Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ The Space In-Between ❯ The Price of Silence ( Chapter 8 )

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Voices behind the door. A woman speaking fast; Remus answering slowly and carefully. Their words were low and urgent. They should have reassured me. Instead, my stomach folded in on itself.

They were talking about me. There was no other subject that fit.

My stomach tightened and went cold. Nausea rose into my throat, and the taste of bile sat at the back of my mouth. What else would they be discussing at this hour, in this quarter, after everything?

Shame flared sharply. My face flushed, and my hands became damp. I turned my head to the ceiling, squeezed my eyes shut and set my jaw. I had done this; I had brought it on myself.

It would not only be me who paid. This was not only my foolishness. It would spill over into his life. Remus’s.

Remus privately briefed McGonagall, the staff, and Dumbledore. He vouched for me, filed my registration and timetable. They were promised no trouble from me. He had put his name and his reputation on the line.

And I’d proved him wrong. Spectacularly.

I hadn’t lasted a week.

Seven days in the bloody castle, and I had already made a spectacle of myself; the questioning glances at Remus would come.

The scrutiny. The doubt.

What had he been thinking, bringing me here?

And now, somewhere beyond that door, I imagined them quietly deciding what to do next. The woman suggesting it might be best to remove me. Remus nodding, quiet and tired, his face unreadable. The decision already made before I could stand up straight.

What if he thought this was it? That I’d thrown away my chance and dragged him down with me? Would he want to leave? Or feel he had to?

A cold ran down my spine, and my fingers went numb; it felt worse than the poison’s after-effects.

We had left places at short notice before: packed trunks overnight and gone without telling neighbours. We had done it cleanly: no fuss, no goodbyes.

Was that what this would be? Another exit in the night, and a name crossed off the list of locations we’d never return to. Would he even ask me? Or would he come in, quiet as always, and say something gentle but final: “Get dressed, Harry. We need to go.” Just that. Nothing more.

And it would be over.

The new life I’d only barely started, the fragile, strange hope of it, would vanish. Hogsmeade weekends. The Gryffindor Tower. I used to hate corridors but find them oddly comforting these days. That early-autumn smell in the courtyards after rain.

Ginny.

My stomach clenched at the thought of her: her voice, her arm steadying me, her face full of that fierce care. I’d dragged her into it too.

I didn’t know what she felt about me now. Probably I was pathetic. Reckless. An idiot for coming to Hogwarts.

But she’d been there. She hadn’t left. That had to mean something.

Or maybe not. Perhaps it was instinct. Pity.

Either way, it wouldn’t matter once I was gone.

Shame tightened in my throat and made it hard to breathe.

Still, the door stayed closed.

No summons. No packed bag at the end of the bed.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, the seconds stretching until they felt unbearable.

Eventually, I forced myself upright, hissing through my teeth as my muscles protested. My legs hung over the edge of the bed, the floor cold and unfamiliar under my bare feet.

I moved slowly, every step stiff and dragging.

Passing the tall cabinet near the door, I caught sight of my reflection in the glass and stopped short.

I looked pale and drawn, the skin under my eyes darker than yesterday, one side of my hair plastered down and the other sticking up. There were faint scratches on my cheek and a red rash on my neck. My lips were dry and cracked. I gave the impression of someone who had been sick through the night.

No trace of a saviour in that face: only the boy nobody was supposed to remember.

The clock on the wall told me it was nearly noon.

I stepped cautiously into the main room, the cold stone biting at my bare feet. The air felt cooler, faintly tinged with the sharp medicinal scent of potions and disinfecting charms.

A woman stood at the far end of the table, arms elbow-deep in a small forest of potion bottles. Her movements were brisk and efficient. She had to be Madam Pomfrey. I had not met her before, though Remus had warned me she worked with the Order and would know how to handle things quietly. She didn’t look up when I entered, but her hands paused for a moment, the faintest shift in her posture. Enough to show she had noticed me, even if she wasn’t planning to make a fuss.

Ink stains smudged her wrist, her sleeves were rolled up to her forearms, and a fading healing charm shimmered on the other. She’d clearly been working for hours, probably without so much as a proper cuppa or a sit-down since yesterday.

And then there was Remus.

He stood by the far window, back turned, motionless. He slightly hunched his shoulders, not because of pain, but in that weary way he had when something pressed too heavily on his mind.

He stared through the window at the overcast sky, with his hands clasped at his back and his head bowed. Pale grey light spilled across the floor, catching the silver streaks in his hair. They seemed starker today.

He did not turn. I shifted, cleared my throat and let the door click shut behind me. I knew he had heard; he always did.

I went for the jug on the table. The glass felt cold in my hands. My fingers trembled as I poured, and the first swallow burned going down, but I swallowed the rest anyway.

The silence stayed. It was a tight, measured quiet that made my chest ache. I almost wished he would shout. I could have handled shouting; at least that would mean he still had some fire left to waste on me. Anger I could face. Anything was better than this stillness that felt final.

He wasn’t ignoring me; he was thinking, weighing whether I’d endangered the one secret we couldn’t afford to lose: the truth about who I was.

And somehow that was worse.

I stood there with the empty glass in my hand, my stomach twisting itself in knots.

Why wasn’t he saying anything? Why wouldn’t he even look at me?

Maybe this was it. Perhaps I finally proved that people couldn’t trust me.

I had told him I was ready. That I could handle being back here. And he had believed me. He’d stood up for me. Promised them I’d keep my head down and focus. And now I was awake in his quarters, poisoned by my stupidity.

If he asked me to leave, I would go. I wouldn’t fight him.

Ginny’s face flashed unbidden in my mind, her hand on my arm, the concern in her eyes. I pushed it away quickly. That warmth didn’t belong to me. It belonged to the version of me who hadn’t yet ruined everything.

Pomfrey looked up and walked over. She had a small chart and a stable, no-nonsense way about her. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Better,” I murmured.

She nodded. “Remus sent for me through the Floo. I was here for most of the night. You lost a lot of fluid; I gave a stabilising antidote, cleared the toxins and used a warming charm to steady your pulse. We watched your breathing and kept you under until I was sure you wouldn’t slip back. That is why you’re here now, not at St Mungo’s. Keep to safe cups starting at this moment, Potter.”

Her tone was brisk, not unkind. She had been told enough to act fast.

She tapped my wrist where she had placed a cooling sigil, and the faint smell of balsam lingered in the air.

He still hadn’t moved.

I stared at the back of his head, willing him to turn, to look at me, to say anything.

I couldn’t bear the silence.

“Remus,” I managed. My voice cracked halfway through, and I swallowed hard to steady it. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how it happened; I wasn’t thinking. What I mean is…”

The words felt brittle in my mouth. I hated how weak they sounded.

More bitterly than intended, I blurted, “I feel like such an idiot. I was daft. It should have been obvious to me. I knew in a way. But I didn’t stop.”

Still, he did not answer. He did not even shift his weight. Just that steady line of his back against the window, grey light across his shoulders.

The air was thick and stifling until I could hardly stand it.

“Can you please say something?” I pressed, stepping forward, fists curling at my sides. “Anything at all.”

At last, he turned.

His face was calm.

It was worse.

He looked exhausted. Not just from the night, but from me. That was how it felt, anyway: not furious, not even disappointed, only utterly weary. A feeling in my chest lurched at the sight.

“What would you like me to tell?” His voice was low, but it cut cleanly across the room. “That it’s acceptable? Are you saying that you made a mistake and we will simply carry on? That no one saw too much?”

“I didn’t say it was fine…” I shot back.

“No, you did not,” he whispered, too calm. “But you claimed you do not know how it happened. That it just, what, slipped your mind that you were meant to be careful?”

“I wasn’t trying to be reckless!”

“No?” His eyebrow lifted, the only sharp movement in his whole body. “Then what were you attempting to be? Polite? Brave? Invisible?”

The words stung. “I did nothing,” I argued, heat rising in my face. “It was one measly drink!”

“Harry, a single beverage nearly landed you in St Mungo’s. Do you have any idea what questions they would have asked if they had taken you there? What names would’ve surfaced?”

That stopped me. My throat worked, but not a word came out.

Remus moved from the window at last, folding his arms. “You reckon this is only about feeling foolish?” His voice dropped, quieter now but edged with something harder. “You think your mistake ends with a headache and a bit of embarrassment? Don’t you understand what would happen if people started asking? Questions pull identities into the daylight. Names bring trouble, and trouble spreads in ways we cannot fix.”

“I know I messed up,” I insisted, fists tightening. “I’m aware.”

“But you don’t have a clue why it matters,” he said, stepping closer. “You do not know what it risked.”

His voice caught on the last word, and that almost undid me more than anger. I swallowed. There were things he could not say out loud, and neither do I.

“I said I was sorry.”

Remus’s voice rose before I realised it was coming.

“This is not about an apology, Harry!”

Madam Pomfrey looked up from her vials, surprised. Remus paced as if he needed to move to hold himself steady.

“I stood in front of those who doubted me,” he went on. “People in the Order who still believe this plan is madness. I told them it was safe. I said you were ready. That bringing you here would not endanger you. That it would not bring trouble through the doors.”

He stopped, breath coming hard.

“I said you were capable. And then you take a drink that almost kills you.”

“You think I meant to?” I snapped, guilt boiling into anger. “You think I wanted to end up like that?”

“I suppose you did not care enough not to,” he said quietly. “And that is the problem.”

The words hit harder than I expected. Something sour rose in my throat.

“You’re ashamed of me,” I whispered, before I could stop myself.

He looked at me sharply. “Do not twist this into anything trivial.”

“I’m not twisting a thing. I saw your face the night before, Remus. You couldn’t even look at me. You still barely can.”

He closed his eyes briefly and exhaled. When he spoke again, his voice was rougher. “I am not ashamed. I am terrified for you. That is different.”

The words hit harder than the poison.

“I have spent years trying to protect you from the world—what’s left of it for you—and I am only just realising I should have been protecting you from yourself.”

That hurt more than anything he could have shouted.

We stood there, the space between us heavy with everything we could not undo. Madam Pomfrey tapped the rim of a bottle, gave me one last stern look, then wrapped the vials and left the room briskly. Her footsteps faded along the corridor, leaving the silence sharper than before. I heard her speak to someone, low and quick.

My anger subsided, replaced by a duller, heavier feeling I could not name.

“I didn’t want this to happen,” I mumbled at last, my voice rough. “I just thought it wouldn’t go so far.”

“No one ever does,” Remus replied. “The difference is most people do not have the world watching, waiting for them to slip.”

He stepped closer, gentler now.

“You don’t get to be reckless, Harry,” he said. “Not after everything you’ve survived. People are merely starting to trust you. If they see you losing control, they will stop trusting that you deserve this place.”

I swallowed hard and stared at the floor.

“I know it is beastly unfair,” he added softly. “I’m aware you never asked for that weight. But you have it, and you cannot afford to forget it.”

Silence settled once more.

“You have to understand how close you came,” Remus said at last. “This simply cannot happen again. It will not be just lectures next time. ”

“It won’t,” I promised, throat tight. “I swear.”

He did not smile, but a fraction of the tension in his shoulders eased. He gave a small nod.

“Right then.”

With that, he turned back to the window, his reflection in the pane holding the faintest flicker of concern that had not been there before.

A knock sounded at the door. My heart jumped. Remus went to open it, then paused for a moment as if deciding what risk the visitor posed. He opened wider and moved aside.

Ginny stood in the doorway, hair damp from the wind, her Quidditch dust still in the seams of her kit. She looked straight at me as she stepped in. The air smelled of wet grass and broom polish.

Remus inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“I came to see how you are,” she began. Her voice was steady. “Pomfrey said you were awake.”

Her tone wasn’t accusing or smug or even pitying, which somehow made it worse. It was level, soft, and far too kind for the person I’d been yesterday.

I knew it was my turn to say something—to acknowledge her, to offer thanks to her, to be normal—but all I managed was a tight-lipped nod. Words refused to form. The tension climbed from my chest into my throat, choking off anything I might have said.

Remus filled the silence. “I am grateful again for what you did yesterday. You helped when no one else knew what to do.”

Ginny shook her head lightly. “It wasn’t much.”

“Still.” He gestured toward the water jug opposite me. “Would you like something to drink?”

She glanced at me, then denied it. “No, thank you. I can’t stay long.”

“At least sit for a moment.”

He caught my eye briefly, a silent reassurance or warning; I couldn’t tell. But he excused himself, slipping into his bedroom with the same quiet efficiency he always carried, leaving me alone with her.

Which of course only made it worse.

The door closed softly behind him. In the room’s stillness, the sound struck me hard. I stared at the space he’d left, unsure whether to stand, apologise, or vanish altogether. The last thing I needed was to say something wrong, to slip, even by accident. One careless word, and she might start asking questions I couldn’t answer.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. The air felt too calm, too fragile to touch.

Ginny sat leaning forward slightly, elbows on her knees, eyes fixed steadily on me.

“I was worried about you,” she murmured quietly.

Her words weren’t dramatic or heavy. They were plain and steady, and somehow that made them hit harder.

I nodded stiffly. “I’m fine now. Still light-headed, maybe, but okay,” I managed, though it came out shakier than I meant to. My voice sounded unlike my own even now. The heat in my body hadn’t gone, and I couldn’t tell if it was from the antidote or from being this close to her.

She didn’t let the silence stretch. “You should be more careful of whom you trust around here,” she warned gently.

There was something intimate in her tone, soft but sure, that made me look up. No suspicion. Not judgement. Just quiet certainty.

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” I blurted quickly, before she could start guessing who it might’ve been. “I should have known better.”

Ginny’s eyes didn’t move from mine. “You were poisoned,” she stated quietly, as if stating the simplest fact. “I could smell it on your breath yesterday. Bitter. Not like Firewhisky or ordinary spirits.”

My throat closed. I had to steer this away from matters I could not answer, from anything that might make Ginny ask about Remus or about why I had to be kept hidden. I forced a laugh that felt thin. “It was a terrible mix. Pomfrey said the cup must have reacted with something. Nothing deliberate.”

I maintained my response dull on purpose. If questions started, he would have to address them, and the truth we had held secret for years would be at risk.

Ginny’s gaze sharpened, but she did not pry. “She mentioned that?”

“She did,” I lied at once. “She claimed it could have been contamination. We’re fine now.”

Her look stopped me for a second longer and made me clamp my mouth shut. I could not tell her the truth. Not about the Memory Charm. Not about why a name gone from the world had to stay gone.

“You’re not like the others here,” she observed finally. Her voice was quiet and thoughtful. “It’s… different. You’re different.”

I blinked. “What’s that meant to mean?”

A faint smile touched her lips. “You don’t talk like the others, do you?”

I bristled slightly, trying not to sound defensive. “I’m just not social, I suppose.”

Her smile grew, but it wasn’t mocking. “It’s not a bad thing,” she added, shrugging. “It’s actually quite refreshing. Makes a pleasant change.”

“I wish I were more like everyone else,” I admitted quietly, before I could stop myself.

She frowned. “Why would you want that? There’s no point in pretending to be someone you’re not.”

I didn’t answer. Mostly because I did not know. Maybe I just wanted to fit somewhere. Perhaps I was weary of standing out for the wrong reasons, tired of being the one name the world had already forgotten.

She leaned back, studying me more seriously. “You could have been badly hurt yesterday,” she reminded me quietly. “You were lucky.”

I gave a weak, humourless laugh. “Good thing you were there when things went sideways.”

That earned me a proper smirk. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m serious,” I told her, aiming for a bit of a flirt; “How can I ever repay your kindness?”

She pretended to think. “There is one.”

I sat up straighter. “Go on.”

But she didn’t answer straightaway.

Her eyes found mine again, and this time I refrained from looking away. I couldn’t. I leaned forward slightly, only a fraction, my heart thudding so loudly I was sure she could hear it.

The silence stretched between us.

Maybe it was the antidote still clouding my head, or perhaps I’d just grown tired of holding everything in, but something reckless surged up before I could think—the kind of impulse I always regretted after. The words slipped out before I could stop them, too quick to take back, half a question, half a confession.

“Would you—do you want to… spend some time, properly? Like, not just in passing?”

The air between us shifted. Blood rushed to my ears, but Ginny showed no sign of shock. She didn’t even blink.

She smiled a small, almost private smile. “About time,” she whispered

Her smile lingered as she stood to leave, and something inside me changed, light and terrifying all at once.

For the first moment since I’d arrived, the future didn’t feel like a challenge to survive. It felt as if anything might actually begin.

Remus closed the door behind him without a word after Ginny had left, folding his arms loosely across his chest. The silence that followed was tight with quiet disapproval.

“I take it that was more than a friendly visit,” he remarked at last. His voice remained level, yet it had a clipped quality, which he used when he was weighing each word.

There was no point in dodging it. “I asked her to spend more time with me.”

Remus blinked once, slowly. “I see.”

A brief silence followed.

“That’s all you’ve got to say?” I pressed, bracing myself, half-hoping, stupidly, that he’d surprise me, that he’d tell me I deserved something good after everything.

But of course, he didn’t.

“Harry,” he began, and the way he said my name told me I couldn’t approve of what came next. “Do you really think this is an excellent idea—now of all times?”

I felt it immediately—that sharp flare of defensiveness prickling along my spine. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Remus’s brow furrowed slightly, though the rest of his face stayed calm. “Because you nearly died yesterday, and today you’re asking out the girl who dragged you back. Doesn’t that seem a bit impulsive? You’re still recovering, and half the school saw you collapse. The last thing we need is more eyes on you.”

I scoffed, irritated by his measured tone. “Remus, I’m not five,” I retorted. “I can ask someone out myself.”

His gaze narrowed. “It is not about age, Harry. It is about risk. You are not seeing how fragile this is.”

I folded my arms. “So what, am I not allowed to decide without clearing them with you first?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“It sounds exactly like that.”

Remus’s jaw tightened. “I’m saying you might think about the consequences before you go charging ahead.”

“There’s nothing to consider,” I shot back, though deep down I knew there was.

Remus tilted his head slightly. “No? Not the attention it’ll bring? Not how fragile your position is after yesterday? Don’t you reckon people are already waiting for an excuse to say you don’t belong here?”

“I don’t care what they whisper; they don’t even know me. Not really.”

“No,” he countered, voice tightening, “but you might think twice before giving them something to gossip about.”

I felt it again—that push and pull inside me. The need to prove I wasn’t reckless fighting with the part that knew, quietly, maybe I was.

I looked away, jaw tight. “You’re overreacting.”

“I’m not,” he snapped. “I’m trying to stop you from drawing the wrong attention.”

“Wrong kind of attention?” I bristled. “Since when is asking to spend more time the wrong kind?”

“When you’ve only been here a week, surrounded by people who don’t know you and are already watching for something to gossip about!” His voice cracked slightly, the edge of frustration slipping through.

He drew a breath, forcing calm. “That wasn’t part of what we agreed on when you came here. You promised to keep your head down and stay out of trouble until things settled.”

My fists clenched. “Oh, I see. So I’m not allowed a personal life now?”

“You aren’t here to make a name for yourself,” he warned, voice low but steady. “Your job here is to stay safe and prove yourself. You are not here to draw eyes, Harry. Not in corridors, not at meals, not anywhere.”

For a moment, the anger in his gaze faltered, with something softer, almost frightened, showing through before he looked away.

The words hit hard. I did not flinch, but a feeling burned deep in my chest: hurt, confusion, and pride twisting together. I was aware I should let it go. Say he was right. Thank him. But I couldn’t. Because another voice, louder than his, refused to back down. It didn’t bother about rules or consequences. It just knew I wanted to see her again. Even though wanting anything normal was dangerous, even if it meant lying once more.

Remus studied me for a long moment. “Perhaps keeping a low profile for a while would be wiser.”

“I’m not hiding,” I argued. “I’m trying to find my own way.”

“You’re still finding your footing here, Harry,” he said, suddenly stern. “The fewer ripples you cause, the safer you stay. Every friendship, every glance—it draws attention we can’t afford. This isn’t the time to behave as though you belong here completely.”

“I’m not doing anything,” I gritted out. “I’m trying to live my life.”

“And I’m trying to make sure you have one!” His voice rose, and for a heartbeat I saw it: fear, raw and unguarded.

For a moment, I thought he might shout again. Instead, he forced himself still. He took a breath and reined it in. “We’ll talk later.”

“No,” I protested. “We’ll talk now because I will not allow you to treat me like a child every time I disagree with you.”

Remus turned slowly, eyes hard. “Then stop acting like one.”

The words hit clean and sharp, echoing like a closing door.

I didn’t move. The heat on my face wasn’t just anger anymore; it was shame. The kind that makes your chest ache and your throat close.

Remus’s voice came quieter now, almost tired. “You want to make your own choices? Fine. But remember this: your actions affect more than you. They concern me and every ounce of trust I fought to build to get you here. If you can’t manage that, then maybe we’ll have to reconsider whether this can keep working.”

I saw a flicker of something calculating in his eyes, the look that showed he already had a plan to make sure it didn’t happen again.

Before I could respond, he shut the door behind him with a soft click that felt louder than any shout, a reminder that even safety here came with terms set by someone else.

I stood in the silence while the clock ticked. If Remus meant what he said, then one more mistake could take away whatever insignificant life I had begun here. I had wanted to live. Now I was suddenly not sure I knew how to keep living at all.