added heavily.

Ron remained silent but clearly was anticipating Remus's next words with rapt attention.

“The piece of Voldemort's soul was completely entwined with Harry's,” Remus continued. “They were so connected–that in some respects–they were one in the same.”

“To separate two entities that were so interwoven–could only result in catastrophic damage,” Remus added, his voice heavy with his guilt and grief.

“What do you mean?” Ron asked hesitantly.

“You remember what happened to the vessels that held the other bits of soul?” Remus asked Ron quietly.

Ron was quiet in response, only nodding when his mind drifted back to the Horcruxes they had destroyed all those years ago. He remembered the ruined diary, the cracked and splintered locket and the smoldering and warped cup. All of these things had been mangled and destroyed beyond meaningful repair as they had been disposed of.

So what had happened to Harry if he too had been a vessel?

“From what we had anticipated–the spell and the removal of the Horcrux would damage not only his body potentially–but also his mind,” Remus finished heavily.

“His mind?” Ron repeated in question, completely numb and shell-shocked.

“Brain damage, memory loss–both,” Remus explained further.

“So that's what happened?” Ron asked, his voice breathy and much more faint than before. “You destroyed his mind with this spell of yours?” Ron added, his voice rising a touch.

Remus did not respond, but looked down, away from Ron's gaze.

“I still don't get it,” Ron said as he let out a long, shaky breath. “I still don't understand how this is all possible...how you've managed to hide all of this for the past eighteen years from everyone else in the world.”

“We promised him, Ron,” Remus said, appealing for Ron to understand.

“Promised him what?” Ron asked.

“To keep him safe,” Remus replied. “To keep his secret....no matter what.”

“I can't believe he made you all promise this,” Ron said in disbelief.

“He didn't want to be anyone's burden anymore,” Remus answered. “And if the spell did the worst–it would leave him unable to take care of himself or live any sort of independent life.”

“We would have taken care of him,” Ron said vehemently, shaking his head in disbelief. “None of it would have mattered to us...”

“He didn't want that,” Remus said simply. “You know how he was, Ron. In his mind, you had all had given so much for him already. He didn't want it to have to continue afterward too. He thought it would be easier to not have to put this on everyone.”

“It was easier to have us all think he was dead?” Ron asked exasperated. “You don't think that was a burden to us? I've spent the past eighteen years living with the guilt that I didn't do enough to save him...that I wasn't there to help him. And now you tell me it's all been a lie?”

Ron paused for a moment, drawing in a deep shaky breath as he raked a hand through his still bright red hair.

“We promised him,” Remus repeated.

“You could have broken your god damn promise!” Ron growled angrily.

“We all took an Unbreakable Vow for him,” Remus countered. “We took the vow and put in place the necessary protection charms for him and for us.”

“Are you all nuts?” Ron asked in all seriousness. “He obviously wasn't in any state of mind to make a decision like that. Why would you agree to anything for him--especially to take the Unbreakable Vow?” he added in exasperation.

“He knew what he wanted,” Remus insisted. “He was willing to do whatever it took–even give up everything he knew. He understood, Ron. And for all he was willing to sacrifice–this was the least I could do for him–to grant him at least some bit of comfort by granting his wishes.”

Ron swore quietly under his breath.

“So what did his wishes entail exactly?” Ron asked, barely able to keep his anger out of his voice. “What happened to him then–after?” he added.

“A Portkey was supposed to activate when Harry had executed the last sequence in the spell,” Remus began to explain. “It was supposed to take him to a location that we'd chosen away from the battle–a cave up in the mountains. I was to go there then to see what condition he was in...to see what the spell had done to him.”

“Then depending on what I found when I got there–there were arrangements and places where we'd take him,” Remus continued. “There were charms in place to make sure nobody else would find out--”

“So where is he?” Ron asked urgently. “Where did you take him?”

“The Portkey didn't work as intended,” Remus told him. “Something went wrong before I could get to him.”

Ron could only look at Remus in disbelief. None of what he had been told made any real sense to him. He was having a hard time comprehending this tale that had just been spun out for him. But this last bit of information was truly too much...

“It didn't take him to the mountains,” Remus admitted. “Something about the power unleashed by the spell and the exchange of magic between Harry and Voldemort messed with calibrations we had set for the destination. I searched the mountains, all the caves and the grounds of Hogwarts–but he wasn't there.”

“You were the first one to make it to where they'd been–afterward,” Ron breathed out. It wasn't a question, but a statement. Remus had indeed been one of the first to come to after the blast released by Harry and Voldemort. Ron remembered seeing Remus, standing over the charred and destroyed earth where the two had been, staring blankly at the nothingness.

Remus nodded.

“I hadn't even thought to question the fact that there was no body,” Ron said in disbelief. “He was just gone.”

“That's the way it was supposed to be,” Remus said quietly.

“No,” Ron corrected. “It was just the choices you all made–so it appeared to be that way.”

“I searched, Ron,” Remus countered, his voice full of a certain amount of desperation that seemed to pleading for Ron to believe him. “I looked–and the three of us tried to figure what had gone wrong and where the Portkey could have possibly taken him.”

“But with the chaos, the cleanup and the mourning that followed the battle, it was hard to focus solely on that,” Remus admitted. “It took us nearly 3 weeks to trace the possible location that the Portkey had actually led to.”

“And where was that?” Ron asked with a quiet tension in his voice.

“Upstate New York in America,” Remus replied simply. “Somehow the Portkey took him there.”

“He was there–alone--for 3 weeks?” Ron asked in exasperated outrage.

Remus nodded solemnly.

“It landed him in a place called Devil's Hole State Park,” Remus explained. “A pair of hikers found him off of a trail. They alerted the authorities and he was taken to a hospital.”

“How bad?”

“He was in critical condition when they brought him in,” Remus replied. “His injuries were very severe...as we expected they would be.”

“And how do you know all this?” Ron asked. “You didn't figure the location out for weeks...”

“We pinpointed the general area,” Remus confirmed. “And I then I went to America to look for any sign of him. I'd been in the area a day or so when I ran across an article in the local paper about a John Doe teen who still hadn't been identified.”

“I went to the hospital,” Remus continued quietly. “He was there. He was still in the ICU...but he was stable and starting to slowly begin to heal by then.”

“Did you even try to help him?” Ron asked in disbelief. “You had no second thoughts after seeing him again–that maybe he'd made the wrong choice?”

“Of course I did,” Remus replied in a whisper.

“But I made my promise,” Remus added more firmly. “And I just need to see–to make sure–that he was okay.”

“And was he?” Ron questioned.

Remus swallowed hard, avoiding eye contact with Ron.

“His medical chart indicated he'd suffered significant pelvic and lower back injuries,” Remus explained. “He had lacerations and other broken bones. And there was evidence of an extensive head injury...”

“I went into his room, Ron,” Remus said. “I stood over his bed and looked into his eyes...and there was no recognition there.”

“He didn't know who I was...and I'm not sure he even registered that anyone was there at all,” Remus admitted heavily.

“So that was it?” Ron asked. “You just left and forgot about him until now?” he added, the tension growing in his voice once more.

“That's the way the charms were supposed to work,” Remus replied. “Over time the details were supposed to become more fuzzy and disjointed. And yes, eventually everything was supposed to fade away.”

“I did go to see him again,” Remus admitted after Ron did not respond. “A couple of months after my first visit I went back to the hospital. He was in rehab by then–trying to get back on his feet.”

At this admission, both McGonagall and Snape looked up in surprise. Apparently they hadn't known about Remus's return trip.

“I sat in on one of his therapy sessions,” Remus continued. “I disguised myself and placed a few memory charms on the staff and managed to pull myself off as an intern.”

“He could barely walk,” Remus said heavily. “They were working on speech and comprehension with him. He seemed to understand...but he was having a hard time verbalizing anything. I stayed for a day, just observing and making sure he was okay. Their goal was to have him well enough to move into a sort of center–a halfway house–before they let him go completely.”

Remus's words were again treated with silence. Ron seemed to be seriously mulling something over; his features flickering between anger and confusion at a rapid pace.

“You came back a second time without him,” Ron began, his voice dangerously on edge. “When you knew by that time about Jackson. You knew Ginny was pregnant–that Harry was going to be a dad,” Ron added, his voice rising in deadly accusation.

“And at no time did you have any second thoughts?” Ron asked in disbelief. “Did you not think for one moment that things were different than before? That the situation had changed drastically?”

“Ron...I couldn't,” Remus replied unevenly, his voice wavering.

“You damn well could have,” Ron rebuffed him. “You had every chance--every opportunity. You were the only ones with the power to change your decision at any time and you did nothing.”

“It wasn't that simple,” Remus responded desperately. “There was the Unbreakable Vow...”

“To hell with the vow,” Ron snapped. “Once you knew about the baby, everything else should have changed. You would have done anything for Harry, right? But I would have given up everything for Jackson--”

“I had my family to think about,” Remus cut across frantically. “Teddy wasn't even a year old....”

Ron could only glare at Remus in shock and anger.

“I didn't know what to do, Ron,” Remus admonished. “I was afraid. If I said anything...if I changed the plan we'd laid out...it would mean death. I couldn't leave them. I couldn't lose my family.”

“But was okay to rip apart and ruin another?” Ron asked. “What about my sister? What about their son? It was alright for them to lose everything?”

“What would you have had me do, Ron?” Remus asked brokenly. “You can't tell me that you'd be so hasty to make that sacrifice if you were me. Think about your own kids and Hermione...and tell me that you could just leave them behind...that it's an easy choice...”

“Nobody would have won,” Remus continued sadly. “One family would have been broken no matter the choice. But you don't think that my decision hasn't haunted me?”

“But you got to forget about that guilt, right?” Ron inquired, his tone mired in angry irony. “You said that the charms were supposed to make everything fade away. So, you didn't spend the past 18 years beating yourself up about it. After a while, you got your happy ending, didn't you?”

Remus looked down and away from Ron, swallowing hard as his answer welled up in his throat, relaying his guilt without words.

“So why aren't you dead now?” Ron asked harshly after a few moments of heavy silence. Three heads popped up in attention at Ron's question. “How are you telling me all this and still standing? Shouldn't the Vow have struck you dead if all this were true?”

“We can't completely explain why it's been broken without consequence,” Remus admitted. “It's only come back recently...only since he's been found again.”

“By who?” Ron asked thickly.

“Jackson,” Remus replied simply. Ron could only look incredulously at the others in the room, once more shocked by what he was hearing.

“That day he came home and started telling us all about why he'd gone to the States,” Remus began again. “That's the day that it all came crashing back into memory. I looked at the picture he'd shown us...and I remembered everything.”

“Jackson figured it out and stumbled on the truth on his own,” Remus continued. “And for some reason...that's what changed everything. Since that day...we've all been able to recall what happened and talk about it freely. It's as if Jackson's actions lifted the veil.”

“How is that possible?” Ron asked tiredly, not sure he'd be able to believe any of what Remus was going to tell him.

“You saw how much he believed in what he told us,” Remus answered. “No matter how crazy all he did and said may have sounded and how ridiculous everyone thought it was–deep down there was something there that made him pursue those instincts and feelings.”

“Something is going on,” Remus added. “Something that I'm not sure any of us can explain, or any of us has ever seen before.”

“But Jackson was wrong,” Ron found himself saying, remembering quite vividly the exchange between his nephew and his sister. “He'd said he'd found the wrong person.”

“He just wasn't there at the right time,” Remus replied. “Harry lived there but moved a few months before. He stayed with the Smith family after he left the hospital. It's been his home off and on for the past seventeen years.”

“And you know this how?”

“I went back...last week,” Remus explained. “I tried to trace him all the way back to the half-way house he was supposed to have gone to after he was released. But he never went there. All their records–everything–just stops.”

“I had to search for some of the doctors who had treated him long term and get them to–tell me–where he might have gone,” Remus continued, pausing as he explained his methods. There was no doubt in Ron's mind those methods had been to coerce those individuals using magic. “Maria Smith was a nurse who was there for most of his recovery. She and her husband decided to take him in and have been his sort of–adopted family–over time.”

“He is a photographer,” Remus said. “Well–a professor of photography now. He's done quite well for himself.”

“You said you've actually seen him,” Ron stated.

Remus nodded.

“Jackson and Anna had traced him to where he'd lived and taught previously in the Buffalo area,” Remus explained. “But he's since moved on and gotten a more permanent position in the art department at a university in Wisconsin. That's where I went to see him.”

“He looks good,” Remus admitted. “He doesn't seem to have any lasting effects from his injuries. He looks just like you think he would have...”

Ron looked away and swallowed, trying to keep the mixture of emotions welling up inside him at bay. He still wasn't sure if he could really believe any of this–but that bit of him was momentarily pushed aside by his overwhelming urge to ask so many questions.

“I can't believe you...” Ron began, shaking his head and breaking off when his words failed him.

“Ron, I'm not going to try to begin to explain everything that's gone on,” Remus began when Ron did not continue. “But something possibly great has happened. Maybe now we can--”

“We can, what?” Ron asked, cutting him off. “We can all live happily ever after?” Ron added rather harshly.

“Nothing changes the past 17 years–nothing brings that back,” Ron continued on, his voice rising as he spoke. “What do you think happens now? We bring him back and you're forgiven?”

Remus looked away at Ron's accusation.

“You said yourself that he doesn't remember anything,” Ron said. “He's got a different name, a different life–what great thing is going to come out of this? Now we're going to know he's alive and not be able to change anything and instead have to sit and watch him live his life without us.”

Ron finished and swore as he turned away from Remus, rubbing a hand through his hair in frustration and anger.

“I'm sorry, Ron.”

“I'm not the one you should be apologizing to,” Ron replied bitterly.

“I want you to remember how 'sorry' you are when you have to look my sister and her son in the face and tell them what you've just told me,” Ron continued. “I hope the next time you have to look into those green eyes, you realize just what your decisions have meant.”

There was only more silence in the wake of Ron's last words. It was as if the other three people in the room where waiting for his temper to finally boil over.

But there was no explosion from Ron. He simply looked around at the other three, and cast a glare that relayed all of his anger and pain before he swept from the room, not even bothering to gauge their reactions.

Ron's feet carried him through the winding halls, his footfalls clattering off the wall, echoing loudly. He wasn't sure where he was going and wasn't paying particular attention to the path he was on. All he knew, was that he needed to go somewhere to think–somewhere where the information of the past half hour or so could soak in and he could begin to try and comprehend.

Before he knew it, he was outside and headed down the front stone steps of the castle. Instead of heading down the gravel drive to the front gates, Ron instead took a left, heading out onto the green grass of the castle grounds towards the distant edge of the Forbidden Forest.

As his thoughts raced and his mind seemed to seize up, he walked in a daze as he passed the Quidditch pitch and neared the gardens of the Herbology greenhouse.

How could all this have really happened?

How could Remus, Snape and McGonagall have kept such a thing from them all?

How could Harry really be alive after all these years? How could none of them have known and never questioned that there was a possibility that he hadn't died in the battle?

As Jackson had pointed out–there hadn't been anything left to bury. There had been no body, just ash and charred earth in the wake of a tremendous explosion. They had all just assumed that nothing and nobody would be able to survive the sheer power and magic that had been unleashed in the clash between the two wizards.

There had been no search afterwards–they had all been too consumed by their grief and mourning for anything of the sort to enter their minds.

But now as Remus's words echoed through is mind, his own assuredness began to waver. Had the past seventeen years as he'd known it been a lie?

How had he not known his best friend was alive? He'd known Harry better than anyone–save Ginny perhaps. So how had he not gotten a hunch that all was not as it seemed or any feeling at all that his best mate had survived?

While visions of his long-lost best friend danced around in his mind's eye, Ron continued wondering towards the greenhouses.

It was only when a familiar mop of black hair caught his eye that Ron stopped dead in his tracks.

For a moment Ron was certain that all the air had gone from his lungs and the world around him had stopped.

He watched as the figure before him sunk the spade he was holding into the brown earth below his feet, quickly repeating the motion as dirt was tossed aside. Ron was immediately reminded of a similar scene as he'd witnessed years ago as he'd watched Harry bury Dobby in the garden of Shell Cottage.

But as Ron walked ever closer and the figure drew up to his full height, those images were quickly jettisoned away. The figure was taller and a tad more broad in the shoulder than the picture he'd been envisioning in his mind. There were other, more subtle differences there too. Although the same raven color, the hair was different too–thick black locks falling across the face in today's latest style and cut.

And as the figure now turned to face him, Ron saw that was also not the same. The nose was just a touch shorter, and a fine layer of light freckles lay where they'd never been before. The green eyes, although just as vivid, were free from any frame or lens. They were now turned towards him, aware of his approach as the figure raised a hand in welcome.

“Hey, Uncle Ron,” the young man said, reaching up to wipe away the sweat on his brow with the forearm he'd raised in hello. His white shirt was rolled up at the sleeves and open to a white undershirt, both now stained and dirtied with the soil he'd been working in. He looked rather hot and tired, sweat dampening his fringe and his cheeks slightly pink with the heat from the mid-day sun.

But Ron did not respond to the greeting. Instead he stopped a few feet from the young man, his eyes roving over his nephew.

All of his anger over Remus's revelation, about being lied to and deceived for the past 17 years, seemed to ebb away. He now found himself overcome with an overwhelming sense of loss and sadness–his sadness for dark haired man standing before him now. As much as he'd felt wronged by what he'd just learned, it was nothing compared to what this would mean to the young man before him.

How in the world was he supposed to tell him?

But any more thought Ron may have put into that question was interrupted by the sound of his own name being said again.

“Uncle Ron?” Jackson asked loudly, waving his hand in the air, as if to try to get his uncle's attention. “Are you alright?” he added as he frowned in concern, his eyes searching his uncle for any sign of his current distress.

At the last question, Ron finally snapped out of his daze, looking his nephew directly in the eyes for the first time as he drew himself back to the present.

“I'm fine,” Ron managed, his voice a bit more constricted than he'd expected it to be. He took a deep breath and then cleared his throat loudly.

“Are you sure?” Jackson asked. Ron could see the worry and confusion there, relaying that his previous state had not gone unnoticed by his nephew. “You seemed a bit spaced out for a while...”

“Just got a little lost in my thoughts,” Ron admitted, not really fudging the truth at all.

Jackson nodded, seeming to be partially satisfied with the answer.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Jackson asked curiously after a few moments.

“Had a meeting with McGonagall...just a regular update chat about the state of the school for the board members and Ministry,” he added, when Jackson raised his brow inquisitively about the subject of the meeting.

“Ah,” Jackson responded with a nod. “So you're actually doing some work for once?” Jackson added with a sly, teasing grin.

Ron had to swallow before responding. That crooked smile that Jackson was giving him got him every time with how much it reminded him of Harry.

“You sound like your Aunt Hermione...and your Mum,” Ron responded with a laugh and a shake of his head.

Since he'd retired from the Auror Department a few years ago, he hadn't had a real semblance of a regular work schedule. Besides meetings at the Ministry and the occasional trip out of the country to meet with foreign officials and dignitaries, he really had an abundance of free time to spend with his wife and children. And it was a fact that a lot of the family liked to remind him and tease him about, such as Jackson was doing now.

“What are you doing out here?” Ron returned the question, suddenly very curious as to why his nephew was knee deep in dirt in the Herbology gardens when he should be enjoying the sunny day. “I'd have thought you'd have been in Hogsmeade with everyone else,” he added.

At the question Jackson's face fell slightly, his smile fading along with it.

“Detention,” he answered simply, leaning on the shovel he'd been holding.

He was usually aware of when his nephew had done something to earn himself a detention–either from his own children in their letters, or from Ginny. But he hadn't heard anything about this.

“Late for McGonagall's class again?” Ron questioned, knowing that being tardy to Transfiguration usually came with a price.

“No,” Jackson said shaking his head. “It's not anything I did at school.”

It was Ron's turn now to raise his brow inquisitively.

“Apparently Mums can get professors to give you detention for stuff you've done outside of school,” Jackson explained with a ghost of rueful smile. “She got Nev–Professor Longbottom to give me detentions pretty much every Saturday–save Gryffindor Quidditch matches--until Christmas break,” he added.

“For what happened at the end of summer?” Ron asked, knowing exactly what event had gotten him into so much trouble.

“Yeah,” Jackson nodded. “So for it--I've got to dig out all these gardens for first and second years to do some planting–all by hand of course,” he added tiredly as he rubbed wiped his face again with the back of his hand.

“She loves you, Jackson,” Ron said automatically in response. “She may be angry now...but she's always looking out for and wanting what's best for you.”

Jackson nodded knowingly.

Knowing what he did now, Ron felt an overwhelming sense of sympathy for Jackson. He was being punished for something he'd done on a wild and impossible urge and instinct–an instinct that, it turns out, that had been correct.

But he was sure that now was not the time to say anything. There was still so much Ron needed to seek out and figure out before that happened.

“I guess this could be worse,” Jackson added in the wake of his uncle's silence as he gestured to the shovel he was holding and the tilled dirt around him.

“And besides–I probably wouldn't have gone into Hogsmeade today anyways,” he added. “Liam and Luke both have themselves new girls. I'd have just ended up the third wheel or walking around by myself halfway through the day,” he said with a little sadness in his tone.

“Heard from Anna lately?” Ron asked, knowing where his nephew's mind had gone when he'd mentioned his two good friends' and their current relationship statuses.

“I got a letter from her this morning,” Jackson responded with a smile, looking up as he realized he'd been found out. “She's really good. Busy with studying and stuff–but she loves school so far and is doing really well.”

“Christmas break will be here before you two know it,” Ron teased, watching his nephew roll his eyes.

“Yeah...but until then...” Jackson added, digging the shovel further into the ground to illustrate the fact that he'd be rather occupied during his free time until break.

Ron nodded in understanding. But as he made to make another teasing comment about his love-sick nephew, a nagging question made its way out instead.

“Can I ask you something?” Ron questioned suddenly.

“Yeah, sure,” Jackson said with a nod.

“What really made you go all the way to America to look for that–guy?” Ron asked, watching Jackson's reaction to the question closely.

Jackson turned his eyes towards the ground, looking as though he'd rather not answer. It took him a few moments before he took a deep breath and gave his reply.

“From the moment I looked at that picture, there was this little voice in my head that just wouldn't quit pointing out the similarities,” Jackson began to explain quietly, looking off somewhere in the distance as he gathered and drew together his thoughts. “I knew all the impossibilities of it–but in my mind they suddenly made sense and I started connecting dots and points that I knew weren't there.”

“Then I thought maybe if I saw for myself that it was just a coincidence–the similarities and all–then I could put it to rest and go on,” Jackson added.

“That's why you went?”

Jackson nodded.

“And what made you stop?” Ron asked his nephew. “Was it just the fact that everyone else thought it was crazy?”

“That was a lot of it, yeah,” Jackson admitted. “Because it really is crazy–once you think about it. And I didn't want to upset anyone anymore than I already had.”

Ron wanted to counter him and let him know that it wasn't as far-fetched as it had once sounded. But he remained silent.

“Plus–the guy wasn't–couldn't have been who I thought he was,” Jackson added. “He didn't live where we'd tracked him down to anymore–but his parents did. And obviously having a mum and dad alive negates everything. He really was just some guy who looks extraordinarily like me.”

Ron nodded but did not say anything for a few moments. He wasn't sure what would come out when he did.

“It'll all be alright,” Ron found himself saying. Jackson looked at him, slightly curious as to his uncle's choice of words.

“Your Mum won't stay mad forever,” Ron responded instead, not truthfully explaining what he'd meant by his previous assurance. “And things usually have a habit of working themselves out in the end,” he added, unsure of whether he'd be able to say the same once he figured out what he was going to do in his own situation.

“I guess,” Jackson managed to say in return, sounding the slightest bit confused at exactly what Ron had meant.

Ron's gaze lingered on his nephew for a few moments as silence past between them. There was just so much of his best friend in the young man before him, that it took everything Ron possessed not to spill what he'd just learned.

“Well, I better get going,” Ron sighed heavily. “Take care of yourself. We'll see you at the holidays,” he added, reaching up and putting a hand on his nephew's shoulder.

Jackson looked down at the hand resting on his shoulder for a moment and nodded.

With that, Ron felt the overwhelming need to leave. Looking into his nephew's eyes–those same brilliant green eyes–only made it harder to stay put. He needed to get away and to think.

With an awkward movement, Ron removed his hand from Jackson's shoulder and turned away from his nephew. He didn't wait for Jackson's reaction before he began to walk away back towards the castle but he could feel his nephew's gaze on his back as he retreated.
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